NationStates Jolt Archive

If I was President
I'd get elected on Friday
Assassinated on Saturday
Buried on Sunday
They go back to work on Monday
If I was President..

Larkinian Presidential Palace, in the Sandias Mountains outside of Golden Agate

Takeo Katana looked out of the palace one more time as the government movers collected the last of his things to move to his new condo in Golden Agate. He saw the sun twinkling off of the snow capped peaks. A lot had happened since he took office four years prior: the former leader General Grant was under arrest for crimes against humanity, then he escaped and tried to overthrow the government and vanished, then there was the Third World Conference in Tanah Burung... God what a spectacle Javin made of himself. It all ended with an assassin's bullet though.

If I'd been able to keep going, I might have won the election... God damn it, it was close..

At least he was losing to Williams, it could have been worse. If that ass Harrison had won, he'd have reversed everything that Takeo had done in four years. No more Third World League membership, which made sense, they were no longer a Third World country, but to turn Larkinia's backs on their allies, that would have been a disaster.

His train of thought was stopped by a knocking at the lounge door. One of the guards walked in. He knew what the man was going to say, Williams was probably already en route to Golden Agate after his wife was finally released from the hospital.

"Sir, we're ready, it's time to go. We have to get you moved in before the diplomats arrive for tomorrow's swearing in ceremony."

+++++

Over the past couple of weeks, leaders throughout the NS world had received the following invitation...

The Principality of Larkinia respectfully and cordially invites you to attend the swearing-in ceremony of our new President, Jeffrey Matthew Williams, as the second elected leader of Larkinia. The ceremony will take place at the Larkinian Presidential Palace, in the Capital of Golden Agate.

Please RSVP in advance with any meal requirements or requests to ...

Larkinian Military Command, Golden Agate

Captain Christopher Markson walked through the halls of the Command Center with a smile, his friend was on his way back to Golden Agate to be sworn in as president, as opposed to all of the times the superiors had sworn at Jeff. He was happy for his friend, but he wondered if Jeff knew what he was getting into. Jeff was a decent submarine captain and a pretty decent diplomat for the time he was in Iansisle, but President, that was a different story.

It didn't help matters that when Jeff was elected, a lot of the higher up generals started grumbling. Jeff's court-marshall didn't endear him to the command staff, and Katana's pardon infuriated them for some time. He'd hoped things would smooth over between the groups, but the staff just seemed more upset.

His watch beeped, looking down he saw that the Aerodyne with Jeff, Kate, the kids, James and his wife and Dr. Niven was scheduled to land at Jeff's place soon. Jesus, he wondered how they would all sleep in Jeff's small apartment, or if they'd sleep at all.

The Celestial Republic of Celeborne will be honored to send the head of our ANH diplomatic corps, one Dr. Devon Niven, to attend this great event. This message would be longer, but we feel that the relationship between the doctor and the President elect nullifies the need for further explination.

Congratulations to your nation and to your president elect.

In an aerodyne, steaking across Larkinia on the way from Celeborne

Admiral, Ambassador, Captain, Sir, Duke... Jeff Williams had all of those titles under his belt at one time (and still had many), but he hoped he was ready for the next one to come up.

President.. President Jeff Williams.. Damn, pretty good for someone voted 'most likely to be court marshalled' at the academy. well, I was court marshalled, twice actually... not to shabby I guess.

His wife Katherine leaned over and kissed his cheek, "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing much, just, it's all almost overwhelming," he said turning to her from the window and brushing his auburn hair back. "Being here, being President."

"Daddy's gonna be President!" Julie said to her twin brother Marcus and little brother Conner for what must have been the 1 zillionth time that trip.

Jeff chuckled as he looked at Julie, "That's right princess, so you know what that means. You're gonna have a babysitter for the next four years."

"Oh man... and I was hoping to kiss a boy finally."

"What??!?!" Jeff turned back to look at her again. Julie just smiled at Jeff innocently.

He turned to Katherine and Niven, "Remind me to double her security."

Niven just laughed "and I was going to introduce her to some eligable young men back in Celeborne. There is one....."

Jeff groaned, "Don't encourage her dad. Although I have to admit that it's a lot easier worrying about her with boys than some of the other things I've had to deal with in the past."

"Oooooooh!! Look daddy!" Marcus said, "Is that the.. place?"

Jeff looked out the window, the palace seemed to shine in the sunlight, the reflected light from the snow bouncing off of the marble.

"That's it slugger," Jeff said. "That's home for the next four years."

Niven pretended to be offended "I will most certainly encourage my granddaughter to make your hair fall out when ever I damn well please." He then erupted in laughter.
"I will also be buying the boys high performance sports cars." He crossed his arms over his chest and looked very self satisfied.

Jeff laughed, "Ya know, it'd be easier to just kill me now instead of the heart attacks I'll have once they become old enough to drive."

"Now come on you two," she said pointing to Jeff, "This one's got enough to worry about, getting sworn in tomorrow and all."

"Yeah, any advice dad? I don't know the first thing about being a president."

"Do what you think is best for the most people, but never forget to represent the minority. Do what is right even when they boo you for it. Health is more important than wealth. Take vacations. That is about the sum of everything I learned when I had the big chair in Celeborne."

Katherine nods sagely and winks at Niven, "You should get another corporation writing fortune cookie fortunes," she grinned.

"So I should do what's right, and try to include everyone," Jeff said. "wouldn't it be easier to complete seven impossible tasks?"

The aerodyne closed in on the Palace, Jeff looked out again, "Damn, I never thought I'd see this place again after the court marshal"

(I'm about to crash, catch you tomorrow Cele!)

"Seven tasks, eh.." He laughs " I do have a stable that needs cleaning."

((y...you didn't use my thread name :cry: *sniff* ;)

Oh, right - tag!))

#tag - you're it! *giggles* :P

(Ow! *rubs forehead where Iansisle and Hell Bovines 'tagged' him ... with a golf club* :P )

Eyes only for President Katana. Most urgent, most secret, most personal; To be deciphered only in a dark room.

I've heard the sad news of your defeat, and was writing to express my sorrow. Should you ever need political asylum, or just a nice vacation, i hope you'll consider sunny Tanah Burung. It's quite a thrill to see the peaceful transiton of pwoer from one elected president to another, though: how far Larkinia's come. And i'm sure that the many-titled Mr. Williams will carry on in the finest traditions of your own statesmanship. Well, i'm sure he'll intend to. Sorry again about the picnic, i promise it won't happen again. If only because i don't think i could bear the sight of another pissed-off cow politician.

So: President Williams. So far as it is possible to ascertain from our Combined Intelligence Committee, relations between Larkinia and Tanah Burung have not deteriorated during his first eleven hours in office. We are not, however, indulging in any premature elation on this score and we are consulting with friendly Governments as to what steps we ought to take when he really hits his stride. In preparation for trouble, the armoured beer truck “SS Valiant” and the war canoe “Jumpin' Javin” are being deployed. If at the party the President-elect appears to be in any condition to understand any of this, a highly improbable assumption, i'll be sure to tell him that the job of running a country is an easy one when one has a consistent, wise and understandable policy. He will probably have a hell of a time.

Honestly, we're all looking forward to the adventure. I'll certainly be there, and i'm hoping to get one or more of Tanah Burung's co-presidents to come too. You would think, with 11 of them, that one could be spared. Sometimes, i despair for my country. Could you perhaps let me know, though, whether the President-elect plans to be alive or dead on his inauguration day? Just so i know what colour to wear.

Constanctio Matebian, Ambassador

(LOL! Nice letter)

Katana read the letter and quickly penned a reply to the Ambassador.

Dear Ambassador Matebian,

Thank you for your kind words. While I appreciate the offer for political asylum in Tanah Burung, I hope that I will not have to accept it anytime soon, however a vacation to Tanah Burung might be in the near future. Javin has informed me of Rumbiak's death and, while it saddens me,

I will hope to advise the President-elect as best I can. Thankfully he has kept me on as Minister of State, serving as he number two person in Larkinia.

It's good that your intelligence committee has ascertained there's no threat to Tanah Burung from Larkinia. While inexperienced, I don't think Jeff is going to be a problem as President. I also hope that more of Tanah Burung's Co-Presidency will be able to attend the swearing in ceremony and gala afterwards.

As for the President-Elect's state I believe he will, in spite of his best efforts in the past, be alive for his swearing in. (OOC: Damnit all, I'm going to get him through one RP without getting shot, stabbed, beaten or sent to hell and back - literally. :P ) However, you might want to bring a change of suits, just in case.

Sincerely,
Takeo Katana

P.S. Don't worry about the picnic, from what I heard it was one hell of a time.

...or sent to hell and back - literally.

((well, you had to complete the hero motif sooner or later. :P Who knows, now maybe he can become an immortal. Or something.

Anyway, I know y'all hate reading my excuse posts as much as I hate making them, so I'll try and be brief. My energy reserves are sapped...not even Dr Pepper can bring me back from this point. And I don't think we have any Dr Pepper anyway :cry: (gasp horror!)

So anyway, to hell with brevity. And I'll damn well be a borrower if I want - AND a lender. Good night, all.))

(heh heh, yeah I-man, Jeff did kinda turn out cliche-ish ;) )

The Aerodyne touched down at the Palace landing pad. A moment later the doors dropped and Jeff, Katherine, the children, Niven and James and Christin walked out.

A couple of guards saluted Jeff as the group approached them. "Mr. President, we're glad you were able to make it without any difficulties."

Jeff saluted the pair back, "It's all right, I'm not President yet, you don't have to call me that."

"Of course Mr. President," the other guard said. "The guests are en route to Golden Agate for the ceremony, and we have people waiting to meet them at Golden Agate International's diplomatic airfield."

Jeff nods, "Well we should probably get inside, before god knows what happens here, actually happens."

((Those interested parties can go ahead and RP your arrivals, if you don't have an embassy here, then there will be rooms set up for your characters at the Pyramid Hotel))

Niven picked up Julie and followed behind the rest of the group. He was scanning the crowds nervously for any familiar faces....

Niven carried Julie into the Palace, the crowds were minimal, mostly people who were looking preparing the Palace for the upcoming party and swearing in ceremony.

Jeff led the group into the building and looked around at the people scurrying around trying to make last minute preparations for the ceremony. Jeff tried to stay out of everyone's way, deferring to the caterers when they asked questions, but being sure to point out that the Hell Bovinians really didn't need to see meat, and to take that damn veal off the menu!

He handed sleepy little Conner to James and walked around the rest of the wing they were in.

"And this is the elevator to your underground office. It's amazing, the screens illuminate the office like it's actual daylight, and they also give an exact view of what you would have seen from the old office."

Jeff wasn't to sure about being three stories underground...

Niven smiled "an underground office, swanky." He then patted Jeff on the back " Don't worry, you can move your office after you swear in. Just hand pick your body guards."

Jeff chuckled, "Well they did that to try and minimize the assassination attempts."

"And the guards will be available for your inspection after the celebration party," One guard said.

Jeff opened the elevator and stepped in with Niven, James and the guard. "Let's see what we've got."

Jeff hit the button and the elevator slipped down three stories and opened on a brightly lit circular room with a young woman with reddish blonde hair and green eyes woman at a desk seated in front of a door. The woman stood and smiled at the group as the doors opened.

"Hello, hello!" she smiled, "Mr. President, I'm Aimee and I'm your personal assistant. Your office is right this way."

Niven smiled a private smile and winked at Jeff.."Nice perks you have here."
"Hello Aimee, I am Dr. Niven. Perhaps we should have dinner after you get off work , and discuss the rigors of being a presidents assistant...."

"You must be Dr. Niven, I've heard about you. I'd love to go out for dinner after work, unfortunately I get off of work," she looked at her watch, "about 4 years from now. Unless you can convince my boss," she jerked her thumb at Jeff, "to give me a night off, I'm at his call 24-7."

She walked over to a wall and a bookshelf, she reached into a crevice in the wall and opened the door that was there, "here you go Mr. President."

The door opened into a large circular room, with 'windows' everywhere. The projections from the cameras above them were crystal clear, it actually looked like they could see outside. Jeff watched as the people on the screens moved effortlessly from one to the next.

"It's always easier to think you're above ground, instead of three stories down," Aimee said.

Jeff turned, with it's back to one screen, a dark mahogany desk sat. Across from the desk was a couch, love seat and five comfortable looking chairs seated around a large coffee table.

"And what's that door?" he asked pointing to the one back in the circular room.

"It leads to a secured meeting room. There's a lot of guards there, in case anyone mistakes it for your office and wants to come in shooting."

"And this one?" he asked motioning to the one near his desk.

"Your washroom sir, shower, change of clothing, dumbbell set and a bench in case you need a workout."

"Oh yeah, of course."

Looking at Aimee " I am sure that I have some small amount of influence with his majesty. I would be willing to bet that I could get you a day off..."

After the tour.

"With all of the items that they have placed here for you, it sounds as if they do not plan on you leaving very often.."

Looking at Aimee " I am sure that I have some small amount of influence with his majesty. I would be willing to bet that I could get you a day off..."

"That's true, I've heard you do have some influence over his thinking," she said with a grin at Jeff.

Jeff rolled his eyes, "Well who am I to deny it, take the night off tomorrow night, after the party.

"With all of the items that they have placed here for you, it sounds as if they do not plan on you leaving very often.."

"Well, he's going to be running the country, so we want to try and make him as comfortable as possible, plus we don't anticipate many times he'll need to run off and slay a dragon or something," Aimee said.

"Ohhh, you don't know me that well then," Jeff chuckled.

Smiling at Jeff "ah, thats my boy. Always willing to help out his old man." then turning to Aimee "So, do we have a date then ?"

After the dragon comment

Niven laughs loudly " You really have no idea what you have gotten yourself into with electing this young man to the presidency. On the upside, I doubt that you will be court marshalled for the next four years."

She turned to Niven, "I think we do."

-----

Aimee laughed at the court marshal statement and waved to the group, "I'll let you boys talk and I'll be out here if you need me."

She walked out of the room and Jeff sat down on one of the chairs around the coffee table.

"One heck of a deal I got myself into huh?"

Watching Aimee leave "at least the view is nice.."
Turning serious " I am sure that you can handle it. I am here to help you anyway you can, James has some experience as a ruler, your wife is quite wise, and you are no slacker.Buck up, you can do this."

"I know you guys are here to help, and I think that may be the only way I'll get through all of this. But I... god Dad, I'm not a leader," Jeff said looking around and finding the alcohol cabinet. He stood up and mad a few scotches for him, Niven and James. "You've seen my Academy record, the only thing I lived up to was being voted 'most likely to get court marshaled'," Jeff winked as he handed out the drinks.

Sipping the scotch "So if you don't want to do it, why are you ? You know they cant make you take office, just because you ran...."

That's a damn good question... Do I know?

Jeff rubbed his goatee as he thought a moment, "Because I think I can do some good for the country. It might go smoother if Katana had won and could continue his ideas, but that's why I'm keeping him on as Minister of State. 'They' can't make me take office, but the people believe in me, or at least the legend they have of me. I guess it's because so many of them have pinned their hopes of the next four years on me. After everything that's happened I guess I still have a sense of duty to Larkinia."

"Best damn reason I have ever heard. You are gonna be a fine president." He beemed proudly at his son.
"I am so proud of you right now that I could burst..."

"Thanks dad," Jeff smiled back at him, still a little nervous. "But let's see how I fare first before we get too proud of me, I might end up wrecking the economy and not even realize it. Then there's the whole diplomatic, international relations deal."

"Don't worry to much, the economy will wreck it's self." he said with a smile.

((I am out. gotta get some sleep))

"And speaking of International relations, the other diplomats should be arriving in Golden Agate soon, we'd better get ready, tomorrow's going to be a long day," Jeff replied with a small grin.

((Cool, so am I. Catch ya tomorrow!))

... James has some experience as a ruler...

((he does? :P))

James was sure to hand Conner off before descending into the depths of Larkinia's presidential palace.

"As I recall, Jeff," he piped up after touring silently, "international relations are your forte. Just look at the job you did bringing the New Highlands together."

... James has some experience as a ruler...

((he does? :P))

((Well, ya know, he was being kind.. :P ))

James was sure to hand Conner off before descending into the depths of Larkinia's presidential palace.

"As I recall, Jeff," he piped up after touring silently, "international relations are your forte. Just look at the job you did bringing the New Highlands together."

Jeff chuckled again, "I dunno about that. I just had a small part in that, it was you and Dad and.." he couldn't bring himself to say Grant's name. "Well, anyway, it was you guys and Roberto and Fortier that mostly had a hand in that.

"Besides, don't forget what happened in Effit because of my pride, the Imitorans ended up slapping Ibrahaim's boys around like a backyard b*tch.."

“No better than they deserved,” replied James with a wave of his hand. “The incident may have been innocent, but any sane person would have come straight out and said that. Especially with a creep like D’Analia hanging about. And don’t pretend like you had nothing to do with the New Highlands! If you hadn’t been there to save everyone at my coronation, Iansisle might never have sought an alliance with Larkinia!”

He grinned. “Of course, my saying this isn’t going to make you take any credit, is it? Not even with Dad’s support? That’s all right; I’ve been known to have very spirited discussions with brick walls.”

Jeff didn't wince when James dismissed the attack, But those were still people, they weren't responsible for the actions of their leadership..

"Awww, it wasn't just me that kept things at the coronation from going from bad to worse," Jeff said, "By the time we figured out what was going on the Jarlsbergian was long gone, only cause Ic was around were we able to locate him, much less get him back."

Jeff shrugged innocently, "What? Me take credit? OK, I'll admit that as a result of my charming personality I've done what little I could to help make Iansisle a little better place. I guess if nothing else can be said about me, I tried to do that.

"And hopefully I'm a little better conversationalist than a brick wall," Jeff added with a wink.

"And hopefully I'm a little better conversationalist than a brick wall," Jeff added with a wink.

Niven smiles "sometimes not by much, oh obstinent one..."

Niven smiles "sometimes not by much, oh obstinent one..."

"But at least you're a lot more interesting to look at," James added.

Jeff grins, "I feel the love from here guys. Well, as long as you look good, and look like you know what you're doing, you don't actually have to know what you're doing. Besides, I've always said Katherine's the real brains in the operation."

"You are a smart man then." Niven replys laughing. "I think I need to head over to the Golden Agate before long and start getting ready for the events to come."

"Well, I have my moments," Jeff said standing up, "shall we?" he added as he walked with the group back into the entryway and into the elevator.

As the elevator flew back above ground, the guard listened to his earpiece. "Mr. President. It appears your twins have decided to use your younger son as a hockey puck on the marble floor of the ballroom. The staff would like to ask you to talk to them about that."

James arched an eyebrow at the announcement. "Well..that certainly doesn't sound good."

The doors to the elevator whooshed open to the sounds of Conner, Marcus and Julie.

"Wheeee!!!"

Jeff walked into the ballroom to find Marcus and Julie holding large brooms, placing one under Conner and sliding him across the floor toward a make-shift goal made out of two chairs.

"That's it you three," Jeff said, "Julie, Marcus, hand 'em over. Conner, stand up."

The twins handed the brooms to Jeff while Conner stood up slowly.

"If you're gonna play hockey you gotta do it right, put a bunch of wax on the bottom of a platter and set him on the platter so he'll slide farther..." Jeff was telling them while the catering staff looked at each other nervously. "But for now, get cleaned up, we've got to get ready for a party tomorrow."

"OK," the three said as they started to walk away. Jeff held his arm out and caught the three, turning them towards the caterer.

"And what do we say for taking up this nice woman's time?"

"Sorry...." three voices said as they looked at their shoes.

Jeff hugged the kids, "Ok, get cleaned up."

"You may well be the best father in the history of the world." He hugs Jeff. Then calling to the children, "And remember that if you reall want to go for distance, use mops instead of brooms, you get more leverage."

James laughed nervously. He wanted to make sure Conner had come through the thing injury free, but was quite content to let Jeff get on with parenting. Even if he disapproved of some of the meathods.

((sorry to keep doing this to you guys...I have to be up in ~7 hours for work, and I hardly got any sleep last night. I'll have to put this off again 'till tomorrow :(. Later!))

PS: Larkinia's always welcome to play my characters...or Celeborne, if you care to take a crack at it. I'm not real picky ;)

Conner walked down the hall with the twins, looking fine, a little dizzy maybe but otherwise all right.

Jeff winked to Niven, "I dunno, I think I might be in the running against you for that title."

The group was met at the front entryway by three stretch SUV's. "Guys, you can either stay here with us for the night, or I've got reservations for you and the other diplomats at the Pyramid Hotel."

"Oh no. I may be the best grandfather in the world, but I am definately secound place when it comes to being a dad." Then with a wink "But I am catching up to you fast..."

" I think I will stay at the Pyramid, I have done my time in presidental estates, and I would like the chance to meet some of my fellow diplomats."

Jeff nods, "That sounds good to me. And you?" He asked turning to James.

"Ummm, Cris and I will be going as well. I've got some... things to do," James said.

"I ... see," Jeff said. "OK you guys, I'll see you tomorrow, well.. here then."

Niven and James and Christin were led into one stretch SUV and driven into Golden Agate to the Pyramid Hotel, where the other diplomats were staying.

Niven relaxes in the SUV " So, James, how long do you think we have before Jeff gets attacked by aliens ?" Turning a bit more serious " I am very pleased that he won, but I hope his security forces are up to the challenge. He is going to be one hell of a target being so much in the public eye.... I think I am going to have a hospital built here in Larkina, just in case..." There was no humor in his eyes.

James had a quick fit of laughter, "I'm giving odds he doesn't get through the ceremony without something happening."

He looked out as the forest quickly turned into skyscrapers and business buildings as the limo entered the city, "That might not be a bad idea. He's always attracted trouble, and the trouble here is a lot more dangerous than the trouble back in Iansisle. I think he might need some, special medical attention. Maybe they'll let you add on to the Palace?"

" I will make that suggestion first thing in the morning. Tonight , however I think I am going to visit the bar and relax a bit. It has been a busy few weeks and I need a vacation."

"That's a good idea dad," James said as Christin snuggled into him,"It has been a long few weeks..

"I think Cris and I will just go to our suite and relax tonight. It's going to be a long day tomorrow if I know Jeff."

" Yes, I think that tomorrow will be very busy indeed. Between the partys, and the endless meeting of diplomats, and then that date that I setup, I think that it will be very late before I find a bed."

"And who knows who's bed it will be?" Christin asked with a wink as the limo pulled up to the hotel.

The hotel staff opened the doors and helped Niven, James and Christin out. "We were called about your arrival," the concierge said, "Here are your room keys," he added handing each of them a card, "And your suites are on the top floor."

James looked at the card, "I think there's been some mistake, this isn't a key.. it's a card.."

Christin interrupted him, "Don't worry love, I'll show you how to use it."

The plane started to descend into Larkinian Airspace. On board, Dark Prince Damien Alexander Black tapped his fingers idly, and cursed the fate that had detached him from his entourage and supporters. "Damn Daniel telling mother I needed a vacation... damn him! Without me, Kroenen and his Nazis will have noone looking after them... who knows what they'd get up to?"

They landed at the central airport, and Damien Black opened the door, leaping outside even though the plane had yet to slow down entirely. He rolled easily, and stood up, dusting some minor specks off of his 'stainproof' shirt. "Hmmm...stains. I'll have to kill the manufacturer." His opera cape floating behind him, and his black and white hair combed carefully back into place, he turned and started to stride for the waiting official vehicle.

http://www.btinternet.com/~daquake/films/blackjack/bj.gif

"Sometimes I really miss Iansisle, there is something special about metal keys and paperbooks that all of the electronics in the world could never replace. I know this may seem strange coming from me, but there is a real sense of security in the sound of a key tumbling a lock...Oh well" He accepts the card key and wanders into the hotel.

The honor guard saluted Prince Black as he approached them, "Your majesty, we're your official escort to the Pyramid Hotel, where the dignitaries' reservations have been made. If you'll follow me," the captain said motioning to a stretch Navigator behind him, "You're ride is ready."

-----

James and Christin laugh as the three walk into the hotel.

"Dad, we'll catch you later, we're going up to the room and relaxing. We'll see you later!" James smiled at him.

He snapped his hand up at an angle, and gave a quick fascist salute. "My thanks, Captain. Might I ask when the inaguration will be?" The Dark Prince asked, keeping his boredom in check as he looked around at the primitive facilties. Hmph. I give mother's regards, pass on the congratulations of Cartwright, and go for one week without killing people who fail me... I can do this.

He got in the Navigator, and looked out at the city. I have to call Kroenen as soon as I get the chance...

Niven took up post at the bar, and began crowd watching and enjoying the first brandy of the evening.."I wish Tri was here." Niven began to realize how much Iansisle had become home in the past few years..Odd that.
Niven watched as a fetching young lady danced through the hotel lobby, she was hardly the normal guest for these affairs...Were those red dreddlocks.....

(primitive? D'Oh! I knew I should have switched all of the limos over to aerodynes. ;) )

"The inauguration is tomorrow afternoon, your majesty," the captain replied before making sure Prince Black's door was secured. He turned to the driver, "Make sure the trip is incident free. We'll be escorting you."

The Navigator pulled out of the private airfield and was quickly on the freeway heading into Golden Agate, surrounded by military security vehicles, lights twirling as they passed through the checkpoints.

Soon the Navigator slid through the Corporate Zone of the city, the skyscrapers shining in the evening sun as people started leaving their offices for the day. The limo stopped in front of a pyramid shaped hotel. The staff, fresh off of seeing Niven and James to their locales, quickly opened the door to the limo and moved to get the Prince's luggage (if any) from the back.

"Welcome to Golden Agate, your majesty," the concierge said with a bow, "You're suite is ready, the other dignitaries are mingling in the bar. Here is the key to your suite. My name's Tarin and I'm at your service."

-----

The waiter handed Niven another brandy as his first was drained. "With our compliments sir."

"Thank you, do you think I could have some dinner delivered to the bar? " he placed a sum that equaled the waiters monthly wages on th etray as a tip.
Who was that girl...
She had stopped in the lobby and was staring at him..

The waiters eyes grew large at the sight of the tip,"Of course sir," he said quickly pocketing the tip, "I'll bring a menu right away."

He looked up at the skyscrapers, distinctly unimpressed. For someone who spent most of his time in Port Agua, a city of 65 million people and a hub of commerce across the entire pacific, most places were boring. He looked over at Tarin, and himself gave a small bow, more out of politeness than anything else.

"Why, yes, Mr. Tarin...I was wondering if you had any idea how many people lived in this city?" He asked. "I'd say... about twenty million? Maybe a bit more or less?" He looked at the various delegates, and saw that they were mostly old or middle aged men, none of whom had any military bearing whatsoever. As I expected...if there isn't someone my age, or at least a soldier, to talk to, I'll go crazy.

"Yes your majesty, there are 45 million in the city proper. The executive sectors and general sectors to the north house most of them. In the arcologies and suburbs outlying Golden Agate there are another 15-20 million or so, depending on which corporations you ask at which times."

(( I am going to post the bar scene between Niven and Felicity in my thread so as not to clog this one up.))

He nodded his approval, and pocketed the keys. "My thanks... I'm just wondering, is there anyone here to talk to who is not ..." he narrowed his eyes, and looked into the bar, "old enough to be my grandfather?" He looked bemused. When I get back to the Stronghold, I'm going to have a talk with my brother... "Or any place I can go to find some... conversation that is not purely going to be about aches and pains in the lower back?"

((No worries Cele, I'm looking forward to seeing how Niven deals with her. ;) ))

-----

"Of... Of course your majesty," Tarin said, mind quickly running through the possibilities. Black looked like someone more inclined to... well, have someone flogged than he would be one of the sports fans at the sports pub, so they were right out.

The strip clubs? He might enjoy himself, but that could cause an international incident, and that's the last thing the new President needed right now, with his background the President would be causing enough of those soon enough during his tenure.

"What would interest your majesty?"

Damien smiled, a dark, callous smile. "Fencing," he said, his arm aching from not having his beloved rapier at hand. "But, that aside... surely there must be some other young men or women here?" The young man asked, starting a mental count of the days until he could return to the Divine Imperium, and his training room.

"Fencing..." Tarin said thoughtfully, "We have a bushido dojo in the upper floors, while not european fencing, there is a training staff up there should you require use of the facility."

Damien's lip curled at the very mention of 'bushido'. He had no time for such pleasantries of honour, and even less for its practitioners. Nonetheless, he bowed anyway. "My thanks..." he said, deciding he might as well give it a go. With a sigh, he made a few wads of currency appear in his hand, and passed it to Tarin. "I might go and grab a drink..."

"Yes your majesty," Tarin said, bowing again.

Damien walked into the bar, collected his drink, and then started to tap his fingers, hoping for something to break the monotony.

While Damien collected his drink, the roar of a Ducati cycle was heard coming from outside the front doors. Soon, Tarin was busy meeting another of the guests on the list. A young, 30-ish looking black man in a dark suit with his unit insignia on the sleeve.

"Ah, Captain Markson, how are you doing this evening?" Tarin asked the man.

http://www.geocities.com/larkinia/markson2.jpg

Christopher Markson smiled at the concierge, "I'm doing all right," he said dismounting the bike and tossing the keys to one of the men in the foyer while Tarin collected the saddlebags.

"I'll have your bags taken to your suite right away sir."

Chris smiled as he took the key and tipped the man.

"Thanks, I'll be in the bar if anyone needs me..."

Wow, look at the hottie with Dr. Niven, there's something about red-heads with dreads that .... Mmmmm! he thought as he sat down at the bar and ordered a martini.

Damien looked over at the newcomer, and raised an eyebrow. Well, well, well... it's a good thing Kroenen wasn't here... he thought, smirking.

However, not seeing anyone else of interest, he quickly did a spot-check for National Socialist imagery on his uniform. Content that he had not brought any, he slid over to the black man. "Blessings be upon you..." he looked at the insignia, and fought the smirk away, seeing that it was a soldier "Captain."

Blessings be upon... that's a new one.

"And to you also sir," Chris said with a smile to the man. He quickly saluted the man, "Captain Christopher Markson, Larkinian Naval Command."

Damien's muscle twitched with the urge to extend his arm to the fascist salute, but he stopped himself and instead stood up, hit his right hand over his left breast, and then extended it downwards in an Imperial Legion Salute. "Prince Damien Alexander Black of the Divine Imperium of Novar Ohan. Commissar, 1st Class, 2nd Legion."


((The salute is essentially the fascist/Roman salute, only downwards instead of upwards. The theory behind it is that it's easier to go for your sword if your hand is low. The officer class came up with it. And, I need sleep. G'night.))

(OOC: Sorry about that delay and quicky-made tag. I've been sick all week with a strong flu and I have also been forced to continue with my usual life because of many tests that forbade me to stay at home. what means I've been very tired and busy! My kingdom [or I should say Grand Duchy] for some spare time, I'd scream!)

IC:
The duque Mooo IV was sad that Takeo hadn't won the elections. But at least the dreaded and hated Harrison hadn't either. It was, still, a pity. Williams seemed to be a sensible man, indeed, but the duque feared that the project of Third World Unity he and Takeo had worked so hard to achieve was now to proceed at perhaps a slower rate.
He decided that it would be correct to write Takeo a letter to, at least, apologise for the disastrous and self-embarrasing picnic. But also, other things threathened the duque. He knew that he wouldn't live much longer, at least not mentally sane. He was an old ruler and he couldn't handle his nation anymore. How long would he wait to abdicate and call to elections? Who would suceed him? (Yes, this is preparation for a future RP :wink: )
He cleared his grim thoughts with a shake of his head and turned to the duty of writing the letters:


To the honorable elected president Jeffrey Williams,

I, duque Mooo IV of Hell Bovines, salute you and your nation in such important ocassion. As a close friend of the Larkinian people, I will be honored to assist to the ceremony where you shall adquire the title the people of Larkinia embroided you with. May I only congratulate you on such joyful ocassion and hope the hell bovinian-lakinian friendship remains as strong as ever. Yours faithfully,

Mooo IV, Duque of Hell Bovines
PS - I would apreciate if you avoid serving meat to me or my diplomats. Thanks in advance.

Then, he proceeded to write to Takeo

Dear Takeo,
With sadness I received the news of your defeat in the elections, but with happiness those of your recovery, friend, for in Hell Bovines it was difficult to find a citizen not concerned with your situation.
Indeed the tides of time seem to continue its incesant movement, yet I hope Williams doesn't undo all we, with the help of Tanah Burung, Ziobia, Xikuang, Iansisle and many others, helped to achieve - Third World Unity.
It was and is our common desire and is the one that gave us the ocasion to meet and become friends.
I also wanted to apologise for the disaster that the Picnic for Peace turned into. I can testify that both me and my delegations went with the best intentions, yet Harrison seemed to be more concerned about offending us and ruining the picnic, rather than praying for the recovery. But I accept the blame, I might have over-reacted and let myself and my delegation driven by rage, what, I promise, will try not to let happen again.
Perhaps I could come to pay a visit to your condo, just for the sake of old times, eh?
Anyway, take care friend and don't let this defeat depress you. When you fall of the horse, you gotta jump right on it again, as my mother used to said. Best wishes from a friend to another,

Milky Spottedcrown

He then begun his way torwards the airport. A few hours later, the old government blimp, The Winged Cow, was flying though Larkinian airspace, with the duque and ambassador Bumpo Blackspots (with his new flamant green eyes :P ) inside it.

OOC: Just to let Lark know I'm on, I suppose.

(OOC: Sorry guys, on the back end of a couple of hectic hours here at work, I'll have responses for y'all soon.)

Chris bowed to Prince Damien, "It's a pleasure to meet you, your majesty," he said with a smile. "did you just arrive in Golden Agate?"

-----

Takeo read the Duque's letter with a smile and quickly wrote a reply.

Duque,
It was wonderful to read your letter. Thank the Hell Bovinian citizens for their concern, while I am also sad that I lost the election I am glad to have recovered my health.

I also hope that Williams does not alter the course I've set for Larkinia. He is keeping me on as Minister of State, so I will be able to nudge him when necessary.

You do not need to apologize for what happened at the Picnic for Peace. I heard it was a very interesting time. I'm sure Harrison was doing nothing more than trying to start a riot to gain points in the election. I'm glad to see that it backfired on him.

Feel free to visit my condo whenever you are in Golden Agate. Perhaps after the ceremony we can have a couple of drinks there.

Takeo

-----

The Flying Cow was given clearance to land at the Hell Bovinian Embassy when it entered Larkinian airspace.

"Ten minutes ago," Damien said, sipping his wineglass. Okay, a week until I can get a decent glass of wine.

(LOL, trust me, if there anything Larkinians can make, it's alcohol. Years of RL taste-testing and trial and error if nothing else... ;) )

"I see, are you planning to stay long after the ceremony or is your schedule fairly tight?"

((The Imperial Palace has wine hundreds of years old in its cellars. Making poor quality wine is a hanging offense. Damien is semi-xenophobic.))

"I'm here for a week, it seems."

((Hey, I can understand the bad wine being a hanging offense, first you hang them then you smack them around like a pinata... ;) )

"Well I hope you enjoy your stay here. Are you planning on taking in any skiing on the Eastern Ridge? Or is this a working vacation after the ceremony's over?"

"If I had half a chance, I'd have brought my entourage with me. As it is, however, I can only hope that the NSIWP isn't doing too much damage back home..." he raised an eyebrow. "Skiing?"


((No, first we hang them, then we shoot them, then we bring them back to life, and then we shoot them again, before tossing their still living bodies into an acid bath.))

"Yes your majesty," Chris said, "There's some excellent skiing and snowboarding in the Eastern Ridge resort area. Jeff and I would go skiing all the time on breaks from the Academy."

-----

"Welcome back to KLRK-FM. And now we have a special request song for our new president-elect. Fresh from the recording studio in time for the inauguration ceremony is Yellow Dancer's latest hit..."

After all of the battles are over,
After all of the fighting is done,
Will you be the one
To find yourself alone with your heart?
Looking for the answer....

Jeff was standing out on the balcony, looking into the mountains with the radio playing softly in the background when Katherine walked out.

"The kids are finally asleep, took some time. How are you doing?" she asked as she hugged him.

When it feels like tomorrow will never come,
When it seems like the night would not end,
Can you pretend
That you're really not alone?

"I'm all right, just listening to the radio. Trying to clear my head for tomorrow." Jeff said as he hugged her back.

You're out here on your own.
Lonely soldier boy.
You're out here on your own.
Lonely soldier boy.
Yes I'm lonely,
But are you alone?
Lonely soldier boy.
With all the glory,
Without the joy -
A lonely soldier boy...

"Sounds interesting, Captain," Damien said. Being from a desert city, he had only ever seen snow once in his life, on a trip up to Derricks. But he was certain that he could ski with the best of them. Besides, snow looks like it would offer grand oppurtunities for concealment. "What is life like in the Principality of Larkinia?"

...When you fall of the horse, you gotta jump right on it again, as my mother used to said.

((poor horse! I certainly wouldn't want a Hell Bovine jumping on me, no matter what the circumstances! :P

Grr...I really want to drop a character into the bar, but I'm about to shove off and I don't want to bite off anything I can't chew. Another day - this weekend - perhaps :())

"Sounds interesting, Captain," Damien said. Being from a desert city, he had only ever seen snow once in his life, on a trip up to Derricks. But he was certain that he could ski with the best of them. Besides, snow looks like it would offer grand oppurtunities for concealment. "What is life like in the Principality of Larkinia?"

"Well if you can cut your business trip short here, you can sneak in a couple of days skiing, it's well worth it!

"As for life out here, it's pretty nice. Since Katana won the presidency and fought back General Grant, the former leader who refused to accept the election results, things are getting better. Businesses are prospering again, some are the hubs for the regions industry. The people feel safe again."

Swallowbank House, Great Walmington

“What’s this?”

“Ah, it’s Sir Talfryn’s inbox, Prime Minister...” The civil servant offered with some caution, it seemed obvious...

“Well that’s no use! He’s been in London for the last two days, and he shan’t be back this week, what if there’s something important here?”

The young man didn’t challenge Mainwaring’s gathering-up of the papers, despite the questionable legality of reading them, which the PM clearly meant to do as he returned to his office and the waiting Deputy PM.

“An invitation to Golden Agate for the swearing in of Larkinia’s new president. President? Are they a republic, now?”

DPM Wilson gave his usual aloof none committal shrug before apparently processing the information.

“Oh! Flash Williams! Of course!”

Mainwaring looked to his deputy with some disapproval.

“Flash Williams? I think you’ve been reading too many of Chaspot’s comics. You know, those things give a very distorted view. It’s all Flash this and Atomic that.”

“Yes.” Said Wilson. “Tarriff’s a war hero, dear old Godfrey might as well be twenty-seven, and of course you’ve not been characatured, yet, have you, sir?”

Mainwaring chewed his tongue for a moment before changing the subject.

“Well, Cheeseman can’t go, he’s negotiating to bring Britain into the war.” He said of the American war as if the Deputy PM wouldn’t know this already.

“I suppose we’ll have to send the Foreign Minister.” Mainwaring offered turning his nose up a bit as he checked Wilson’s reaction.

“I suppose we’ll have to.” Came the eventual reply from Walmington’s Deputy PM and, until recently, Foreign Minister.

Kenilworth, WoS

“...and for Heaven’s sake, no port!”

Baron Thunder-ten-tronckh concluded the body of what he wanted put into his reply to the invite handed to him. He didn’t want any reminders of Wayne’s company. That meant no port, no gin, no brandy, no bitter, no whisky or whiskey. No cider! A little harsh, perhaps, considering Sir Henry Chaspot Wayne’s role in getting the baron appointed to the Ministry for Foreign Affairs. The Larkinians would have something to drink, probably. Perhaps lager, Wayne never touched that, too continental, he said.

The next day, for he’d heard late owing to all the confusion, Baron (Alan) Thunder-ten-tronckh was bound for Larkinia. Sir Henry’s hand struck again, ensuring that his friend travelled aboard Wychwood Automation’s still secretive pride and joy, a prototype airliner based on the Jet Bomber Mark I Partridge. Powered by four Wychwood Automation 2-WX 12,000lb turbojets, Thunder-ten-tronckh’s ride would carry him at over five hundred miles per hour, meaning that a pair of JFMkIII Hussar had to provide his escort.

Of course, the Americans had nothing capable of catching the transport, and anything that could come close had long since fallen to the RWAF, but the peace with the Nazis remained delicate, and everyone had heard horror stories about what the Luftwaffe was capable of. The Atlantic was still considered a dangerous place, even forty thousand-foot above sea level.

OOC: Damnit, howd I miss this...Oh well. With Chris becoming the new FS of Imitora, things might become intresting. I'll try to catch up, but I doubt I'll be able too...is Harrison still alive?

[b]"Oh man... and I was hoping to kiss a boy finally."

"What??!?!" Jeff turned back to look at her again. Julie just smiled at Jeff innocently.

He turned to Katherine and Niven, "Remind me to double her security."

OOC: How old is she?

"Yeah, any advice dad? I don't know the first thing about being a president."

An Imitoran Political Parable:

When entering office, a first speaker was told by his predacesor that there are two letters for him in the desk. When he gets in trouble the first time, open the first letter. When he gets in trouble a second time, open the second. Well, it wasn't to long before the First Speaker needed to open the first letter. He opened it, and written on the paper in red ink was 'blame everything on me'. So, he did, and the First Speaker was off the hook. However, it wasn't long before he was in trouble again. He opened the second letter, and red it. Written on it was a simple phrase: "Write two letters..."

Looking most unregal (though that was hardly an unusual state for the man who wished he wasn’t king) His Iansislean Majesty, Protector of the Empire of the Shield and the King of Shadoran, stumbled into the bar. His medium brown hair, usually mussed, was especially disorganized, and much more so than it had been on his arrival to Golden Agate.

“Hello,” he started to greet the bartender. “I need two...” James’ voice trailed off as he spotted a familiar face from the corner of his eye. “Why, if it isn’t Com - no, Captain Markson! It’s good to see you again, Chris!” He walked over and clasped Chris’ hand firmly.

Looking most unregal (though that was hardly an unusual state for the man who wished he wasn’t king) His Iansislean Majesty, Protector of the Empire of the Shield and the King of Shadoran, stumbled into the bar. His medium brown hair, usually mussed, was especially disorganized, and much more so than it had been on his arrival to Golden Agate.

“Hello,” he started to greet the bartender. “I need two...” James’ voice trailed off as he spotted a familiar face from the corner of his eye. “Why, if it isn’t Com - no, Captain Markson! It’s good to see you again, Chris!” He walked over and clasped Chris’ hand firmly.

((LOL< Well I see Christin's been ... busy, with him! ;) And Imi, feel free to send anyone you want to! I hadn't seen you on much and I was hoping you'd be able to get on in time for this!))

"Your majesty," Chris said with a smile, "It's wonderful to see you again. How's Christin doing? How are things in Iansisle?

"So I have to ask, did you have anything to do with this fool actually getting elected President?

[b]"Oh man... and I was hoping to kiss a boy finally."

"What??!?!" Jeff turned back to look at her again. Julie just smiled at Jeff innocently.

He turned to Katherine and Niven, "Remind me to double her security."

OOC: How old is she?

She and Marcus are eight.. *does math quickly, Conner should be 4, he was a newborn when TPTB started, plus the four years in the time jump...*, yeah, 8 almost 9

*And speaking of alcohol, I think the forum's been drinking without us again...*

“...and for Heaven’s sake, no port!”

Baron Thunder-ten-tronckh concluded the body of what he wanted put into his reply to the invite handed to him. He didn’t want any reminders of Wayne’s company. That meant no port, no gin, no brandy, no bitter, no whisky or whiskey. No cider! A little harsh, perhaps, considering Sir Henry Chaspot Wayne’s role in getting the baron appointed to the Ministry for Foreign Affairs. The Larkinians would have something to drink, probably. Perhaps lager, Wayne never touched that, too continental, he said.

The caterer read the list of requirements for the Baron's table. Damn, ok, looks like Vodka martini's, ales and stout for this table. Maybe some tequila, although she wondered how the man would react to that..

Damien sipped his wine, and then blinked as he watched the King of Ianisle stagger in, like a common man. Indeed, he had to check to make sure that was the king of Ianisle. "Your Majesty..." He said, rising to his feet and bowing low.

((Larkinia, I started the RP...))

"Your majesty," Chris said with a smile, "It's wonderful to see you again. How's Christin doing? How are things in Iansisle?

"So I have to ask, did you have anything to do with this fool actually getting elected President?

"I'm doing just fine and dandy, thanks," he smiled. "Iansisle? Things stumble on much the same way they always have. Slightly little troubling if your namesakes obligate you to be a better reformer." He laughed, then suddenly noticed a new man bowing off in the corner.

"Hello..." James started to say, before realizing that he didn't recognize the man. Suddenly self-concious, James tried to smooth down his rebellious hair, tuck in the tag on his Larkinian manufacture shirt, and straighten his belt all at once.

Chris turned to James, "Your Majesty, this is Prince Damien Alexander Black of the Divine Imperium of Novar Ohan. Commissar, 1st Class, 2nd Legion." He then turned to Damien, "Your Majesty, this is King James Callahan the Third, Protector of the Empire of the Shield and the King of Shadoran."

Chris sipped his drink to let his tongue recover after the introductions.

Damien smoothed back his own black and white hair, quite pleased at the general effect he gave. "I am always pleased to give my mother's greetings to other members of the aristocratic class...my mother being Malissa Lucille Black, Kaiserin of Novar Ohan." He waved his hand dismissively. "A title which carries with it the roles of Princess of Roania, Liege-Lady of the Grand Duchy of Agua, Overlady of the Archduchy of Derricks, Lady Protector of the People's Politburo of Altara, and Tsarina of the Western Isles."

He sipped his own drink, and continued. "Mostly empty titles, as our federated Imperium makes the old German Empire look united." He sighed, and shook his head. "I'm here, though, as the emissary of Prime Minister Cartwright to the election of the new President of Larkinia. Our Foriegn Minister broke his leg."

“Your Highness,” replied James, a little more stiffly than he had in greeting Chris. “I do hope you’ll forgive my appearance; I wasn’t aware the other international delegates had begun to arrive.” He wasn’t quite able to achieve the full regal bearing he had hoped; somehow, being dressed in a cheap Larkinian tee shirt and shorts undercut his dignity.

“I’m sorry to hear about your foreign minister. This political mosaic we play in is so dreadfully complicated, I’m just not sure what I’d do without a guide.” James laughed slightly; perhaps that obtuse comment was meant as a joke. “Would you gentlemen mind terribly if I joined you?”

Damien took the promotion he had been granted as his due. It is odd how foreigners use different words to mean the same thing. In the Imperium, I am 'Your Grace'...here in Larkinia, I seem to be 'Your Majesty', and in Ianisle I would be 'Your Highness'. But, is that not what I am? After all, it is I who will ascend to the Imperial Diadem, and the National Socialist Imperial Worker's Party which will take me there...'Your Highness'...soon, it will be 'Your Imperial Highness...'

He looked the King over. Hardly very regal, is he? "Why, not at all... please, do join us, Your Majesty."

"Thank you," replied James. He glanced over at the bartender. "A glass of anything you have from the Jaizar valley. And would you please send a boy to my room to tell Her Majesty that I shall be drinking here?"

Returning to Damien, he studied the man's face very carefully. Rather confident, isn't he? Not quite smug - not quite, but close. I shall have to watch myself about this one; the dignity of the Empire is at stake, and I have already given it such a terrible shake.

"The Imperium, if I may infer, Your Highness, does not put much stock in its noblemen and women?" James asked Damien. He was as afraid of letting the conversation lapse as he was of saying to further trample on the dignity of his ancestors.

The Flying Cow was given clearance to land at the Hell Bovinian Embassy when it entered Larkinian airspace.

The airship silently touched land and from the inside its passangers slowly descended. Among them, The Duque Mooo IV and ambassadors Bumpo Blackspots and Fernando Vaca Narvaja.
"It's been a while since I've been here", the duque said.

And would you please send a boy to my room to tell Her Majesty that I shall be drinking here?"

OOC: For some odd reason, I have the strangest feeling that the reason Christin isn't here right now involves Jim Carrey in Liar Liar saying..."I've had better..."

IC:

There was no 777. No fighter escort, no warning of an incomming squadron or three of Ravens, nothing, to anounce the arrival of an Imitoran delegate. It was an election month, and therefore, things were focused on home matters. However, First Speaker Griffin, still overjoyed that his oponents had yet to find a candidate, did manage to grab a name out of his file system of everyone employed by the government, and sent the order to have him shipped of to Larkinia to atleast make an appearnce. Fasionably late an all.

The Eagle Air 747 touched down in Larkina, and the delegate kept quiet. No fancy limmos, no name cards, no bands or flags, nothing. He wore a simple black tshirt and a pair of olive drab cargo pants. Shoes were a pair of well worn Nikes.

He called a cab, and asked to be delivered to *insert name of location where everyone is here*, and paid his fee, leaving the driver with a rather large tip. "Go have a good time," he said, stepping out of the cab. His luggage was a simple duffle bag.

Then, with a touch of ease, he managed to (with all due respect in your security Lark, you know I got nothgin but love) slip past all forms of gaurds, security, and the like. But then again, that was his job. Among other forms of all nasty doings.

Still wearing the shirt and cargos, he motioned over to a young waiter, and handed him another wad of cash. "See those two over there," he said, pointing to James and Damien. "I want you to do me a favor. Go over there, and introduce me to them. I need you to give them my title though, ok?"

The waiter nodded, as the man handed him a piece of paper. On it was written his full and granted title. The supreme being of operations of a nature other than overt, master of the darkness, bringer of pain, formally of another world beyond which minds can comprehend, no longer late (as in dead), master of all that is the end, and ultimate kicker of ass Sgt. Norman 'Hoot' Gibbson. (http://www.universohq.com/cinema/images/eric.jpg)

The waiter nods and walks over to James and Damien, "Your Majesties, the gentleman over there wouls like me to give a formal introduction to you both. Please allow me to introduce, "The supreme being of operations of a nature other than overt, master of the darkness, bringer of pain, formally of another world beyond which minds can comprehend, no longer late (as in dead), master of all that is the end, and ultimate kicker of ass Sgt. Norman 'Hoot' Gibbson." to you gentlemen," he said as he introduced Hoot to James and Damien.

"Thank you," replied James. He glanced over at the bartender. "A glass of anything you have from the Jaizar valley. And would you please send a boy to my room to tell Her Majesty that I shall be drinking here?"

Returning to Damien, he studied the man's face very carefully. Rather confident, isn't he? Not quite smug - not quite, but close. I shall have to watch myself about this one; the dignity of the Empire is at stake, and I have already given it such a terrible shake.

"The Imperium, if I may infer, Your Highness, does not put much stock in its noblemen and women?" James asked Damien. He was as afraid of letting the conversation lapse as he was of saying to further trample on the dignity of his ancestors.

"Absolutely. Except for Prime Minister Harold Cartwright, the 7th Earl of Rossiya. And Foriegn Minister Simon Darquis II, whose family has ruled the Archduchy of Derricks for longer than there's been an Imperium...oh, and our Minister for Industrial Matters, Leopold von Agua, who has ruled the Grand Duchy of Agua and Roslin as Grand Duke since his cousins perished in that frightful civil war... oh, and the Interior Minister, Baron Ivan Merkenoff." Damien paused. "Oh, and the Imperial Family, of course."

He sipped his wine, warming to it. "And there's the 200 Higher Nobles, who have seats in the Upper House of the Imperial Parliament, of course... but the Squires and Barons who make up the Upper Houses of the Duchies? I pay them no heed." He rolled his eyes. "The common people are frightfully dull...they'll vote, en masse, for whoever they think will improve their lives the most. Frightful oppurtunists. I myself am working to disassociate the nobles with government, with my support for the NSIWP."

Damien looked up at the waiter, and raised an eyebrow. "I see..." he said, his eyes cold. "Well, you can welcome Mr. End of All over here...and introduce me to him as the One True Heir of Dark Prince Alexander Black, possessor of the Black Family Legacy, and Master of the Immeasurable Abyss."

He looked over to James. "My studies have a bit of an...esoteric bent...until the matter of the succession is decided between myself and my weak older brother, I have little else to do."

*wow... a double post, what a shock! *Grumbles about forums**

"I.. Yes your majesty," the waiter said before walking back over to Hoot, "Sir, the gentleman on the left, would like you to know he is the "One True Heir of Dark Prince Alexander Black, possessor of the Black Family Legacy, and Master of the Immeasurable Abyss" and the gentleman on the right annouced his title as, 'You’re damn lucky we’re not anywhere I may have had you strung up like you so richly deserve,' would like to welcome you over to sit with them."

*and a triple post.. ugh :roll: *

“You talk as though the nobles are still quite the force,” replied James, sipping whatever had been brought him. He wasn’t terribly picky about drink selection, as long as it didn’t come from the ever so politically correct Javian kingdom. “Indeed, they sound even more enfranchised than most parts of my own realm. Granted, I speak only on the Imperial level; certain member kingdoms, particularly Weshield and Wyclyfe, have chosen to allow their notables greater political rights than my ancestors thought Shadoran’s might be trusted to hold.”

James’ long, rambling sentence was interrupted by a waiter before he could truly start to expound on the finer nuances of Shieldian politics. He looked out the corner of his eye and caught sight of the man by whom the messenger had been sent. If James’ manner had already gone from openly friendly to a cautious formal, the man he beheld turned it to an almost frightening ice.

“And you may announce me as ‘You’re damn lucky we’re not anywhere I may have had you strung up like you so richly deserve,’” James added after Damien had spoken his piece. He (very) deliberately turned his back to Hoot and focused with a renewed enthusiasm upon the prince.

“I believe you were saying, Your Highness, something of the ‘NSIWP’? I hope you’ll pardon my ignorance, but I’ve not the slightest clue as to that acronym.”

After the change of subject: “I take it, then, that this right of succession is implied rather than enumerated? An interesting concept: does it lead to many power struggles?”

Damien chuckled. "Quite the same, indeed...however, in the Imperium things have been different. My grandfather of... memory," he said, omitting the word 'blessed' for reasons anyone who had known of Alexander would understand, "created democracy in the Imperium in order to allow the Aristocracy to retain its glamour and essentially to lower the burden on us. He was the one who set up the House of Burghers... so far, more and more citizens are entering the government...sadly, once elected, Prime Ministers and the like have little intention of soiling themself with actual work, and now the actual running of the Divine Imperium has fallen upon the Servants of the Imperial Diadem...what you would call the Civil Service, perhaps."

He listened to James's remark, and nodded his approval, though personally he'd prefer to settle the matter with a duel. No seconds. Then he looked around at the mention of the NSIWP, and leaned forward conspiratorily. "NSIWP stands for National Socialist Imperial Worker's Party... an interesting little organisation, to be sure. Their...oh, what's his title? He has some title... Fuhrer, that's right, has promised me his support in the Parliament." He raised an eyebrow, wondering what the King of Ianisle would have to say about that... After all, just because they made a truce with Der Kriegsmarine...

He sighed. "I'm afraid that it is the Parliament who decides which member of the Imperial House takes the Imperial Diadem... and the choice is between me, and my weakling of an older brother."

“National Socialist?” James’ eyes narrowed. He had to force himself not to be instantly and unreservedly on guard. Countries came in all forms and breeds; nothing definitely linked the prince to Europe’s latest would-be dictator. “If Your Highness wouldn’t mind me saying so, making a pact with the proponents of such Jerry rubbish is simply asking for trouble.”

Perhaps a little too harsh, though James, But he ought to know that listening to such fool-hardy theories could only result in his country being the next Ercolana! Besides, if he were trying to find allies for his totalitarian friends in libertarian Iansisle - hah!

((hope you don’t mind; I’m going to ignore that last part for a bit. Presumably, it would be hard to pick up friendly banter after a revelation such as this ;)))

((Right...of course, the difference between Roania and Ercolana, is that Ercolana lost a war. The Divine Imperium is a small, compact, well defended continent, with an army that's never been bested in the field and the largest navy in the North Pacific...especially since the Americans were taken out of the equation. However, external ambitions are limited, and the Divine Imperium is more following the Tsarist route of pacifying its own backyard, i.e. the Jungles and the Northern Micronesian Islands...))

Damien raised an eyebrow. "Something the matter, Your Majesty? I'll have you know that my family can be traced through blood-links and marriage to the Kings of Prussia, and the Emperors of Austro-Hungary. Or did my mother's title not spark anything with you? 'Kaiserin'? Hmm...?" He was coldly hostile for a second, but then he laughed. "Besides, they are little more than a means to an end. After Kroenen chooses me as Heir, and I've sent my brother elsewhere, I'll no longer need him and his pathetic Nasos." His laughter ended. "Let them have their Gestapo, and their death camps. Let Kroenen call himself 'Leader'. True power will belong to me, not to some jumped-up colonial Lieutenant," he said, his voice low and solid, his words travelling only to James. They would have been frightening from a madman.

As it was, Damien's voice was that of a cold, calculating man, who had already seen the shape of the future, and was quite happy with where it was heading. The war showed that the democracies can not work together. And it also showed that the Military can not rule. It's time to return to what all know is true... that only those blessed by God can rule.

Chris looked over from the young lady he was talking to (better to let the monarchs talk amongst themselves) and started to get concerned. Things are starting to look a little rough over there.

"True power," replied James, "only can and only should belong to the people. All instruments of state, aristocrats to parliaments to republics, are merely a way of focusing that power to constructive ends.”

Hypocritical, considering the underlying inequities in Iansisle? Perhaps. But then, the Grand Empire never claimed to be the ultimate representation of a people’s state. James could also claim that, despite all his naïve idealism, he could never really enact any meaningful reform. Any attempt to reign in the excesses of the corporations, particularly the East Gallaga Company, could be seen as in violation of the Tablet and would never survive a coalition of well meaning but distracted liberals and cynical but practical conservatives.

Damien sneered politely. "But of course, your Majesty...after all, is that not what the Americans believed?"

"What a people purport to believe and what they practice are often two different things," retorted James with a wave of his hand. "Their version of democracy made the Czar look liberal."

"Oh, but of course..." Damien said. "And thanks to you and your allies, we now have the perfect oppurtunity to find some living space... the west coast, perhaps?"

"The Americans are generally good people who have been mislead by a century of dishonest politicians," replied James. "We know that, given the chance, they will be able to set up a proper representative government and settle in as a respectable democracy. So no: you and your band of tyrants have no place interfering in the natural course of things."

Damien smiled. "And what if I was to tell you that the current administration, under Harold Cartwright of the Central Democratic Party, feels that the Americans on the west-coast should be annexed and allowed to exist as a guided democracy under Imperial Rule?"

"I would contend that, for all your Prime Minister’s idealism, your country, which harbors an evidently strong local fascist party, is manifestly unqualified to guide anyone, especially those who have been so long deceived by a sham democracy, in the ways of popular rule."

"And what's wrong with fascism? It's purely a means to an end...and if it's popular, doesn't that show democracy in action?" Damien asked, smiling. "Besides, it's purely a local party right now, based solely in Agua."

"A means to an end? Praytell, what is that end? Your own personal glorification?" James shook his head. "What it shows is the cynical manipulation of popular sentiment."

"A means to an end? Praytell, what is that end? Your own personal glorification?" James shook his head. "What it shows is the cynical manipulation of popular sentiment."

"The end is the return of the monarchy to full power, and the destruction of those foolish ideals which have for too long weakened the Divine Imperium." Damien said, harshly. "If they vote Kroenen in, they may have him... but it will be I who will see his policies carried through, him who will be the figurehead. His policies are mine, and mine are his. But I am the master."

"Like I said: the ends are merely a way to accumulate power and position yourself to exploit the labors of the common man," said James. "Well, I really oughtn't to be concerned. Tyrants may burn brightly, but their fuel is soon exhausted in the face of public sentiment."

"Oh, yes...and we've seen that happen in Europe, have we?" Damien remarked lightly. "Your words are noble, but they mean nothing." Damien smiled. "Besides, what is it to you if the west coast becomes a part of the Divine Imperium? Did you honestly think that we would let WoS sieze it?"

“Though a native state would be preferable to anything, I would rather see Walmington, the Clerks, or anyone in control in the Eastern Pacific than a country where men such as yourself are afforded positions of power. If this means that Iansisle must offer protectorate status to whatever state the people set up for themselves, so be it. If that means we must cooperate with the Clerks, so be it.

“You claim that Europe proves longevity for dictators. Did not both Adolph Hitler and Benito Mussolini both catch bullets delivered by the Special Operations Wing?”

Damien slammed his hand on the table. "And how does that prove you correct? They did not fall to popular sentiment, did they?" He asked, with scorn. "And I reached my position the same way you did," and I dare say I do mine more honour than he does his.

Damien sipped his wine. "The west coast of the former United States is too important to the Imperial government to allow foreign control. No Roanian Government, democratic or not, will allow a hostile power to sieze control there. From the former state of California, WoS or the Clerks can base long-range airplanes to strike at the very heart of Novar Ohan."

(good lord! I go away for one deadline and a quick dinnner and you two are getting the knives ready for war... :shock: )

Chris picked up a bottle of scotch and excused himself from the young lady he was talking to. Something about preventing a way from starting or something like that.

"Gentlemen," he said sitting down with the bottle of scotch, "Might I propose a toast to tomorrow's ceremony?"

((We're civilised, Lark. Don't worry, we'll do the whole 'Prime Ministerial' visits, and send royals back and forth between our two nations and loudly clatter our sabers, maybe have an arranged marriage... but we won't go to war. By the way, if you aren't interested in my RP, then tell me.))

((I know you guys are civilized, I just thought I should bring Chris back in to the RP now that I'm back at my desk. And I'm working on my next post in your RP too, things just got busy here at work for a couple hours.))

Damien raised his glass. "To the new President of Larkinia. May he lead his nation wisely, and may his people prosper."

Chris raised his glass of scotch as well, "Hear hear, I'll drink to that." And hopefully that fool won't make as big of a mess of things as the guys in Mil-Com think he will...

"It certainly doesn't prove me incorrect," retorted James. "They're still both dead!

“I would also thank you not to draw too many similarities between us; we may both have inherited our claims, but at least I can accept the limitations of my position and work within it - somehow, I simply find that arrangement vastly superior to harboring delusions of grandeur.”

After Chris’ rather timely appearance, James raised his own glass. “The president. May he live in peace.”

Damien fell silent. I'll show this arrogant fool...delusions of grandeur indeed! he scanned the bar. "So, what is the general consensus on the state of world affairs, gentlemen? I think it's nice to finally have a bit of peace..."

After a wait in the airport, the duque realised no limos were coming to greet him and his delegation. (didn't read my post, huh? :P )
"Strange, indeed", the duque mumbled.
"They probably haven't received the news of our arrival. No problem. We are creatures of the people, we don't need limos to find our way in the city"

And so the duque and its delegation took a classical Larkinian cab. The driver tried to supress a slight scream as they entered the vehicle.
"Hello, good sir.", the duque exclaimed
"Do you, by any chance, happen to know where the new elected president of your noble country will assume his title?"

((OOC: I thought he had responded, HB.))

(OOC:Yes, but not the last one. The duque (aka me) was expecting a limo to take him up to the party. Nevermind, this is a fun and alternative way of arriving :wink: )

((Yeah HB, you were cleared to fly straight to the embassy, since it's a blimp and all you could easily land it there. ;) But... ))

The cab driver caught his breath and turned back to the group in the backseat, "Hey, you'se some of those Hell Bovinan types.. Yea my buddy Frank's supposta be your limo driver. I'll take ya to the limo pickup.." :P

The cab driver drove across the airport to a waiting limo. "Hey Frank, I think I got somethin' that you'se been waiting for."

James sipped at his drink and waited to see if Chris would pipe up first. The sweeping question - which would lead God knows where - wasn't one he particularly wanted to tackle.

(*reads the thread again* :oops: oh! My mistake. I tell you, it's the evil flu, the evil flu!!!! :? )

"Ok, thanks good sir. May I display you my worker's carnet", the duque said, while showing the rather frightened cab driver a small plastified card.

"Oh! that's right, I forgot. the carnet is useless here. Then I shall give you....what do they call them? Oh yeah, a tip"
While mumbling something almost uncomprehensible ("capitalism....strange customs....they...making things so complicated"), the duque begun to look in the many pockets of his large brown "poncho". Many things where contained in those pockets, almost violating the laws of physics.
"Let's see....a muffin, a button, a snail, a shoelace...
Oh! here it is, five dollars for you, good sir.", he said, while handing a rather old and rotten-looking five dollar paper.
He then quickly put back all the junk into his pockets and switched vehicle....

...."Hello, sorry about the delay", he then said to the limo driver.

Chris noticed James' reluctance to answer the question. "I agree with you, your majesty, it's wonderful to have peace in the world. But we, as leaders and warriors, must always be vigilant to remember that with that peace comes preparation.

"I hope to see the current peace last a long time," Chris said.

Damien nodded. "And it would be a shame to see it destroyed over a matter of pride...but of course, that isn't for me to speak of. I'm sure my mother, and the Prime Minister, would have their own opinion..." He looked up. "Waiter, more wine."

Ok, thanks good sir. May I display you my worker's carnet", the duque said, while showing the rather frightened cab driver a small plastified card.

"Oh! that's right, I forgot. the carnet is useless here. Then I shall give you....what do they call them? Oh yeah, a tip"
While mumbling something almost uncomprehensible ("capitalism....strange customs....they...making things so complicated"), the duque begun to look in the many pockets of his large brown "poncho". Many things where contained in those pockets, almost violating the laws of physics.
"Let's see....a muffin, a button, a snail, a shoelace...
Oh! here it is, five dollars for you, good sir.", he said, while handing a rather old and rotten-looking five dollar paper.
He then quickly put back all the junk into his pockets and switched vehicle....

...."Hello, sorry about the delay", he then said to the limo driver.

"I.. ya. no problem," the cab driver said as he drove them to the limo before pocketing the tip.

"It's quite all right," the limo man said. "I'll take you to the embassy, I'm sure it's been a long trip for you, unless I can take you somewhere else first."

-----

Chris nodded, "I agree, I'd hate to see war based upon a matter of pride. But as a sailor, I don't have much of a choice where I serve, or in what capacity. I just hope Jeff's wise enough to remember that."

The waiter brought over another carafe of wine for the group.

James motioned that he needed a refill, but didn't sip at the refreshed glass. He sat quietly, considering the other two men and listening to their conversation.

"Yes, the trip has been long, but I'd rather go to the Blue Pyramid hotel, I heard most of the delegates are staying there. It would be a lack of sensibility not to do so", the duque explained to Frank.

"Indeed..." Damien said, and then his eyes widened as a little beeping came from his pocket. With an oath, he pulled out his pager. "Pardon me, sir...is there a phone around here?"

The Larkinian waiter pointed him to a bank of payphones. He nodded his apologies to James and Chris, and then almost ran for them. He rang the number...

"Hello, this is the Fuhrer of the National Socialist Imperial Workers Party, Grigori Hans Kroenen, speaking..."

"Kroenen, this is Damien. I told you not to call me unless it was of vital importance."

"Yes, mein Kaiser... but I have good news! I've finally begun the purification of Agua..."

"What? What purification...what are...oh, no," He looked around, making sure no one was listening. "Your paid thugs have started to destroy Jewish and Arab property?"

"Of course," the limo driver said as the vehicle pulled out and quickly lept onto the highway and into the city to the hotel.

-----

Chris nodded, stood and bowed to Damien as he stood up, "Of course, your majesty," he replied.

While Damien was on the telephone, James looked up and saw a beautiful woman entered the room. She glanced about once, then settled her eyes on the small group and started to walk over.

In defiance of what was fashionable on the Shield, Christin still wore her hair short and with highlights. But then again, she was also slowly changing what was generally considered ‘fashionable’ in Iansisle - be it short hair, asiatic features, or even Imitora itself.

“Hi, love,” said James, getting up to kiss her on the cheek. “Glad you could join us; please, have a seat.” His tone was considerably lighter than it had been at any point since he had entered the bar.

“Thanks,” she replied. “Have you seen Jeff around?”

“The blushing president? No, not lately. Why?”

“Sir Richard called. He said, and I quote, that ‘this whole business is one great nusiance. I’ve got ships spread across eight thousand miles of ocean, and he has to go and get elected president?’”

James laughed at the impression of the First Sea Lord’s gruff voice. “He’s planning to fly out, then?”

“I think he was calling from Shadoran international.”

“Oh,” said James suddenly, turning to Chris. “Christin, you remember Chris Markson, don’t you? And likewise.”

“Of course,” smiled Christin, extending a hand to shake. “Chris, it’s lovely to see you again.”

Chris smiled at Christin as she sat down, "Of course I remember," Chris said as he shook her hand, "It's great to see you again, Mrs. Your Majesty. how are you?"

After the arrival, the duque did a quickly check in and, after resting a bit, he decided to go for a walk around the hotel.
He stumbled into the bar and remained near the door, trying to catch the atmosphere of the place and looking at the delegates assembled there.....

"Well, would ya get a look at that," Chris said as the Hell Bovinians walked in, "I didn't think they'd make it."

(I'm heading out, my laptop's in the shop so my access will be spotty the next day or so, RP as much as you want, Iansisle's got control of Chris, Jeff and Katherine, Imi try not to cap anyone yet :P And I'll catch y'all on the flip side ))

Iansisle's got control of Chris, Jeff and Katherine,

((he...hehe...hahaha....buHAHAHAHA!!!! Er, I mean...bummer about your computer, man. I'll try and play your characters as faithfully as you play mine. Later!))

Chris smiled at Christin as she sat down, "Of course I remember," Chris said as he shook her hand, "It's great to see you again, Mrs. Your Majesty. how are you?"

"Just fine," she replied with a dazzling smile. "And please, just Christin is fine. Unless you think it's too confusing?"

"Well, would ya get a look at that," Chris said as the Hell Bovinians walked in, "I didn't think they'd make it."

"Your Grace," said James, standing to greet the Hell Bovine. "It's great to see you again." Suddenly, he reached into his pocket and withdrew three long, cylindrical objects.

"You look as though you could use a smoke. Have one on me." James handed one to Chris as well, then cut and lit the third himself.

"Her Grace isn't with us today?" asked Chris, glancing at the Duque's shoulder.

Damien loudly slammed the phone down. "Those idiots..." he growled, as he moved back to the group. "Ah... and I don't believe we have been introduced?" He asked Christin, bowing down low.

Christin looked over the new arrival (from her perspective at least). "Christi..." she started, but James suddenly appeared at her elbow.

"May I present Her Iansislean Majesty the High Queen Consort," he cut in. "Dearest, this is Prince Damien Alexander Black of the Divine Imperium.”

Christin had heard that tone before. She didn’t much like it, but an important part of court life was knowing how she needed to act to whom, and James’ tone indicated this one needed the strictest formality. The rigid dance of court relationships was perhaps the one thing she most disliked most about her life as the wife of a king, and the one part she tried hardest to circumvent. However, there was a time and a place for such things - scandalizing IanCorp reporters was one thing; interfering with official international relations was quite another.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” she replied, holding out her right hand limply.

Damien bowed again, and kissed her ring, the movements coming easily from him. "It is always a pleasure to meet someone as beautiful as you, madame..." he said as he rose. "I greet you in the name of my mother, Kaiserin Malissa Lucille Black."

"You honor me, Your Highness," replied Christin. She employed the proper term for a prince in Iansisle; she wondered briefly if it was employed in the Imperium as well. No matter.

((I gotta shove off for bed...my brain's not working anymore. See you on the morrow!))

In defiance of what was fashionable on the Shield, Christin still wore her hair short and with highlights. But then again, she was also slowly changing what was generally considered ‘fashionable’ in Iansisle - be it short hair, asiatic features, or even Imitora itself.


OOC: Christin probably remembers Markson from teh thread where Lark jumped into Space...well, remembers the office at elast...;-) , also, hate to do this to ya,but Im changing Christin a bit. After getting permission from the real life Christin Chaffin, I'm gonna scan her picture and put it up her as here. After all, its a lot more respectable for a future First Speaker to not have a picture of her in a Bikini with a surf board...


IC:

Christin repsonded heitantly. "Pleasure's mine," she said, stepping back. She was the first to notice Hoot pull himself away from the bar where he had been listening in, and walk over. "Hoot, I thought you were dead? What are you doing here?" she asked, hugging the man.

"Nope, alive as ever," he chuckled, "and I'm here on official diplomatic buisness with the Domain and all. So hows life on the shield?"

"Good," she replied, as the walked over to the James and Damien.

"James, a piece of advice. You can't kill a man whose already dead. But then again, who knows?" He then looked at Damien, and back at James. "Could be worse. You could be a socialist, or a Roanian."

He then looked around the bar. "Where's Jeff, I got somehtign for him?"

Damien's eyes narrowed, and he glared at Hoot. "And what did you mean by that, peasant?" He said, his voice low and menacing.

"I'd be more than willing to put that hypothesis to the test," James was saying, "the next time you dare to enter Shieldian territory in defiance of my express order."

OOC: Damn it, Damien was insulting Hoot. Sorry, I'll edit that.

((no problem; I'll edit mine. Dunno if Imitora's on, though.))

((Is Hoot trying to provoke an international incident?))

((Is Hoot trying to provoke an international incident?))

OOC: Is that a retorical question?

IC:

Hoot smiled inocently. "It means I'd rather live in Iansisle than in Roania, and that I'd rather be James here than be you. Of course, if you knew me, thats saying alot."

(ooc: Darn. I wanted to actually keep up with this RP, for once, but I got distracted by ten hours of drinking, a gig, and... well there was something else but I'm afraid I can't remember it. Now my head aches and I'm forty-three thousand words behind.)

Baron Thunder-ten-tronckh's aircraft thundred its way into Larkinian skies, badly over-due thanks to a flame-out and a tense stop-over on the US coast with the sound of gunfire pattering in the distance. The event brought to Walmingtonian attention the need for bigger airstrips on captured soil if Partridge jet bombers were to be operated against the mid west and beyond. It was probably better to leave that much said and not call attention to the little baron's new complexion.

The pilot identified his little air group and arranged a landing, making note that his two escorts were indeed air force fighters and fully armed.

Thunder-ten-tronckh took out his pocket watch before making written note of the lateness of his arrival. He couldn't have been much more Walmingtonian if he'd tried, not without changing the name anyway.

Alan? What sort of name was that, anyway?

"Well, would ya get a look at that," Chris said as the Hell Bovinians walked in, "I didn't think they'd make it."

"Your Grace," said James, standing to greet the Hell Bovine. "It's great to see you again." Suddenly, he reached into his pocket and withdrew three long, cylindrical objects.

"You look as though you could use a smoke. Have one on me." James handed one to Chris as well, then cut and lit the third himself.

"Her Grace isn't with us today?" asked Chris, glancing at the Duque's shoulder.

"It is my pleasure to see you again, friends", the duque smiled, as he and his delegation took a seat at the table.
He received the cigar from James and, as he took the first poof, he said "Thanks, I've been missing these". "Of course, I hope you still feel a bit of remorse when I get lung cancer", he joked and winked one of his black eyes to the humans.
"As for the duchess, no. I've decided its better for her to stay at home. She get's so stressed with these tings, y'see?"
"Anyway, how are things going on over here? My last visit was a bit chaotic"

As he was going to be answered, he grabbed a waiter and ordered him a chocolate liquor, "for the sake of old times"....

OOC: HB, if the Duque was at the Peace Picnic in larkinia, he'd definately recoginze Hoot.

OOC: I know. And he will recognize him indeed. :D
Just give him a little of time to adapt to the atmosphere.... :P

((OOC: Hiyaaaaas. Any chance an ol' budday could get in real real late?

D-man here, remember me?))

OOC: They can never stay away for too long...hehehe.

((Daez! Of course; you're always welcome (...heh, me inviting people into Larkinia's thread. Ah well, I'm sure he'd say the same). What's the new nation?

Everyone else: sorry, I'll get to responding soon enough. Sorry for the delay..must type out entire history of IanCorp for H.B.'s newspaper thread!


...one of these days, I'll actually respond to one of those survey threads in less than 500 words...but not today ;)))

OOC: Yeaaah, your charm brought me back, I-tor. Caaan't stay away.

Besides, there are no decent RP'ers anywhere else.

OOC: lol! don't worry. If the delay is to write something in my newspaper thread, then I forgive you. I'll wait you all the time you want :D

OOC: Ciwdod Cymraeg, a colony, now nation, of Welsh and Scottish refugees, and damn happy to be so. Name means Welsh Nation, but they're about equally Scottish. Peaceful, except for the occasional barfight.

OOC: My pleasure. Hell Bovines, socialist, democratic grand duchy inhabited by sentient cows that walk on their hinds. Vegetarians, hate McDonald's with passion. :D
Former Galdagan (aka Spanish) colony.

... hate McDonald's with passion. :D

((heh, who doesn't? ;)..and I'm not even a cow!))

Larkinian ground control cleared the Walmingtonian crafts to land at Golden Agate's airport (which I'm sure has a name...that I can't think of)), adding that limos would be on hand to ferry the diplomats to the famous Pyramid Hotel.

Meanwhile:

He received the cigar from James and, as he took the first poof, he said "Thanks, I've been missing these". "Of course, I hope you still feel a bit of remorse when I get lung cancer", he joked and winked one of his black eyes to the humans.
"As for the duchess, no. I've decided its better for her to stay at home. She get's so stressed with these tings, y'see?"
"Anyway, how are things going on over here? My last visit was a bit chaotic"

As he was going to be answered, he grabbed a waiter and ordered him a chocolate liquor, "for the sake of old times"....

"If you get lung cancer," replied James with a smile, one of his few this dark afternoon, "I'll pay for your medical bills myself - and I'm sure the Company would be more than happy to chip in."

"Things are going...interestingly," said Chris with a broad grin. "World leaders interacting; I guess this is how it is supposed to go. What we need right now, though, is His Stupendousness the President-elect to really make things even interestinger."

"One chocolate liquor," said the slightly shaken waiter, "for old, new, and present times, coming up!"

((Hoyy, I-sle! You might be interested in my Games thread... mehehe.))

((eh? I may indeed - let me jus' meander over there quickly.

And, as the Larkinia-cyborg for the week, you're fully welcome to participate here. It is an open RP :)))

"Indeed, I'm looking forward to meeting the new president. Specially with my new green eyes", Ambassador Bumpo Blackspots laughed while looking around the room.
Meanwhile, the duque was drinking his chocolate liquor with a puzzled look. He was staring at a man on another table. *This guy looks familiar! Where do I know it from? Who the hell is he?*, the duque thought to himself as he tried to remember where he had seen Hoot's face.....

((Since I've no idea where people are, I'm gonna assume the mildly tipsy, complacent James MacAllister could be somewhere around.))

James MacAllister, large, round, and ruddy, bumbled happily about the corridor. He was complacent - a few fingers of Jameson's'll do that to a Scot - and was currently looking for one of two things. More Jamie's, or someone to get into a good political discussion with.

He belched and broke into song - the national anthem of Ciwdod Cymraeg.

Hoot looked up as teh Scotsman began to sing. "Thank god I'm Irish, not scottish," he said under his breath. As he sipped the Corona, he looked up at the Duque, and nodded. He made a mental note to order a burger later, just to watch the giant cow flip out.

"He'll love them," James assured Bumpo. He would have given the large cow a pat on the shoulder, but wasn't quite sure where the shoulder was on a bipedal bovine and if that was an appropriate place to touch anyway.

He followed the Duque's gaze, and a bit of a foul expression settled in on his face. "I shouldn't look too long, Your Grace. They say that staring at the scum of the Earth can cause problems with your eyes."

Down the hall, everyone could hear a loud voice, getting closer, louder, and perhaps slightly more off key.

MacAllister skipped down the hallway and peeked in just as he sang,

"On the shores of my homeland came the red-bound marching men,
And they took away my home and exiled me, roight then..."

He smiled slightly tipsily. "Good day."

"Good day," answered James, raising his still nearly full glass with one hand while holding his smoking cigar in the other. He kept one eyebrow solidly arched while considering the strange man.

"I'm afraid I had one too many sips of Jamie's. How d'ye do, am I intruding? James MacAllister, Ciwdod Cymraeg."

“Intruding? Quite the opposite - it would appear that the entire world was invited to the bar today.” James stuck out a hand for shaking. “James Callahan, Iansisle.”

((Is Hoot trying to provoke an international incident?))

OOC: Is that a retorical question?

IC:

Hoot smiled inocently. "It means I'd rather live in Iansisle than in Roania, and that I'd rather be James here than be you. Of course, if you knew me, thats saying alot."

Damien narrowed his eyes, if possible, even further. "I may not be able to kill a dead man, but I can make his time on this planet excruciatingly painful. Don't tempt me. I can be reasonably sure that I've killed more people than you have ever met." He snorted. "Though considering your social class, I don't think you've met that many real people."

He turned, and gave James a polite nod. "Your Majesty, it has been a rare pleasure to speak to you. I'm sure your government, and that of the Imperium, can sort something out without war."

He swept from the room, his cloak billowing behind him in the slight breeze. With a grimace, he looked outside and then an idea came to him. "Sir," he said, turning to the conceirge, "would there be a... slightly less polite... area of this city? I feel the urge for some...exercise."

((He's asking if there are any slums, or red light districts, somewhere people can disappear without a trace and questions won't be asked. And where there are people who won't be too too missed... remember what I told you about his tastes.))

"Your Highness." James' face was unreadable; his tone cool.

"Less polite?" asked the concierge, tapping his thumbs briefly together. "Ah! A little, er, weekend getaway?" he winked, misunderstanding the implication. "I'm sure if you follow [x] street down to [directions], the people would be a tad more uncouth." The concierge chuckled knowingly.

*Before Damien storms outs*

Hoot leans is close to Damien, and offers a rather complacent smile.

"Boy, I have seen things in this world that would make you cry in the corner of your room at night. I have done things that would make even the most perverted person squeem. I have killed more people than I care to remeber. And unlike you and your so called killings, I have been splatered with the blood of my enemy. And to top it all off, I have literaly been to Hell and back, and trust me, thats a journey you will never have the fucking balls to take. Now, you and your little piss ant nation can kiss my ass. At least he," he pointed over to James, "has the cojenes to handle problems like a real man, and not a boy like you. Via con dios," he finished, leaning back in his chair, and taking another swig of beer.

He stood up, and walked over to Christin, and whispered somethign in her ear before walking out of the room. She looked back at him in shock, then almost a saddend regret. She nodded, and then looked at James. "I need to go talk to Hoot. I'll be right back, babe, I promise," she said, slipping into her more common, less royal talk. She followed him out of the room.

Damien nodded his thanks, and left, after removing his umbrella from his bags. Within a matter of seconds he was within the slums of Larkinia's capital. Ah, thank goodness people here don't clean their slums out like we do...it gives me the chance to do it for them.

With a quick movement, he spun his umbrella around, and an incredibly sharp blade snapped out of it. He smiled, and twirled his cloak around to give himself freedom of movement. Temporarily placing his new rapier into the ground, he snapped on a pair of dueling gloves. Burn, fight, kill... he thought, checking his rings. Let's do this...

((ooc: Just so you know, Roania, I'm kinda winging it on Golden Agate's slums. I'd reccommend waiting for Lark before going any farther on that vein, just because I don't have the proper info. Sorry.))

"Talk to Hoot?" James didn't seem to think it was a good idea, but Christin's smile won him - grudgingly - over. "All right, see you soon."

Christin followed Hoot through the halls, and when sure they were out of earshot of the rest of the group, he spoke quickly, and as usualy, to teh point.

"What happened last time you were home?" he demanded, looking Christin straight in the eyes. She had already started to tear up.

"No...nothing," she replied, stammering.

"Oh no, dont give me that bull shit. I know the full deal, about the attack. Angel. The fighters, everything. And now hes a fucking mess. Cant even stand up. And hes gonna be fucking head of security for the next First Speaker, and your telling me that nothign you did messed him up like this?" he demanded, his voice getting cold and terse.

"No...noth..."

He cut her off befor she could finish. "Bull shit!" he said, hoping that he had kept his voice low enough so that no one would hear ( :wink: ). "I want to know why the hell hes acting the way he is. Tell me."

She looked up, tears in her eyes. She didn't need to say anything, Hoot already knew. "Jesus Christ," he said turning his back to her.

((*is confused*))

OOC: Once I make the next post in the Wings of an Angel thread, you'll understand... :twisted: ...Im going as if that happened before this. Lets look at it this way. Hoot was dead. There is no record of him even being alivein Imitora, let alone working for the INSA...so someone had to hack the system to make sure he got sent for a reason...

*Before Damien storms outs*

Hoot leans is close to Damien, and offers a rather complacent smile.

"Boy, I have seen things in this world that would make you cry in the corner of your room at night. I have done things that would make even the most perverted person squeem. I have killed more people than I care to remeber. And unlike you and your so called killings, I have been splatered with the blood of my enemy. And to top it all off, I have literaly been to Hell and back, and trust me, thats a journey you will never have the f--- balls to take. Now, you and your little piss ant nation can kiss my ass. At least he," he pointed over to James, "has the cojenes to handle problems like a real man, and not a boy like you. Via con dios," he finished, leaning back in his chair, and taking another swig of beer.

He stood up, and walked over to Christin, and whispered somethign in her ear before walking out of the room. She looked back at him in shock, then almost a saddend regret. She nodded, and then looked at James. "I need to go talk to Hoot. I'll be right back, babe, I promise," she said, slipping into her more common, less royal talk. She followed him out of the room.

((Im, Damien is splashed with the blood of his enemies on a fairly regular basis. He actually does kill people up close, and he enjoys doing so. Closest he gets to sexual climax, really. If he had taken the trouble, he would most likely be able to at least severely injure Hoot. He really doesn't have a sense of humour, and if he thought that James's insult to him had been severe enough he would have killed Christin, just to see the expression on James's face.

He doesn't consider Hoot a person, so he's not going to waste his time. The insult of a peasant is meaningless to him. What happened to Lark, anyway?))

OOC: Lark's computer got messed up, and with all due respect, I doubt Damien would be able to lift a finger before Hoot has him dead. Im not kidding when I say Hoot has been to Hell and back, it'll all be explained in another story later. But Hoot is no longer in anyway of this world. Somethign Umbrella didn't count on was the existance of an afterlife. I dunno if James has any ability to sense stuff like this, but anyone who does will note that pure evil generates from Hoot. And going back to a story Im working on right now, Christin cant be killed. Really, I mean, she wont die.

EDIT: BAD LAPTOP, BAD!

OOC: Well, that's as maybe. But Damien never had a soul to begin with. Or, at least, if he does have one, it's twisted and darkened from his training. Maybe before either of us make such sweeping statements, we could ask each other something about our characters.

For instance, I could ask you what Hoot has been smoking in order to get him to talk like that to someone who is obviously a killer in every sense of the word (Or what you're talking about with the 'to hell and back', though the first one was closer to my initial reaction.). And you can ask me what I meant when I had him say that he was the true heir of Alexander Black. As it is, though, I'll stick with what I said earlier.

Damien is not going to trouble himself with a peasant.

OOC: Yay, character time (Sory for the hijack Lark)

Hoot was born into a decent family, but he was always an outsider. At 16, he dropped out of high school, and joined the ICMC. With his work ethic, he became the youngest person to ever join the 1st Special Operations Unit-Delta at 20. Between 16 and 25 (his time in the military), Hoot had over 7,000 confirmed deaths at ranges under 10 feet. Another 500 at ranges under 5. And an uncounted number at ranges over 50 feet. At 26, he was recruited into the INSA, and became their second best assasin, with a almost recording breaking 500 kills. At 29, he was on an intel mission in Deazeman when he was shot.

I'm not gonna say what happend durring that time, becuase it would give away another story I'm working on, but lets just say that Hoot and Satan became close. He was resurected by Umbrella Corp Scientists so that the INSA would again have an expierienced killer, and now hes back.

He wasn't smoking anythng, as Damien doesn't scare him. Hoot is no longer human, he is, in the best way to describe it, an entity that chooses the form of Hoot to display himself to the world. Hoot is literaly Hell manifested on earth. But youll see why soon enough, I'll hit you up with the link when I start the story for Hoot.
[/Hijack] Promise everyone, last hijack post.

Don't worry about the hijack Imi. ;) )

(Whew, back again... as much as I've spent on this damn laptop I coulda bought a new desktop.. OK, I think I'm back now *crosses fingers* Now, what did Iansisle do with Jeff? How many people did he abdicate the presidency to? :P *reads Hoot and Damien encounter* Hmmmm... well at least everyone's still standing.)

*Points Damien towards a less civilized section of town, where there are ruffians and stuff.* (Ah heck, there'll be a couple of murderers you can whack.)

Now, what did Iansisle do with Jeff? How many people did he abdicate the presidency to? :P

((17 of last count...well, 18 if you count Lord Dirwisham :P

In other news, I've just sort of left Jeff sitting in a bizzare nether-space because I didn't want to introduce too many more of your characters for fear of playing them wrong. Try as I might, I just can't be a complete Larkinia-cyborg. :(

Sorry to hear about your computer (well, I'm glad it's fixed, though); I know what a dollar drain they can be. The hard drive on mine fritzed out last year and cost me just about a new computer to fix. Interestingly, I got it working on just about 17 May 2003.))

James plopped himself down in a chair and set the bottle in front of himself. "No more tonight. Oooh, I drink too much."

Now, what did Iansisle do with Jeff? How many people did he abdicate the presidency to? :P

((17 of last count...well, 18 if you count Lord Dirwisham :P

((R..really?? You'd allow Jeff to get close enough to Lord Dirwisham to do that?? :) :twisted: Oh can we RP that out? Please oh pretty please... I swear Jeff'd leave him in piece, more likely pieces.. ;) ))

(Hiya Lark, great to have you back. I understand how annoying can computer problems be.... :) )


James plopped himself down in a chair and set the bottle in front of himself. "No more tonight. Oooh, I drink too much."

The sudden noise woke up the duque from his apparent state of hypnosis.
As he watched Hoot leave the room, he decided he should look for him later, at least to find out who he is and where does he remember him from.
He looked torwards James, from Ciwdod Cymraeg (We got two James in the room! :shock: ), and introduced himself....
"A pleasure to meet you. I'm Mooo IV, duque of Hell Bovines", he said, extending a hoof.
"May I invite you to a glass of chocolate liquor. One can't drink too much, after all"

"Oooh, no. I shouldn't drink any more tonight, not since I started singing Mabsant Cymraeg." He smiled and waved the bottle away.

(Thanks HB, it was a hard time, I was going through NS withdrawl so hard I had the shakes ;) And like John Cleese used to say in "Monty Python", "And now for something... completely different." :P Commence foreshadowing.)

Dead Man's Oasis, the Badlands (desert in the Southern part of Larkinia)


Michael Barron sat back in the small office as he read the online version of the Golden Agate Times. It had been so many years since the group he'd so colloquially called the "Liberation Tigers" had left their mark on Golden Agate.

After all this time, reaction to their little nuclear 'experiment' had forever changed the way Larkinia had run. It helped put Grant in charge, which had been bad for business.

Instead of splintering the populace, it had solidified them. Instead of striking fear into the new leaders, the military leaders had struck back. A campaign of terror started in the desert, Grant's men had run through the strongholds the Tigers had hidden. Many of his 'soldiers' had been cut through like a sickle through wheat.

Life had been better under Katana. The military were pulled back from the Badlands, the larger towns in the desert began to prosper. The agricultural valleys intertwined with the rivers grew fruitful. It had given Barron the time he needed to replenish his fodder, to find those who were less than... forceful with their willpower. Easily manipulated and controlled.

And now.. now the 'people' had spoken and put this... this... 'soldier' at the helm of Larkinia. Now, Barron was ready. He learned from the mistakes so many of his men had fallen victim to, and now he was lying in wait, like a rattlesnake in the grass. Waiting for the opportune time to strike. (/foreshadowing)

((mumble fumble grumble tumble))

((R..really?? You'd allow Jeff to get close enough to Lord Dirwisham to do that?? :) :twisted: Oh can we RP that out? Please oh pretty please... I swear Jeff'd leave him in piece, more likely pieces.. ;) ))

((Why not? I fear that Dirwisham's time on this Earth may be even more limited than he realizes...what's a (slightly) earlier exit?

Oh, and to HB - it looks as if the revolutionary timetable may have just been given a kick in the pants :D))

((R..really?? You'd allow Jeff to get close enough to Lord Dirwisham to do that?? :) :twisted: Oh can we RP that out? Please oh pretty please... I swear Jeff'd leave him in piece, more likely pieces.. ;) ))

((Why not? I fear that Dirwisham's time on this Earth may be even more limited than he realizes...what's a (slightly) earlier exit?

((Oh bless you! :twisted: ))

((Somehow, 'bless you' and the twisted smilie make me something less than comfortable :D))

((Heh heh, the halo just hides the horns :P I was just thinking how Niven would react if, say... he just happened to find out that Dirwisham was responsible for getting Jeff's plane sabotaged over Gallaga... ))

*oh dear... they're acting up again...*

OOC: HB, ya mihgt want to run. Unless James himself confronts Hoot, hes out of there. Last thing he needs right now is James, a crying Christin, and an empty street with a giant cow, lol.

OOC: HB, ya mihgt want to run. Unless James himself confronts Hoot, hes out of there. Last thing he needs right now is James, a crying Christin, and an empty street with a giant cow, lol.

OOC: Ya know, Hoot might want to visit Jeff to avoid the Duque. ;)

Last thing he needs right now is James, a crying Christin...

OOC: Jesus Christo... I sense a tremor in the Force... like, James getting ready to ask WTF...

OOC: I dunno...Im changing the picture im Using for Hoot (Again) but this one is going up on the website so its for good. And with the guy Im using for him now...I dont think anyone would want to really mess with Hoot. 'Cept James, but thats another story. I think the duque running into hoot would be funny.

((Cool man, hey I like the site so far! Can't wait to see the new picture you're using for him!))

http://image.guardian.co.uk/sys-images/Film/Pix/gallery/2003/07/02/ca262626.jpg

((ooh, there's a website? Tricky! Is the url posted somewhere, and if not, may I have it?))

With both Hoot and Damien gone, James didn't have much to do except sit back and watch the Duque converse with a drunkard. He sipped at his wine - the glass was still better than half full - and kept an eye on the door. He started to wonder what was keeping Christin.

*turns up suspenseful, sadly romantic music...*

((It's www.freewebs.com/imitora/ ))

((Thanks!

And I blame everything on Dr Niven and his damn good advice :P))

Christin is in the room cryin...looking at James.

((oh, really? D'oh - that's confusion on my part. I thought she and Hoot had left the room. One sec while I re-evaluate my response ;)))

((Thanks!

And I blame everything on Dr Niven and his damn good advice :P))

((LOL, well we didn't know ;) So now Jeff'll be the odd one out with Ann gone. :P Maybe he'll find an Iansislian babe.. like Jessica :P ))

James, who had been rather preoccupied with watching the Duque’s conversation with a late-coming drunkard (heh, sorry D-man ;)) suddenly glanced over his shoulder. He wasn’t normally the most observant person in the universe, but any husband can see tears in his wife’s eyes across the room. Quickly, if perhaps not subtly, he crossed the room, shoving the odd barstool or patron out of his way.

“Cris - love,” James said upon reaching her and moving for an embrace. “What’s wrong - what did that ass do?”

((when in doubt, blame it on Hoot. ;)))

OOC: Yeah, I do it all the time. WHy did you fail college algebra? Hoot. Oh, if you havent already, you should really take a look at the Wings of an Angel thread.

IC:

Christin stuttered. She tried to formulate words, but nothign came out. She looked around the room, then at James. Her knees went weak, and she collapsed to the floor.

((LOL, well we didn't know ;) So now Jeff'll be the odd one out with Ann gone. :P Maybe he'll find an Iansislian babe.. like Jessica :P ))

((Or whats-her-name ... Donnaghue's daughter. :) That is, if Javin doesn't already have her wrapped up. Y'know - one wife in every port.

[unrelated tangent]Y'know, Jessica was 29 at James' coronation...according to my largely guess-work estimate of how much time's passed since then, that'd put her at what? 38ish? Speaking of which, it's about time the Queen Mother kicked the bucket. darn it, so much to do; so very little time ;)[/unrelated tangent]))

((when in doubt, blame it on Hoot. ;)))

((Hoot just gets no love... I guess that's what happens when the closest he gets to it is popping a cap in someone :P ))

((Thanks!

And I blame everything on Dr Niven and his damn good advice :P))

((What did I do ???? LOL ))

OOC: Yeah, I do it all the time. WHy did you fail college algebra? Hoot. Oh, if you havent already, you should really take a look at the Wings of an Angel thread.

IC:

Christin stuttered. She tried to formulate words, but nothign came out. She looked around the room, then at James. Her knees went weak, and she collapsed to the floor.

((Way ahead of ya, dude. After I finished wiping the Dr Pepper off my screen, I came straight here ;)))

"Cris!" shouted James in consternation, catching her as she fell and easing her onto the ground.

"You there!" he cried at the bartender. "Bring some damp towels - she's fainted!"

OOC: Cele, if you still got all that majic and cultist stuff going down in your nation, you may take quite a bit of intrest in the new Hoot...And Mr. Arthur Zephyr of the Townsend Agency for Paranormal Activities.

"You there!" he cried at the bartender. "Bring some damp towels - she's fainted!"

Chris picked up the towels from the bartender as he rushed over to help James with Christin.

((Thanks!

And I blame everything on Dr Niven and his damn good advice :P))

((What did I do ???? LOL ))

((Well, Niven gave James some really good advice about being in love with Katherine or not, and now that Christin's been the one cheating in the marriage... Oh yeah, and would Niven be interested in offing the guy who had Jeff's plane sabotaged over Gallaga? :P ))

((ooc: Don’t worry, Dirwisham’ll get what’s comin’ to him - one way or another :). Speaking of which, I’ve prepared der über-supriz0r. I’m afraid it involves something you hate, though, Imi - sorry ;).))

“Thanks,” said James without looking at Chris. His entire energy was focused downwards. “Cris?” he asked again, mopping her forehead with one hand and cradling it gently in his palm with the other.

OOC: Liberals?

IC:

Christin slowly opened her eyes. "What...what happend?" she stuttered, forcing herself to stand up.

((even more than liberals ;).

Well...it involves liberals AND something else. Heh.))

"You fainted, love," said James, relief evident on his face as he helped her sit up. "Not too quickly now!" he said as she tried to stand.

OOC: Protestants?

IC:

Christin looked around, and quickly caught her ballance. Years of flying allowed her inner ear to stabilise fast. She looked towards teh door, and almost gasped. "Where's Hoot?"

Chris asked, "The gentleman you were talking with? I believe he left already."

"Get him...stop him, please," she demanded, turning towards the door and starting to walk, but loosing her balance as she moved forward. She cought herself, and managed to manuver into a chair.