NationStates Jolt Archive

Dearest Friends,

Much water has passed under the bridge since the Golden Agate and Matebian Conferences, and we fear that the Third World Solidarity so boldly announced at those renowned meetings may be slipping away.

We have no desire to interfere with the next Conference; however, His Majesty’s Government feels that much tension might be released should the signatories to the Golden Agate or Matebian declarations gather together, in a friendly social environment, and simply talk. We hope that this informal gathering will do much to clear the air between old friends and continue Third World Solidarity along the bold path so clearly delineated at the Conferences.

The dinner shall be held at the Iansislean Embassy in Ukun Rasikan, Tanah Burung; all who attended the First and Second Third World Conferences are welcome to attend, as well as other countries interested in Third World Solidarity - providing that they first RSVP, so that an accurate number of places may be set out. Dinner will be served promptly at eight o’clock local time; guests are welcomed to arrive early.

In the interests of continued friendship,

The Right Honorable the Earl of Inswick
Minister of Foreign Affairs, CCP

((Uhuh... having this conference in Tanah Burung might OOCly be an ill-conceived idea. Especially if it is going to take more then 3 IC days or so. Unless my marines are welcome to join the party of course.))

*tag* Why not hold this in Iansisle? It's your turn to host anyway :P

(ooc, i know i'm about to get invaded. IC, it's business as usual -- we can hardly cancel this because of ooc knowledge. However, Iansisle's decision, i'm happy either way, and there are some advantages to having a top govt official or two in Iansisle when the jackbooted forces of darkness decend from Knootoss. :wink: )

OOC: Ooooh! Oooh! Could I be jackbooted forces of darkness toooo?

(( @TB Jackbooted forces of a morally ambigious greyness hon ;) And considering what I am planning having Iansisles people around in TB might be more embarrasing to me... which reminds me to send you a TG.

Oh, and sure you can join in Siri. The more the merrier. *runs to IRC to finally catch you and get you to sign that wretched document that has been under your nose for so very long.))

Oh, geez, is my face red. :oops:

I thought by 'jackbooted forces of darkness' you meant all us mean ol' rich capitalist nations making with the investing and the exploiting and the economy-boosting.

I thought by 'jackbooted forces of darkness' you meant all us mean ol' rich capitalist nations making with the investing and the exploiting and the economy-boosting.

LOL, I hope not, cause I'm on the committee and I'd have to be a "jackbooted committeemember of darkness" or something, and that's too long for any of my business cards.

Goodgood! Anyway, I was thinking of dropping by, bringing Prefects Serinde nos Earendil of Trade and Maglor nos Feanor of Compassionate Relief.

"Jackbooted forces of darkness" was just for Knoot. It's a term of endearment, really. :P

"Jackbooted forces of darkness" was just for Knoot. It's a term of endearment, really. :P

:lol: Yeah, I can tell there's a lot of love there ;)

OOC: Actually, that dinner in TB could be a good idea. Perhaps a murder of hell bovinian delegates by Knootians could bring interesting scenarions, after all, i've been waiting for an opportunity to kill the duque in a brave and courageous way :)

As for Knoot and TB, yes, you can really feel the love there :P

((That's OK, I could always end up giving the Duque a heart attack ;) ))

Larkinian Presidential Palace, Golden Agate

Jeff read the letter from the Earl of Inswick a couple of times before crumpling the paper and throwing in the trash.

Inswick's the last person I ever thought who'd want to throw a dinner for any kind of Third World Solidarity. I wonder what the hell he's planning.

He punched up a number on the secured phone and waited a minute...

-----

Celdonian Diplomatic Quarter, "Bridge" Treaty Meeting Area

Minister of State Takeo Katana was sitting outside during a lull in the IFTA meeting when his sat phone rang. He looked down at the ID before answering.

"Yes Mr. President?" He asked.

"How's it going out there Minister?" Jeff asked.

"There's a break in the meeting while the Tanah Burungian delegates sort out the charges and countercharges..." Takeo started.

"What countercharges?"

"That Special Officer Leah from the SeOCCian government is a pushy, bullying, vengeful b*tch with her broomstick up her a.."

"I understand," Jeff cut him off before he said anything worse. "Look, the Iansislians are going to be holding a dinner at their embassy in Tanah Burung shortly."

Takeo sighed as he nodded to himself. "You planning on attending?"

"No," Jeff replied. "I'm thinking of sending Hunter."

"Christ, Mr. President. Didn't he do enough damage with the KIST annoucement before we'd decided anything?"

"I could always send Javin," Jeff said with a grin.

"I'd rather you did!"

Jeff sipped the strong Turkish coffee in front of him. "I'll send Kevin. He's young and brash enough to stir something up, and intelligent enough to know what to say and not say. Plus I think Javin's tired of being a punching bag. I'll save him for the next Third World Meeting."

"If we even bother going to it," Takeo said. "Tell Kevin we really don't need to piss off anyone else related to the IFTA."

"I will, if you'll remind our friends at the IFTA that we're not going to be drug around like some errant schoolboy..."

"I've already used that line, sir."

((Grr..sorry about the long response time!

Anyhows: pretty much anyone who wants to attend can. We have a loose definition of ‘third world’. ;)

I didn’t know about the invasion, but it ought to make things interesting! - especially if, as I vaguely remember, the Knootian and Iansislean embassies are right next to each other. I think that MP Dhawan will probably be in attendance. He’s just been sort of hanging around lately, so we could kill him off if need be. And Jason Fletcher, the ambassador? Expendable. Mr Ashtonbury, however, has long since blown the coup; where will he surface next? We may never know ;).

I’ll have an actual IC post later-ish. I just got back from work (well, they call it work. I call it paying me to sit around and do nothing; the perfect job if it wasn’t so frusturating!) and need some time to recooperate. TB and HB, if you want to advertise this dinner on the IFTA boards, I’d be much obliged; if you want to keep it small, that’s fine too.

I know that it’s Xikuang’s turn to host the Third World Conference, and I certainly don’t want to interfere with that. I just thought that, what with the Ashtonbury and KIST incidents, Lark and I could use some buttering-up time ;).

Which reminds me - there’ll be no meat within the embassy grounds! :P))

Lark and I could use some buttering-up time ;).

Which reminds me - there’ll be no meat within the embassy grounds! :P))

((Yeah we can.. er.. Mmmmmm... butter... ;) What?? No meat?? Well, if the Duque somehow dies, that'll change. :P *ducks many thrown objects* ))

Silly 3rd World Countries, you don't have any food!

((ooc: Why, Ruhr! How terribly insightful! Truly, such a subtle and yet poignant - and so on topic! - observation can only be the result of a quick wit and an enlightened mind! Indeed, I stand in awe of such a versatile and brilliant commentator as yourself! Pat yourself on the back; I quite think that may be the funniest, most astoundingly astute post ever made in the entire history of NationStates, the internet, the world, and everything! Three cheers for Ruhr, everyone! Hip hip!

:roll: -- I don’t just feed trolls, I gorge them.))

The Iansislean Embassy in Ukun Rasikan is a brick, rather old-worldly building. Its yard, in stark contrast to the elaborate gardens of the neighboring Knootian embassy, is simple and utilitarian. A few exotic - or, if you happen to be from Tanah Burung, local - trees dot a large grass expanse fenced in by rusted wrought iron bars. The paths are made from simple gray gravel. In deference to Tanah Burung’s opinion about motor-cars, a wooden stable stands adjacent to the main building and a carriage house next to that. Perhaps Hell Bovines wouldn’t be so happy about the animal-slaves, but you can’t please everyone, can you?

As the shadows drew longer, the staff ran about setting places and preparing the drawing and smoking rooms. Jason Fletcher, the highest ranked non-Shieldian ambassador in the foreign service, also fussed about, changing placards here and there and generally tiding up.

Hiresh Dhawan passed his time standing out on the large porch smoking. He didn’t know where he had picked up that nasty habit. The Duque, perhaps? he wondered.

Tanah Burung really was a lovely country. It reminded him, in an odd sort of way, of home - that is to say, of Gallaga. He’d lived most of his adult life on the Shield, but there was still a part of Dhawan that longed to be back in the Mouths. Then again, Gallaga and Tanah Burung couldn’t be two more different countries. One had risen up against its oppressor; fought a grueling was and freed itself; one lay hapless in the mud, too timid, too divided to offer any real challenge to the corporate interests that had raped and pillaged it since the seventeenth century.

He blew a large cloud of smoke out as the first guest was let in the gate.

Tsar Alexander II received a letter from some Earl of Inswick... he'd never really heard of him before, but the title of Earl piqued his interest. Opening the letter carefully, he read over the letter with his discerning eyes.

What's this now? Hmm... A banquet. In Tanah Burung...

The Valerian Empire was technologically backwards, and still is quite behind the times. Even with its strong economy and relative mighty military, the technology is strangling its growth in both the economic and military fields, making the Valerian Empire a third world country. Alexander paced in front of his desk, sipping his Ceylon tea after stuffing a saltine in his mouth.

"I've got no plans really... this might sound like a good thing to go to. And I think I should go in person. It will show my nation's commitment to solidarity among nations such as ourselves!"

Alexander quickly swallowed down another quaff of his tea before sending back an RSVP to make sure he had a place in this dinner. Then, after sending his RSVP, he went to ready what he wanted to take on this trip to Tanah Burung.

OOC:

Is there an invasion going on in TB on Knootoss's part? Might be interesting to get the emperor mixed up in such a mess. :)

A scribe walked quickly, pulling his robes together to protect against the chilling august air. He glanced around wondering what would be on the nights dinner. Gruel for the 12 410th time was starting to get a bit old. He sighed as he reached the office of the adjunct to the Director, as usual the queue was 10 people long. Sighing again, he closed his eyes and starting to hum a song he had heard the children sing last night. He slowly drifted off...

"Next" The flubby man that was the assistant to the adjunct's secretary said, poking the scribes stomach with his long, bendy stick.

"Next" He yelled, his jowls wobbling.

The scibes eyes jolted open and he bowed his head 3 cm.

"Sorry Assistance to the Adjunct. I have a message for the Director from ForgSoc. It's a invitation to a 'banquet'."

"Have you filled out the necessary -"

The scribe cut him short

"Yes, I've filled out the nesscary forms, submitted a lithograph copy to the National Archives, had the document blessed by the Monks, Lost the original, received a new copy, repeated the process three times. Now may you send this to the adjunct?"

"Err...Yes. I don't like your impertinence."

"I'm sorry. Allow me to flatter your ego."

The fat assistant chuckled, then suddenly stopped.

"Your doucment shall be submitted to the committee for review, then passed on to the adjunct for review. Next."

The scribe bowed 3.5 cm and left, his clothes swishing gently as he moved off.

***5-8 Work days later***

The Adjunct a tall, gaunt, emotionless man walked to the Directors side, and silently placed the letter on a side table. He then bowed fully, his chin touching the floor. Noting the Directors blessing, he walked off leaving the Director to read the letter.

Ah...Now this might be interesting. Although, I do have a temple dedication to attend next week. And they are always such fun!

He took out a piece of paper, a red pen, and wrote:


Sorry am I.
The sun favours not my attendance.

Come, however, will my 3rd son, Jono.
The cooler be with you,

The Director.


He put that on his out tray and went back to writing his blog.

((ah, nice to see some interest! MV, Water Cooler, welcome! You're both welcome to skip straight to walking up to the embassy. I would give you an actual IC post, but I'm just out the door on my way to work; this is mainly to get it bumped while I'm gone. I'll see you all in 8ish hours!

By the way, Cooler, I love the nation concept. ;)))

The embassies all faced the city of Ukun Rasikan across an old colonial-era canal. So it was a short journey from the airship landing field or port to the Iansislean embassy for visiting dignitaries, greeted by the playing of their national anthem and a greeting party of three members of the Tanah Burung collective presidency: people's representative for foreign affairs & human rights Mari Alkatiri, people's representative for social justice Father Constancio Ainaro, and Isabel Lobato, Governor of Ukun Rasikan. Embassy Row was lined with the flags of attending nations, plus the requisite cheering crowds. One by one, the visitors were ushered into the embassy of Iansisle, after being brought around the long way to avoid the Knootian misison next door, surrounded by a double ring of security forces: local offciers outside the fence, Knootian guards inside.

(sorry, rushed right now, please do let's skip arrivals & start in the embassy like Ian says. I'm lining this up with the Colombia story line as follows:

Day 1: news from Colombia of Rumbiak Brigade. Knootian subs leave port.
Day 2: Alkatiri, Galadriel, Lady Bryce statements on the Rumbiak Brigade. Dinner that night at Iansisle Embassy. Galdagan corvette arrives in TB waters.
Day 3: TB collective presidency gathers in Burung-yang-membuat. Foreign visitors invited to remain in TB.)

Larkinian Embassy

Ambassador Marcus Jameson waited in the foyer for the newest visitor to the embassy to join him for the trip to the Iansislian Embassy. It was a curious time for the Iansislians to be calling a meeting together, there was enough tension running through the diplomatic quarter that you could cut it with a chainsaw.

The ambassador's thoughts were broken as he was met in the foyer by a muscular man with dark blonde hair and blue eyes framing his boyish good looks.

"Ambassador," Kevin Michaels said with a smile, "I guess it's time to check out what all of this is about."

Kevin knew damn well what some of this was about, and the ambassador figured as much. President Williams had briefed him on the IFTA situation and was still waiting for a response.

The two men were met by a security detachment as they walked to the SUV. The group sat down in the car as it pulled out of the garage and quickly made the trip along the street and pulled in at the Iansislian embassy, where they were ushered into the building.

Hiresh Dhawan was glad to see the Larkinian delegation. A precursory scan, much to his disappointment, showed no Katanas in the delegation, but he rushed out to greet them with open arms anyway.

“Friends, friends, welcome! You are the first to arrive; please, come in, come in!”

The mission to Tanah Burung had always been muted compared to the bombastic, imperialist tones set by other embassies. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs wasn’t the most sensitive institution in the world, but it had heeded the late Rumbiak’s rhetoric well enough. Most of the embassy was built from native Shieldian materials; that was even a stout Shieldian oak smoldering in the fireplace, a servant poking at it desperately in an attempt at combustion. Once started, the dense wood would (pun not intended ;)) burn hot, long, and clean - perhaps the most important consideration for Tanah Burung - but igniting the dense log was proving a problem.

The Shieldian Oak (Quercus iansulae) was actually quite endangered. Once it ranged from the Marches to the Marshes, to borrow an old Iansislean saying; now, it was limited to the southernmost limits of the Foothills, out competed by the evergreen north and exterminated by
Man south. It made the mistake of simply being too perfect a tree; it’s wood had been just right for building His Majesty’s Navy - strong, hard to ignite, and hardy - and most other construction purposes. The only handy alternative, the common Noropian Pine (Pinus willamus), was much less dense and favorable, and conservation was out the window where the RIN was concerned. Slowly but surely, the advance of progress and civilization beat the proud oak back onto organized reserves and common-grounds.

More importantly to the cause, there were almost no reminders in the entire building of the Iansislean Raj. Where many embassies had Fischer accepting the Nawab of Bengal’s surrender after First New Shield over the mantel, the Tanah Burung mission had the Battle of Unsterbank Shoal. Hard to believe, looking at the jostling yardarms and gray cannon smoke of two clashing lines of battle, that Unsterbank had been Iansisle’s last major naval engagement before Salvador, nearly one hundred and ten years later.

There was one picture of the Gallagan landscape; Justin Fletcher’s chief lieutenant made him keep it up. It was a black and white photo of Shieldian man, dressed as a clichéd safari jacked and pith helmet and, perched precariously atop a Gallagan bull rhinoceros. That same man leaned against the wall watching the organized chaos that flowed about him.

“No, no!” Fletcher was crying. “Put Dhawan and Alkatiri together! They’re both Musselmen*; they’ll have much to talk about!”

“Ahem.” Dhawan cleared his throat.

“Why, Ambassador Jameson!” exclaimed Fletcher, hoping that his hasty change of subject wasn’t too obvious. “Welcome; I’m afraid you caught us slightly off guard!” He laughed. “Even with all the extra help they’ve brought in from the Shield, I still fear we’re not quite prepared to host an even of this magnitude here! It’s enough to make one wonder why they didn’t simply hold in Ianapalis.”

((* - I apologize if anyone is offended by this; if so, I will remove it at once. Understand, I do not actually believe in intolerance or cultural ignorance. However, Iansisle is not (at all!) my idea of a perfect nation! If you ask me, it’s full of bigoted, arrogant, ignorant fools who all deserve a good slap. So, once again, I apologize if my characters say anything offensive; please just tell me, either here or by confidential telegram, and I will remove it as soon as I can. Remember, 99% of what my characters say - and 100% of what the say related to race, ethnicity, religion, and the like - I disapprove of completely. Thanks for understanding.

--Ian))

((oh, and that’s also predicated on the assumption that Alkatiri is attending. ;)))

dense wood would (pun not intended ;))

*snip*

Marches to the Marshes, to borrow an old Iansislean saying

*Reaches over to pick up a watermelon...* :P

“Friends, friends, welcome! You are the first to arrive; please, come in, come in!”

"Mr. Dhawan," Ambassador Jameson said extending his hand, "This is Kevin Michaels, one of our new Special Envoys that President Williams sent to attend the dinner."

The man smiled as he shook hands with Dhawan, "It's a pleasure to meet you sir. I've heard a lot about you. Minister Katana sends his regrets, but he is still in Celedonia with the IFTA."

“No, no!” Fletcher was crying. “Put Dhawan and Alkatiri together! They’re both Musselmen*; they’ll have much to talk about!”

“Ahem.” Dhawan cleared his throat.

“Why, Ambassador Jameson!” exclaimed Fletcher, hoping that his hasty change of subject wasn’t too obvious. “Welcome; I’m afraid you caught us slightly off guard!” He laughed. “Even with all the extra help they’ve brought in from the Shield, I still fear we’re not quite prepared to host an even of this magnitude here! It’s enough to make one wonder why they didn’t simply hold in Ianapalis.”

Jameson bit the inside of his cheek for a moment at Fletcher's statement. "This is indeed a big dinner, and I'm sure everything will be fine," he said smiling at Fletcher.

OOC: Dare I?

((probably not :P

*ducks watermelon*))

“And likewise, Mr Michaels. If men such as Jeff Williams and Takeo Katana endorse you, we shall get along famously. I am ever so sorry to hear of your country’s troubles with the IFTA; I knew that organization was trouble from when I first heard Caselonia present it.” He glanced over a shoulder. “Of course, I may assume that you will not share those opinions with our esteemed colleagues from Hell Bovines and Tanah Burung?”

Afterwards, he waved a hand. “Here, come in out of the heat. Our building is well insulated; as well, we have just installed the latest contraption - electric fans!” He laughed in wonder. “What won’t they think of next?”

----

The servant with the poker cried in delight as he managed to get a flame from the lump of oak in the fireplace, then quickly got back to work as it vanished with just a muted sigh. They really didn’t need a fire on a day like this in tropical Tanah Burung, but it was traditional. They had to have a fire.

“Here, come,” said Fletcher, gesturing. “Let us adjourn to the smoking room while we wait for the remaining guests. Mr Dhawan, I saw you enjoying a cigarette outside and would not impose on your pleasure.”

“As you will,” muttered Dhawan, “I was nearly finished, anyhow.”

“And Mr Burton,” Fletcher continued to the third man as if he hadn’t heard Dhawan, “I know you’ve been itching to light up your pipe; come, come, we go.” And he led the way to the Embassy’s smoking room.

“And likewise, Mr Michaels. If men such as Jeff Williams and Takeo Katana endorse you, we shall get along famously. I am ever so sorry to hear of your country’s troubles with the IFTA; I knew that organization was trouble from when I first heard Caselonia present it.” He glanced over a shoulder. “Of course, I may assume that you will not share those opinions with our esteemed colleagues from Hell Bovines and Tanah Burung?”

"Well I hope we shall," Michaels replied with a smile. "I'd read both Katanas speeches at the last Third World Conference, and I'm surprised it took this long for the trouble to begin. I'll try to keep those opinions to ourselves when they arrive. Although, this does open up the possibility to increase the trade and other ties between Iansisle and Larkinia even more."

Afterwards, he waved a hand. “Here, come in out of the heat. Our building is well insulated; as well, we have just installed the latest contraption - electric fans!” He laughed in wonder. “What won’t they think of next?”

Micahels turned to Jameson with a wink, "I can't wait until we introduce them to central air conditioning."

“Here, come,” said Fletcher, gesturing. “Let us adjourn to the smoking room while we wait for the remaining guests. Mr Dhawan, I saw you enjoying a cigarette outside and would not impose on your pleasure.”

“As you will,” muttered Dhawan, “I was nearly finished, anyhow.”

“And Mr Burton,” Fletcher continued to the third man as if he hadn’t heard Dhawan, “I know you’ve been itching to light up your pipe; come, come, we go.” And he led the way to the Embassy’s smoking room.

"Of course," Jameson said, "I'd love a good cigar."

Michaels looked around the embassy as they strolled, pulling out another cigarette to offer to Dhawan as they walked.

Jono's head rested against the material of the head rest in the car that was taking him, the regional manager for ForgSoc (Olele), and a scribe to the Iansislian Embassy.

He looked out the window miserably, wondering why the Director, his father, had sent him to this dinner.

The car (a normal sedan, with bullet proof windows, and the obligatory flags on the bonnet) pulled into the Iansislian Embassy.

Olele reached over and whispered into Jono's ear,

"Cheer up, I'm sure you will do fine."

With that he exited the car, and, walked around opened the door for Jono.

Nodding regally he exited pausing to take his bearings.

He had to admit, It was exciting to be outside of Water Cooler De Novo.

He walked swiftly along, Olele and the Scribe following him their robes swishing.

Jono himself was wearing a business suit, how instead of the normal blazer a kind of half robe which trailed the floor, was on his back.

Reaching the Foyer he waited to be greeted by the kind hosts. Looking around he wondered what the night was going to bring...

“Indeed it does,” smiled Dhawan as he held the door for Jameson and Michaels, “Indeed it does.”

---

"Of course," Jameson said, "I'd love a good cigar."

Michaels looked around the embassy as they strolled, pulling out another cigarette to offer to Dhawan as they walked.

“Thank you,” said Dhawan, accepting it. He pulled an ancient lighter from his pocket as they settled in and offered it around to anyone in need.

“Now, Ambassador Jameson, I assume you’ve already had the pleasure of meeting Mr Fletcher.”

“Of course,” smiled the thin Gadsani diplomat, most famous for letting Ashtonbury the Company man walk all over him. “Mr Jameson, a pleasure.”

“Then,” continued Dhawan, “Ambassador Fletcher, this is Kevin Michaels, a special envoy straight from President Williams himself. Mr Michaels, the Iansislean ambassador to Tanah Burung.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Fletcher, “then we are truly honored! I trust His Grace is in good health?”

((Cooler, I'll have your reply in two shakes of a lamb's chop - oh, you don't mind being called Cooler, do you?))

“Pardon me, Your Excellency,” said an aide, poking his head into the smoking room. “His - er - the esteemed representative of Water Cooler De Novo is here.” Clearly, the aide had been quite unable to decipher the system of title applicable to the newcomer and was improvising as best he could.

“Splendid!” exclaimed Fletcher. “Be a good man and show him in here, won’t you?” The foyer was within spitting distance of the smoking room; in all probability, Jono heard the somewhat boisterous cry of the ambassador.

“At once, Your Excellency,” replied the servant, ducking back out to relay the news to Jono. He then led Jono into the smoking room, where Fletcher was on his feet, his cigarette smoking from his left hand so as to keep the right open for shaking.

OOC: Tempted, but no. After all, I dont wanna start a war over sending Robert to a dinner about third world nations and the like, but I'll keep watching it for intell purposes and what not. Im about to crash, but I promise a decent post int eh inaguration thread tommorow.

Jono walked forward and bowed his head at Fletcher. He then began speaking a few phrases in a flowing, watery sounding language to Olele.

Olele step forward and said in a friendly tone,

"My master the son of the Director, Lord Jono wishes the extend his most formal and excellent greetings to the excellency of Mr. Fletcher. He hopes that proceedings will be enriching for both nations. May the cooler bless all who are involved."

Olele bowed low, and the scribe following his lead, also bowing lowly.

Jono then made a hand gesture to the two, and they stood up, stepping back.

Jono then said in halting English.

"Thank for Fletcher, Sir. I am somewhat..."

He brakes off and then mutters a few words to Olele, who mutters back.

"...Thirsty after by trip. May I have a refreshment, if the trouble is not to great at this time." He smiled, looking pleased with his efforts.

"Also, if the trouble does not cause pain in oneself, may you introduce me to the other dignitaries."

((The cooler is fine! ;) )

Lord Jono noted every Iansislean in the room. Henceforth, ‘Your Lordship’ would be considered the proper way for them to refer to Jono, regardless of any Cooler traditions they were doubtlessly ignorant of, until such a time as they were corrected.

“Refreshments! Of course!” exclaimed Fletcher, ignoring the mispronounced or missed words. He was enough of a diplomat to know not to insult another trying to learn a second language. A servant appeared from nowhere and quickly crossed to the large liquor cabinet. “We’re fairly well stocked here; I can always have someone run to the cellar if we can’t find what you want. Just tell the man there.”

He continued with scarcely a pause: “As for our other fine guests, here is His Excellency Ambassador Marcus Jameson, from Larkinia, and Special Envoy Kevin Michaels, of the same country.

“Here is Hiresh Dhawan, of Gallaga...”

“Of Iansisle,” corrected Dhawan firmly but quietly. “It has been years since the last time I was in Gallaga; I scarcely think of it anymore.”

“Yes, well...” continued Fletcher, stumbling somewhat, “And Mr Burton, my chief of staff, here, from Iansisle. Gentlemen, Lord Jono of Water Cooler De Novo.”

((Awesome. By the way, if I suddenly vanish, it probably means I've passed out for the night. I'm going to try and stay up another hour or so, but the ol' lids are getting heavy. ;)))

OOC: Hmm...

IC:
Office of Secretaries
Rêvane
People's Democratic Social Republic of Ariddia

After the note had slowly been passed round the entire table, it finally reached the Prime Secretary's hands again, and he glanced over it briefly once more before setting it down. Most of the gathered faces were looking at him. He took a moment to think, and his gaze wandered round the fairly small room.

For a seat of national power and decision-making, the office was hardly luxurious, he reflected. Even the lighting was dim. Then again, electricity was rationed nationwide these days, and it would not do for the government to be exempt from the rules.

"I think it's time we took an interest in the world," he said at last, surprising himself most of all. Ariddia's foreign policy had always been to stick to its own business, really. Except during that tragic incident with the Tordorans. "Third world nations should assist one another."

There was no immediate reply. Perhaps the Secretaries were thinking he was becoming a little erratic with old age. After all, he had been in power for... how long now? He had heard there were quite a few jokes over in West Ariddia about his clinging to power. He snorted. Surely I'm not that old...

"E El is our ambassador to Tanah Burung, isn't he?" he said when he got no instant reaction. "Good comrade. We'll send him. No objections? Jean-Karl," he told the Secretary for External Affairs, "send him a note. Oh, and one to the Tanah Burung government, with all my regards. Next point on the agenda?"

That woke them up. He smiled slightly and sat down once more as the debate about changes in foreign policy began in earnest. . .

Looking at the liquor cabinet cringed on the inside. He wondered how long it would take for the Cooler to strike him if dared touch such a liquid.

"A glass of hot water, with three peppercorns in it would be my drinking requirements."

Waiting for the somewhat stunned servant to do so, he walked over, Olele in tow, to great the delegation from Larkinia. Nodding his head, and having Olele repeat the traditional greeting he wondering about walk to talk about first.

Olele stepped in;

"Mr lord remarked to me in the car that he was a big fan of Larkinia, he complemented me, at length, on how great the nation was, he also expressed a strong desire for a embassy to be set up in the territory at a later date -"

"Enough politics Olele" Jono said with just enough edge to his voice, "I'm sure their ears have gone to seed already due to talk in the excess. Is this right, gone to seed?" He asked of the Larkinia colleagues, with a curious expression on his face.

Meanwhile the scribe walked back to the car, and removed the luggage, giving it to a nearby porter, that done he picked up five small ornate boxes and slipped them into his robe. He then walked back into the embassy, beginning to 'innocently' stumble around.

Olele meanwhile walked over and greeted Hiresh Dhawan,

"Forgive me, but my mind fails me on the topic of Gallaga, would you please refresh me on it?"

As the group enters the building Michaels leans over to Dhawan, "Excellent, we can talk about that after the dinner."

“Thank you,” said Dhawan, accepting it. He pulled an ancient lighter from his pocket as they settled in and offered it around to anyone in need.

“Now, Ambassador Jameson, I assume you’ve already had the pleasure of meeting Mr Fletcher.”

“Of course,” smiled the thin Gadsani diplomat, most famous for letting Ashtonbury the Company man walk all over him. “Mr Jameson, a pleasure.”

“Then,” continued Dhawan, “Ambassador Fletcher, this is Kevin Michaels, a special envoy straight from President Williams himself. Mr Michaels, the Iansislean ambassador to Tanah Burung.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Fletcher, “then we are truly honored! I trust His Grace is in good health?”

((Cooler, I'll have your reply in two shakes of a lamb's chop - oh, you don't mind being called Cooler, do you?))

((Of course he doesn't mind being called Cooler, like the saying goes, "He's Cooler than the other side of the Pillow." ;) ))

"As good as can be expected considering he's still trying to learn the intercom, and his secretary's name, and that he doesn't have to do everything on his own anymore. He wanted me to give you his well wishes and give you his apologies for not being here today," Michaels said.

"Mr lord remarked to me in the car that he was a big fan of Larkinia, he complemented me, at length, on how great the nation was, he also expressed a strong desire for a embassy to be set up in the territory at a later date -"

"Of course we can," Ambassador Jameson said, "Sometime this weekend, possibly?"

"Enough politics Olele" Jono said with just enough edge to his voice, "I'm sure their ears have gone to seed already due to talk in the excess. Is this right, gone to seed?" He asked of the Larkinia colleagues, with a curious expression on his face.

"It's all right. We're all diplomats here, I don't know what else we could talk about other than politics," Jameson said. "Gone to seed.." he mused, "That's a new saying to me. I rather like it."

"A glass of hot water, with three peppercorns in it would be my drinking requirements."

That certainly stunned the servant, who had been prepared to offer a good sherry. He bustled off to the kitchen to fufill the rather odd request.

Olele meanwhile walked over and greeted Hiresh Dhawan,

"Forgive me, but my mind fails me on the topic of Gallaga, would you please refresh me on it?"

Dhawan laughed, but without humor. “My mind often fails me on just that subject. It is my native land, but not my home. Perhaps, though, you were looking for something a little more concrete?”

((ooc: for those unfamiliar with Iansisle, I reccomend this website (http://www.freewebs.com/driquan/). It’s rather incomplete, but there’s some good information on the Commonwealth and Gallaga.))

"As good as can be expected considering he's still trying to learn the intercom, and his secretary's name, and that he doesn't have to do everything on his own anymore. He wanted me to give you his well wishes and give you his apologies for not being here today," Michaels said.

(~~time warp to the past!~~)

Fletcher laughed loudly, then stood up as Jono entered.

(~~back to the present!~~)

((ooc: Ariddia, feel free to go ahead and RP your arrival. Basically, anyone’s welcome to attend!))

Olele looked at Dhawan, somewhat confused.

"But surely, your country of your birth, is your home." Sensing Dhawan discomfot he changed topics.

"The Larkinia delgation seems lively" He begun, seeminly seeking Dhawan's thoughts on the topic.

Meanwhile Jono continued to small chat with the Larkinia's, amusing them with his odd turn of phrases.

He turned towards the servant and starting drinking. Chatting away.

((I'm off for the night, sorry.))

"But surely, your country of your birth, is your home." Sensing Dhawan discomfot he changed topics.

"The Larkinia delgation seems lively" He begun, seeminly seeking Dhawan's thoughts on the topic.

Dhawan laughed, a bit more genuinely this time. "Ah, Larkinia! They do seem to produce the most interesting fellows, from the top man on down. I have the feeling that Ambassador Jameson and Mr Michaels shall prove once again their excellent tradition!"

((no worries, man. Me too. Catch you tomorrow!))

E El had been a little surprised at the news, but all in all it seemed like a good idea. He was not far from the Iansislean embassy and decided to walk there. A smallish, dark-skinned man in his late forties, of primarily Indigenous Ariddian descent, E El had been posted in Tanah Burung for a while now, but only rarely had his government asked him to attend any kind of diplomatic function.

He walked up to embassy and was let in.

Here we go... Let's see what this is all about.

Embassy row swarmed with people, so the exit of the Ariddian ambassador was well noticed, if a bit surprising: rarely had the doors to that embassy swung open. One of the city's small fleet of enviro-cars ("powered by clean non-polluting vegetable oil") pulled up and the people's representative for economic affairs stepped out, dressed in red and black. "M. L'Ambassadeur, je m'appelle Rosa Almeida," she said, hoping the ambassador was a French-speaker and trying out a few words in the language. "I'll walk with you to the Iansisle Embassy, if you don't mind?" Ariddia was a country that the collective presidency wished to cultivate.

Next to the embassy doors was Constancio Ainaro, the priest who as people's representative for social justice was in charge of education, health, welfare and the like, as well as foreign aid. In other words, he controlled about 90% of the government budget. Ainaro was the only member of the collective presidency who had attended all the third world meetings to date, adn he was certainly not going to miss this one. He greeted Hiresh Dhawan, the only person here he'd met before, with special warmth.

Tanah Burung had always been represented bya trio of ministers at these gatherings, and this time would be no exception. Mari Alkatiri, people's representative for foreign affairs & human rights, was not looking his best. He had already held two news conferences and three meetings with foreign ambassadors that day, as well as dealing with the biggest diplomatic crisis in decades of his country's history.

"Coffee, a large strong coffee," he said when asked for a drink order. His colleagues were happy enough to drink the sherry.

(ugh, forums. and another coffee for me.)

E El nodded politely as Almeida addressed him in French.

"Enchanté, Madame la Représentante," he replied, then switched to English. "Of course I do not mind. Though it is not a long walk, in any case."

He was quiet for a moment as they made their way to the embassy. Glancing at her, however, he could not hold back a smile.
"Do you realise you are wearing our national colours, Madam Representative?"

Goodgood! Anyway, I was thinking of dropping by, bringing Prefects Serinde nos Earendil of Trade and Maglor nos Feanor of Compassionate Relief.

OOC: If that's some kind of IC public message, or some such message exists...

If not, just assume this didn't happen, though this is a good time for me to actually use some of that information I go about looking up. (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=3253878#3253878)

IC:Herufiriemmolië coughed politely as he entered Sirithil’s office, and, wordlessly, unless her ladyship actually addressed him. He deposited a note on her desk, and turned to return to wherever he actually lurked, usually somewhere near and outside her office at this time, unless on some errand.

The note itself was fairly ordinary, and written in quenya, in a familiar hand. It read something like:

“Siri: I really would rather you didn’t risk going to this solidarity dinner thing, at the moment I think TB is not a wise destination for the discerning traveller, due to certain Knootian intentions there {'Strong Action' was the euphemism of choice}. Perhaps you should at least speak to Galadriël before considering going. Please.

Yours Mephet.”

((*nods* a small note might be a good idea yes.))

"With the addition of yellow, our national colours too," Almeida replied to E El. "And even more, the colours of Black-and-Red Army, the country's top football squad, and my own team of choice. I think the colours are just one of many things our countries have in common. And solidarity among the Third World countries, such an important thing to avoid the tentacles of some of the wealthier states, don't you think?" Almeida was too polite to add that Tanah Burung could no longer be considered poverty-stricken, and might even now be counted a wealthy state itself.

retag, decided I should send someone, cant be totally uncomapasionate

Ainaro’s greeting was returned heartily, and the priest was quickly whisked inside, past the nearly-prepared dining room, and into the smoking room. There, Dhawan introduced him to the steadily growing collections of names - Jono, Jameson, Michaels, Fletcher, and Burton - and settled him down in an overstuffed leather chair with the drink of his choice and a smoke, if he wanted it. Alkatiri, Almeida, and E El received much the same treatment as each arrived in turn.

((sorry for the brief post and lack of any real advancement ; just wasting time while we wait for HB and the rest to arrive.))

E El nodded. Ah, so Almeida wanted to know if Ariddia was considering joining a more structured form of mutual aid.
"Oh, I agree. More importantly perhaps, my government agrees too. Without solidarity we are exposed to more self-centred and self-serving forms of aid from richer nations."

They were nearing the embassy now.
"I am sure our governments will have a lot to discuss very soon," he added, and gave a quick smile. "Of course, I haven't told you any of this yet."

When they reached the embassy, he politely accepted a drink, but remained standing, taking in the faces of those already present.

Tsar Alexander II decided not to take a very large entourage to the banquet. Only four Imperial Guards, armed with the standard, Mauser-inspired bolt-action rifles, will accompany him, and two servants would attend to any other needs or errands he would need to accomplish during his trip and visit in Ukun Rasikan. The emperor also packed light, too... he was taking mostly his personal funds to attend to any needs he might need over in Tanah Burung.

After a couple of days of travelling, the Tsar of All Valerians arrived in front of the Iansislean Embassy in Ukun Rasikan. The Knootian Embassy caught only minot attention from the emperor, but he knew he had heard of Knootoss somewhere before. Was it from his father? The Valerian entourage scuttled through the gates and began walking up the gravel pathway towards the building that might fit right at home in any Valerian city... except New Valerius Prime, which has tall buildings of glass and steel, the structures competing amongst themselves for the skyline.

On either of the Emperor's sides were two guards each, walking solemnly in march. The two servants followed the emperor and his guards closely behind. They soon were at the porch, in which they halted to wait for a formal greeting... or something.

I haven't told you any of this yet? But he just had! Almeida was momentarily confused. Then she realized E El was some sort of Zen master: he had told her, not told her, and finally both told her and not told her, while simultaneously neither telling her nor not telling her.

She thought she could definitely use a drink. By the time she had it all worked out, they were inside the embassy. Did they favour nerve-steadying drugs in Iansisle? She somehow thought not, and wondered whether it was time for another trade mission to a country that did. Or, she could just stay home and get some on the streets tonight. After all, it was like they were all tripping already: this gaggle of diplomats and national leaders, solemnly awaiting the arrival of a talking cow, as if it was the most ordianry thing in the world. A talking cow with a halberd. She giggled, and started introducing herself.

(Sorry about the delay. Sometimes the world seems to conspire to keep me away from NS.
BTW, I-man, that's one hell of a national page! good work :wink: )

The duque Mooo IV received the Ianislean letter. He read it, and sighed.
He wasn't much in the mood for international meetings, specially since he realised the country had became a mess from the last time he left.
After all, lately he felt he could not trust much the vice-duque Whitey Bighorns anymore. He refused to make referendums on important issues and was becoming increasingly dictatorial; He almost felt his country needed him and that he shouldn't leave.
But it was his duty to go - He would meet old friends and probably improve the relations between the Third World Countries, a bit damaged after so much diplomatic inactivity.
He dispatched a small reply letter, elegantly written in purple ink, his favourite, and went straight to the airport. Blimp travels were so long that they should be started as soon as possible.

Some hours later, the duque and his delegation were standing at the doors of the Iansislean embassy.
*Simple, yet beautiful*, the duque thought as he contemplated the building. He was dressed with his typical clothing - A brownish robe, decorated with mythological incaic symbols, his silver staff and crown and, of course, the usual box of cigars.
He was accompanied by an also usual delegation: a translator, the hellbovinian ambassador in Tanah Burung - Bernardo Razormane - and three misteriously-looking figures of the Elite Duchian Guard, dressed with their traditional black-and-purple robes and carrying their ceremonial halberds, as if Almeida's thoughts had came true.

The duque rang the doorbell, feeling happy to be there.

The United States of Bulgandaria has one question, may we send a reprensetive of Parliament? The preisdent is not able to be gone for three days.

At the TB airport, the large, black and crimmson 777 landed on an open runway, and was directed to an open hanger. The TB airport, from what the Imitoran pilots remebered from the funeral, was really made to lauch airships, zeplins in fact. The 777 stood out, if not for the fact that it was one of the few aircraft there, but also the coloring. It was almost, imposing.

(OOC: Hope I got the airport ok TB?)

The 777 was state of the art, and designed for the personal transport of First Speaker Fortier. It held a several sleeping areas, a recreation facility, meeting rooms, and the like. Another 777 followed it, the Imitoran Air Command Post that would keep the First Speaker updated anywhere.

The IACP was painted a dull grey, and held a large, long bulge underneath the belly, which held all the elctronic equipment. Further, a cargo area was taken up by an off white 2004 BMW M3. It had the full Fortier treatment (he owned a small import performance shop), including an AC Schinzer body kit, TriFlow Free Flow exaust, short shifter, and countles other goodies. At 25mpg city, and 35 highway, it offered luxurious, fast, and somewhat economical transportation. Although it didnt get the milage the TB cars did, chaces were that it could hit 100mph before the vegtable oil powered cars could get going, and thats all that mattered to Robert.

He exited the 777 first, wearing a casual, stylish suit, black with a maroonish colored button down shirt, no tie, and top button left open. Following him was Amy Reoch, the offical Imitoran Emmisary to all nations in good standing. She wore a tastefull cocktail dress, black with tiny black sequins, and a slit that came up to mid thigh. Her hair was done up. He looked around, and moved to his car, the alarm beeping as he opened the door. He slid into the drivers seat, Amy into the passenger's, and turned the key in the ignition. With a squeal of teh tires and the growl of the engine, they were off to the Iansisleanian embassy.

The arrived a little more than 30 minutes later, and exited the vehicle, walking up the stairs to the door.

((I thought you were bringing someone semi-compassionate Imi :P

Hey TB, check your TG's ;) ))

(Replied, although perhaps a bit vaguely in retrospect. Imitora, i'm afraid landing jets is a very convoluted process. The one jet-capable airport is in Tiga Burung, the offshore island province. To get to the embassies in Ukun Rasikan, you'd have to land in Tiga Burung and transfer to air or sea transport -- a complimentary zeppelin is of course at your disposal. However, it's not germane to this thread & you could certainly land the jet in impressive style, make a nice hot-car jaunt over to the zeppelin and then fret as the ecological-but-dull blimp delivers you to the grounds of the Iansisle embassy.)

(No worries on the vagueness or not ;) , and you've got a reply waiting for you)

((sorry about my long-quietness. I've got an actual IC post in the works; ought to be up in a half hour or so.))

OOC: TB, sounds good. We'll just say that happend.

A disheveled woman in a dark blue suit runs in a long side another woman wearing a white suit and tiara. The woman in purple is Prime Minister Ylonda Galapagos-Nahru and the woman in a tierra is Princess Stacey. They rush in and look around.

Galapagos-Nahru: "Hello, everyone where are we to sit."

Princess Stacey: "We RSVP'd right?"

Galapagos-Nahru: "I think the Minister of Foriegn Affairs left the country before she did it, appologies to all the dignitaries but can we attend anyway."

Steps further in the room.

World, dinner, solid. Belch, she thought.

(( :oops: HB, I’m honored - especially from someone with as fine a site as you have. Don’t worry; flattery will get you everywhere! ;)))

Fletcher, by this point in time, is rather crammed into the smoking room. He hadn’t expected everyone to arrive in such quick succession, and could no more abandon his Larkinian, Tanah Burung, and Cooler guests than let the new arrivals cool outside. A quick glance at Dhawan at the sight of Tsar Alexander was enough to get his meaning across. The Gallagan ex-prime minister excused himself with the minimum of fuss possible and took up duties as the official greeter.

Of course, the sight of armed guards got the RIAC in motion. A few soldiers, whose primary duties in peaceful Tanah Burung involved standing about smoking or joking around with the Knootian guards next door, kept a keen watch on the Valerian guards. At least, as keen a watch as was possible with a cigarette clenched between their lips.

Unlike the Iansislean politicians and diplomats inside, who sweltered inside pinstriped suits and evening jackets, the military made no pretensions about the climate in which they served. The captain who approached the Tsar Alexander was dressed in the simple tropical uniform of the Royal Fusiliers. Unlike the Royal Foothills Pikes (Fourth Rifles), the King’s Own (First Grenadiers) , or the Vesshampton Lances (First Lancers), the Royal Fusiliers Regiment had survived the endless reorganizations of the Army Corps virtually unscathed. But they had been, for reasons aesthetic and practical (the old royal blue and white uniforms of the Fusiliers being most unsuited to combat in the hot conditions where the Army usually found itself) to adopt the newly standard khaki.

The tropical version of the uniform consisted of knee-long light brown shorts, a multi-pocketed khaki tunic, and a pith helmet. The last war had proven the uniform’s use in the dry deserts of the Sudan, North Africa, and Dianatran, but also its limitations in the deep jungles of Burma and Galla-China. Most credited the tropical uniform, which stood out like a sore thumb in tropical environments, with the failure of the Great Counteroffensive, which combined 250,000 RIAC troops with more than half a million Company sepoys in the largest concentration of land-based military might in Iansisle’s history, to drive the Chiangese from Burma and ensure total victory in the East. A hunter green tunic - once the colors of the Royal Shadoran Regiment of Foot (Seventh Rifles) - arrived too late to have any effect on the war. In peacetime, the differently-cut green was generally considered much uglier and more uncomfortable than the khaki and seldom worn. The office wore a sabre and revolver; the soldiers had their M74B, a magazined bolt-action rifle based on the wildly successful SMLE Mk. III*, slung over their shoulders

“Your Imperial Majesty,” greeted the captain, a little more loudly than needed. The idling troops, however, suddenly scented the blue blood and quickly assembled themselves into some semblance of respectful order. “Welcome to the Iansislean Mission. If you’ll please follow me -” he noticed Dhawan “- I’ll show you to your gracious host. However, I’m afraid that your armed guards will have to remain outside the embassy proper - I do hope that will not be a problem?” Assuming it wasn’t the Captain of Fusiliers then led Alexander to Dhawan, who greeted him respectfully and led him into the embassy.

----

Almeida, perhaps nosy enough to inspect the contents of the large liquor cabinet, would doubtlessly notice several bottles of laudanum and other opiates, as well as the Ambassador’s personal cocaine syringe. Whether or not Tanah Burung was aware of it, Iansisle actually had a drug policy quite as liberal as the United Provinces - or rather, they simply had no policy guiding substance use or abuse. Opium was still the number one pain killer and the basis for products such as Dr Fische’s Miracle Baby Formula - guaranteed to let the sandman visit even the crankiest infant! Of course, every bottle and jar on the side of the cabinet was stamped with the logo of the East Gallaga Company of Iansisle.

---

The Hell Bovinians were met in a manner similar to the Valerians; respectfully, the Duque was asked to leave his guards at the door and ushered in.

“Ah, Your Grace!” exclaimed Fletcher as the face - familiar from news-paper stories and childhood popup books about farm animals - appeared in the smoking room door. “Here, join us!”

Fortunately, Fletcher was saved the exhausting job of introducing the Duque to everyone present by the head butler announcing that dinner was served. Any later additions to the table would simply have to miss the first salad of a meatless menu.

With a sigh of relief, Fletcher ushered everyone out of the crowded smoking room - in which even the electric fan was having a tough time keeping the smell of burning tobacco and human sweat from dominating - into the much more spacious dining room. There were no places set at the heads of the table; Fletcher sat with his back to the fireplace (in which the oak was now happily burning) on the far left side of the table. Alexander and the Valerians were across from him, Burton and Dhawan to his right. Alkatiri and the others from Tanah Burung were right of the Iansisleans with the Larkinians across from them. The Duque and his Hell Bovines were next to the Larkinians, Lord Jono across from the bovines, E El next to him. Other places were left open to their right, in anticipation of the latecomers.

((in other words: ))

MV -- Lark -- HB -- Bulgandaria -- Alex
TABLETABLETABLE
Ian -- TB -- Cooler -- Ariddia -- Imitora

"Please, everyone, take your seats," said Fletcher, with a smile at the disheveled Lands of Alexians. He had enough experiance with Minister of Foreign Affairs to excuse their tardiness.

EDIT: Bulg., that would be fine. Just have your rep. magically appear at the table; I don't mind. ;)

Of course, every bottle and jar on the side of the cabinet was stamped with the logo of the East Gallaga Company of Iansisle.

((Of course it did... ;) ))

Jameson and Michaels took their seats across from the Tanah Burungians and next to the Hell Bovinians. Michaels secretly hoped the Iansislians remembered not to serve meat, although he also wished that one waiter would slip up, he'd never seen a Hell Bovinian really really pissed off before...

Jono and Olele sat down, thankful to get out of the smoking room.

Noticing the time, they quickly turned their heads upward, chanting softly a short prayer. That done they made a all encompassing gesture and sat down, smiling genially at the startled looks of some of the dinning companions.

Jono turned to the right and bowed his had at the Tanah Burungians.

"I hope the food shall come in a time that is lesser then the setting of the sun. My stomach is like a gorge, empty. and prone to echoing rumbling noises."

Meanwhile Olele stared, rather impolitely, at the Hell Bovinians.

... although he also wished that one waiter would slip up, he'd never seen a Hell Bovinian really really pissed off before...

((Say, that's not very nice! :P

Maybe we have one or two lambchops in the back accidentally labeled 'mushrooms' or something ;)))

... although he also wished that one waiter would slip up, he'd never seen a Hell Bovinian really really pissed off before...

((Say, that's not very nice! :P

Maybe we have one or two lambchops in the back accidentally labeled 'mushrooms' or something ;)))

*Whistles innocently*

((And on that note, I'm outta here... damn classes.. ;) ))

((right, 'night, man! I actually have to work tomorrow too, so I probably won't be much longer :(.

Meanwhile Olele stared, rather impolitely, at the Hell Bovinians.

But don't we all. ;) Our diplomats have to take so many classes just to prepare them for the Hell Bovines alone! "This is not your average dairy cow. It walks, talks, and smokes cigars. Sometimes the women give milk, but we don't like to talk about that."))

*Whistles* ... ((And on that note...))

((heh.))

The guards that surrounded the Tsar were definitely distinguishable from any other Valerian soldier. Like the standard Valerian footsoldier or cavalryman, they were dressed in a dark blue and gray uniform. However, a brilliant gold sash ran diagonally across their torso towards their beltline. In place of the standard-issue cap, they also had pickelhaubes with luxurious plumes (Like the Badenese Uhlans), giving them a flamboyant and dignified aura about them. Their black, long-legged combat boots reflected the sunlight; the quality of the leather was unsurpassed and each guard probably spends hours on certain occassions to polish them just right.

The Valerireich Model 043, the rifles carried by these guards, is a type of rifle heavily influenced by the Mausers wielded by troops of Austria-Hungary, the Ottoman Empire, Argentina, the Brazilian Empire, and the German Empire; the caliber of the ammunition was practically the same on the Mauser and the Valerireich. Their light weight made them easy to use and wield in certain battle situations where a soldier had to cover ground fast... the flat plains of Valeria during the War of the Barons (A civil war in which the Baronial Council revolted against Tsar Alexander I) was a testing ground and it proved the weapon to be a valuable and versatile rifle. Other than the rifle, all soldiers in the Imperial Guard carried a sabre, a bayonet, and a few hand grenades; they weren't heavily armed and carried little supplies and ammunition. After all, these guards were to be last-resort soldiers in any war, placed even after the reservists.

Tsar Alexander raised his chest upwards proudly. The guards mimicked their emperor and shouldered their rifles. The two servants meddled among themselves. "Of course it will not be a problem to keep the guards outside," stated the Emperor in his proud yet intelligent and open-minded manner. The Tsar greeted Dhawan with a bow, and then the Valerian Emperor followed Dhawan's lead into the embassy.

The Emperor and his remaining entourage listened as they were called to their seats. Across from Fletcher were their seats, in which they quickly occupied once the Iansislian called them to sit. One servant sat on each side of the Tsar, but they did not seem like servants in the normal sense; they were very dignified and they did not try to look as if they were servants by sitting pompously at their seats. Alexander looked lazily across the table at Fletcher and then glanced at the other guests, including the Hell Bovinian. 'Hmm... since there is no meat being served... maybe we can roast that cow...' Alexander thought with a sly smirk growing on his face. The servants, too, stared hungrily at the Hell Bovines, and, like the emperor, they had never seen Hell Bovines before.

Olele leaned backwards and caught the eye of a nearby servant

"So, what exactly is on this menu?" He asked, eyebrow raised.

E El took his seat, and looked discreetly round the table at the somewhat heterogeneous gathering. He realised it was the first time he had seen a Hell Bovinian this close up, though he was careful not to stare.

His attention was soon taken by Jono and Olele praying. He wondered whom they were praying to. Perhaps he could ask them about their culture in a moment. He himself had no deities; few Indigenous Ariddians did. Their indigenous cultures had survived colonisation, and were based for the most part on bonds to nature which were not truly spiritual in essence. But he was always curious to know more about foreign ways.

Jono's subsequent question about the beginning of the meal caused him to smile slightly. Foreign ways indeed.

Olele leaned backwards and caught the eye of a nearby servant

"So, what exactly is on this menu?" He asked, eyebrow raised.

The man, who had been filling glasses with a fine merlot (excepting, of course, those who didn’t drink, like Dhawan), stopped next to Jono and gave him his undivided attention as if that had been what he intended to do from the beginning. “We’re having a creamy corn and tomato soup to start with,” he said, “followed by a broad bean pilaf and double baked potatoes.”

Hardly a traditional Iansislean menu; in fact, one might even catch Mr Burton making disgusted faces as the waiter spoke.

“A toast, ladies and gentlemen,” said Fletcher, raising his glass. “To Madame Bi Bere, for starting a legacy of Third World Solidarity, and to Mr Alkatiri, for continuing it.”

Robert nodded at the gaurds as he walked past them, and entered the dinning room. Neither he nor Amy had any intention in entering the smoking room, and they waited and mingled with guests in the main area, till told to sit.

They took their seats, and in the fashion of the Novians (if thats wrong, just tell me), bowed their heads, and offered a quick prayer, with Robert finishing just audibly in Latin. They looked up, nodded, to those looking at them, and placed the napkins in their laps.

Robert declined the wine respectfully, instead he asked if a dry martini would be possible. He overheard the menu selections, and decided if he couldn't have meat, he might as well drink his hunger away. He too looked at the Bovinians with a slight disdain, and shared teh theoughts of the Valarians. Amy noticed this, and decided that she would have to do her best to keep Robert from speaking to teh Bovinians, or at all if she could help it. As great of a leader he was, he still hadn't quite learned that dipolmacy, even in Imitora, is far different from diplomatic immunity. Luckily, Robert had left the twin custom Kimber Eclipses on the 777.

“A toast, ladies and gentlemen,” said Fletcher, raising his glass. “To Madame Bi Bere, for starting a legacy of Third World Solidarity, and to Mr Alkatiri, for continuing it.”

E El lifted his glass in turn.
"To Madame Bi Bere," he echoed, "and Mr. Alkatiri. May these endeavours be long-lasting."

The Bulgandarian Rep. took his seat.

"Sorry for being late, the Tanah Burung airport was crowded." said the rep. in an embarresed state. He reported back to Bulgandaria to tell the Parliament that he has arrived and is at the dinner now.

But don't we all. :wink: Our diplomats have to take so many classes just to prepare them for the Hell Bovines alone! "This is not your average dairy cow. It walks, talks, and smokes cigars. Sometimes the women give milk, but we don't like to talk about that."))

lol! Don't worry, Hell Bovines are so accustomed to being stared at. :D
Remeber our hell bovines also need to be taught about humans. ("They didn't suffer an accident, they are actually hairless." and "If you see one of them carrying a fork; run!") :P


IC:
After telling the guards to wait outside, the bovine delegation entered the embassy. They took a seat between the Larkinians and an some empty chairs, soon to be occupied by the Bulgandarian delegation.
They smiled and greeted everyone politely, without caring too much about being stared - They were accustomed to it after all. Only the translator, evidently younger, was a bit frightened by the looks of Alexander and its valerian aides, who seemed to want him as lunch.

The duque, meanwhile, was looking at the Cooler delegates with much interest. Their country and culture - as well as their religion - were a mistery to him and caused him great curiosity. It was a mutual and rather uncomfortable stare, one might say.

Many noises of relief could be heard from the talking cows as the vegetarian menu was announced. From that moment on, the little cowling translator sat much more comfortably and relaxed. It was evidently one of his first diplomatic missions and by his looks one could probably guess he feared someone may intent to give him a bite.

As the merlot was brought, it was accepted by all bovines - except by one ambassador, who prefered to drink a tequila he had brought from home.
All hell bovines raised then their glasses and the duque also echoed the toast: "For Madame Bi Bere, Mr Alkatiri and our noble cause of Third World Unity, indeed".

and "If you see one of them carrying a fork; run!") :P

((mmmmm.... steak... ;) ))

"For Madame Bi Bere, Mr Alkatiri and our noble cause of Third World Unity, indeed".

Michaels and Jameson looked at each other a moment, "Yeah, why the hell not. To all of the above," Michaels said raising his glass.

Alkatiri stood up. As he was just a hair over four feet tall, not everyone noticed. His colleagues clinked their glasses a bit until people did.

"My toast is to the Pontiff of West Token, may he rest in peace, for first proposing a conference of the nations of the Third World. And to the people of Larkinia for hosting the first conference. And finally, to Ambassador Fletcher of Iansisle for bringing us together here tonight. It's a troubled time, and it's conforting to reflect on the nature of the solidarity that binds us. To solidarity, my friends."

"Something I'm sure we can all agree on," said Dhawan, who was seated next to Alkatiri. "To solidarity - may a bright future await us all."

Fortunately, before anyone could seize of Dhawan's comment to propose a toast to the future of the third world, waiters erupted from the kitchen, bearing the first course - a steamy bowl of soup for everyone present.

Dhawan shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He knew it was his duty to talk with Alkatiri, but damn all if he could think of a single thing to say. That tongue which had propelled him from the desolation of rural Gallaga to the marble halls of Jameston Place and earned him a place as one of Iansisle's two greatest orators in modern history; that tongue which had won him, albeit briefly, the premiership in one of the most racist countries in the world despite his dark skin; that tongue which could wax eloquently over the most divisive issues in parliament from a centralist's point of view - now that tongue failed him. He sat in uncomfortable silence between the stoic Burtan and the liberal foreign minister.

Fletcher, meanwhile, was busy flattering His Imperial Majesty. The Gadsani diplomat came off as a little silly, though he doubtlessly meant well. After all, his instructions from #3 Jameston were explicit - he was not to lose the good favor curried by Northrupt and the Odysseus.

Burton just sipped at his soup and watched everyone else. Meanwhile, half a dozen servants were at hand, ready to fill any glass or take away any empty bowl.

Michaels finished the glass of wine and waited as the waiter refilled the glass. He looked at Jameson with concern, the pair were still waiting to hear the tally of the IFTA Vote before they could proceed with much more than niceities.

"So Mr. Dhawan," Michaels started, Seen any good movies lately.. no, that sounds like tripe... "How has business been on the Shield recently?"

Jameson looked at Michaels. Surely he didn't just ask anything related to business... in front of the Burungian and Hell Bovinian delegates!? Maybe he just meant, how are you doing... yeah, maybe that was it.

We are interested in attending.

Olele and Jono raised their glasses, adding a solemn head bow,

"To Solidarity" they said together.

Olele slowly sipped his soup, wincing slightly at the flavour.

Jono, however, enjoying them soup slightly more, wondered about the figure of Dhawan. He had seen Olele talking to him before, and he seemed like to be … interesting. Jono, now on his second teaspoon of soup, made a mental note to talk to him later.

In meantime he raised his voice and looked at the Bovian delegation. "Ah, this soup is wonderful, it reminds me of the gruel we have back at home, but with more tongue dancing happiness." He smiled, and then wondered how the cows managed to sit upright on the chairs. “How exactly, without being causing tears in your eye, do you manage to sit on the chairs, I know myself, sitting, but not falling can be ponderous?”

Meanwhile Olele turned in his seat, and addressing Michaels and Jamerson he asked,

"Enjoying the soup? The weather here is fairly warm isn’t it?"

He then ‘accidentally’ dropped his napkin in his.

"Oh dear. What have I done...Waiter, please take this away. Err. No, I won’t have another bowl. Thank you, though."

((LOL, everyone's a food critic ;) ))

"Yes it is quite warm here," Jameson replied glancing at the log burning in the fireplace on what felt like a 90-degree day. "And the soup is quite good."

"So Mr. Dhawan," Michaels started, Seen any good movies lately.. no, that sounds like tripe... "How has business been on the Shield recently?"

Dhawan arched an eyebrow. "Things go much as they always have," he answered. Figuring that the current government would get no love from this crowd - "Edward Tarriff* continues to demonstrate a complete lack of comprehension, saved only by his one true guiding grace. As I said, business as usual."

Burton grunted and quickly turned his face towards the soup.

((* yes, I'm quite aware of how you spell 'tariff'. There're two 'r's for a reason - because that word's a proper name, not an import duty. It's pronounced with a long 'a' and two distinct 'r' sounds, like TAR-riff. Sorry if I seem actively defensive about that; many people like to misspell my prime minister's name correctly.))

OOC: info on Free Outer Eugenia: http://www.geocities.com/free_outer_eugenia/

IC:
Enrique Sandoval was a brown-skinned middle-aged man of average height with black hair graying slightly at the edges. He wore loafers, a tweed jacket with a red and black star pinned to the lapel, beige corduroy trousers and a white cotton turtleneck.

He spoke as a large number of delegates at the table neglected their meals to listen.

"The so-called 'third world' my friends, is no longer defined by national boundaries and it never truly was. A slum in a great metropolis of the world's mightiest superpower is as much in 'the third world' as any poor village in one of this superpower's 'recently liberated' (or rather reenslaved) colonies is. Furthermore an opulent mansion in the former colony is as much set apart from 'the third world' as a luxurious hotel suite in the aforementioned metropolis. Being 'in the third world' is a matter of power and relation to capital. The Third World Peoples are often powerless against their imperialist exploiters and they have a perilous relationship to the means of life: transnational agrifirms are flooding the world markets with cheap subsidized goods that drive small farmers into starvation. The global race to the bottom is doing the same to the industrial worker.

The workers of Free Outer Eugenia cannot be said to be a part of the third world because we have full and direct control over the mines, the workshops, the farms, the factories and the infrastructure of Free Outer Eugenia. We maintain however a strong solidarity with the international working class. We hope that some of our fellow delegates here will join us in working to build a world where ‘third world’ will be an obsolete distinction.”

Dhawan arched an eyebrow. "Things go much as they always have," he answered. Figuring that the current government would get no love from this crowd - "Edward Tarriff* continues to demonstrate a complete lack of comprehension, saved only by his one true guiding grace. As I said, business as usual."

"Ah yes, his one guiding grace? I didn't know Tarriff had any grace, guiding or otherwise." Michaels grinned.

He listened with the rest of the group to Sandoval's speech before leaning over to Jameson, "And now the standard pitch begins."

Burton coughed and stared harder into his soup. Dhawan suddenly found the ceiling very interesting. As de facto host, Fletcher supposed the duty fell to him. He was competent enough, but it’s well known that the negotiators from the Shield are not nearly so eloquent or encompassing as the famous diplomats from Tanah Burung or Larkinia. Mostly, they bumbled along, often with a total lack of information, and hoped everything worked out. Or at least that someone else was around to pull their fat from the fryer.

Sitting at a table with Jameson and Alkatiri, Fletcher felt fairly confident at putting his thoughts into action. After waiting politely for Sandoval to finish his tirade, he cleared his throat.

“Well, Mr - Sandoval, wasn’t it? - that’s very interesting, and most well spoken. However, I think most of the men and women here, having been through one or two conferences on that very subject that we don’t need to be lectured about third world politics.

“This is a friendly dinner between like-minded powers; we’re here to reaffirm our devotion to one another and our mutual well-being, not overturn or alter the declarations of years past. There’s no need to be segregating or creating an us versus them dichotomy. The elevation of the third world has been and will continue a struggle, of course, but it does no good to slander others.”

“Or give the damn Gallers any ideas,” muttered Burton under his breath too low for anyone besides Dhawan, Fletcher, and maybe the Valerians to hear him. Fletcher kicked him under the table.

The ambassador glanced about the table. “I trust everyone’s enjoying their soup?”

“I trust everyone’s enjoying their soup?”


"Err, Yes. Thank you." Replied Olele in a strangly strangled type of voice.

Jono having finshed talking with the Bovians, looked at the outspoken Mr. Sandoval.

"I'm curious, is my assumption correct that you view the 'third world' label as being something negative?"

Fletcher coughed loudly, hoping to dissuade Jono from encouraging the man. It was starting to sound like the Iansislean side of the table had some sort of disease.

Olele raised a eyebrow at Fletcher, but said nothing.

"I withdraw my question, Mr. Sandoval, perhaps we can talk about another topic which is less heavy on the heart, and mind for now?"

The Tsar listened to Fletcher, but the shallow flattery bored the emperor. Alexander perked up as soon as the food was served. The soup was hot off the kitchen, a welcome sight for Alexander; he was sick of eating sea rations for several days and some real food with flavor was what he felt that he needed. He quietly sipped at his soup until his servants brought forth a glass.

The Emperor raised the glass with some sort of liquor for the toast. "May we, the Third World, work towards unity and harmony..."

The emperor lowered his voice substantially. "Now, for a quick recital of the first verse of the new anthem I'm working on! Ahem... Francis, Emmanuel, I believe it's up to you to do this. Remember, it's God Save Our Tsar!"

The servants cleared their throats and turned up with pride as they began to sing in perfect tune regardless of the others in the room. The anthem went along to the notes of God Save the King.

God save our mighty Tsar!
His power truly grand!
God save the ...

As the duo of singing attendants came to the end of the third line, just before 'Tsar', a brown-skinned attendant began a rambling little lecture that, at the end, irritated Alexander. Why is this man telling us everything that we already know, the Tsat thought. The servants did not dare to begin singing again and went back to their soup bowls. Alexander, however, decided to return a comment to this Mr. Sandoval.

"Excuse me, but I believe we are not ignorant children here," he said bluntly. "Your lecture is unneeded... why not just sit down and enjoy a bowl of soup with all of us instead of spewing your prattle?" The emperor was cold, but he was to the point. This was one arrogant person who thought of his nation as surpassing the nations pf all the other delegates in the room... Apparently this man had no idea of the power in some of the member nations here.

Burton murmured some statement before Fletcher kicked him under the table. The two attendants were too busy with their soup to pay attention, but Alexander caught some of what was said. "Gauls?" Alexander said in a puzzled tone to himself. "What's this about Gauls?" It was futile to ask what was said, so the emperor shrugged his shoulders and continued sipping his soup.

"This soup is tops... for something I'd find outside the Imperial Estate! Send my commendations to the chef," said the emperor in response to Fletcher's inquiry. The servants had grins on their faces, but didn't say a word.

E El's head swiveled back and forth as he listened to criss-crossing comments. He wasn't sure whether to feel amused or uncomfortable. At any rate, he was having a good time.

And the soup was good, too.

"I for one see no harm in re-affirming that which binds us," he tossed in. "Though I do suggest we should focus on constructive solidarity, Mr. Sandoval raises points which should not be forgotten." He lifted his eyebrows now. "Is this what we are to debate, then? The very nature of the Third World and solidarity?"

"Indeed" said Sandoval responding to E El and deliberatly ignoring the pompous Tsar Alexander. His mandate did not extend to placating infantile tyrants. "For what is soliderity without liberty and equality? Nothing less than thralldom." Sandoval continued adressing the wider audience "I beg you to excuse my tone. My tendency to lecture comes from my years in academia. I am well aware that I have not said anything that my fellow delegates have not heard at least a dozens times before. Neverthless as the Federation's delegate it is my duty to represent this persepective. The soup is wonderful by the way. I extend my most sincere compliments to the kitchen staff."

((Suppose it's too late to join in? I care deeply about third-world nations in our geographical area, IanIsle...

BTW, Tsar Alexander was actually quite liberal, Free Outer Eugenia))

"Excuse me, but I believe we are not ignorant children here," he said bluntly. "Your lecture is unneeded... why not just sit down and enjoy a bowl of soup with all of us instead of spewing your prattle?" The emperor was cold, but he was to the point. This was one arrogant person who thought of his nation as surpassing the nations pf all the other delegates in the room... Apparently this man had no idea of the power in some of the member nations here.

Fletcher couldn't quite decide if coughing at royalty was disrespectful or not, but he'd already started hacking and ended up making a sound somewhat like a suffocating cat.

"Gauls?" Alexander said in a puzzled tone to himself. "What's this about Gauls?" It was futile to ask what was said, so the emperor shrugged his shoulders and continued sipping his soup.

"Nothing!" cut in Fletcher smoothly but definitively. "No, no, Mr Burton said, er, garlic. He thinks the soup could use a little more."

Olele raised a eyebrow at Fletcher, but said nothing.

"I withdraw my question, Mr. Sandoval, perhaps we can talk about another topic which is less heavy on the heart, and mind for now?"

Fletcher smiled back at him.

"I for one see no harm in re-affirming that which binds us," he tossed in. "Though I do suggest we should focus on constructive solidarity, Mr. Sandoval raises points which should not be forgotten." He lifted his eyebrows now. "Is this what we are to debate, then? The very nature of the Third World and solidarity?"

"What binds us will not be forgotten," assured Dhawan, speaking up for the first time before Fletcher could say anything.

"Mr Sandoval, we respect your academic background. However, in the future, I know I would be much obliged if you could refrain from lecturing us. We're all grown men now, and I know I've had my fill of being sent to the Headmaster's office." Dhawan's tone was light and he had a small smile on his dark features.

"Now then, Mr E El (?), I don't believe we're here to debate, not as such. An enlightened conversation, perhaps, even with differences of opinion. But I would appreciate it if we refrain from insulting one another or condescending to one another." That was said looking all about the table, not just at Sandoval.

"We're all on the same side here, gentlemen," he concluded. Some of the Tanah Burung delegation might be insulted, but it wasn't clear if Dhawan was being chauvinist or only addressing the interested parties.

Looking about the table, Dhawan beamed. "Now then! I'm sure such heavy politics can easily wait until the main course, if not after dinner; please, ladies and gentlemen, eat, drink, and be merry!"

((Suppose it's too late to join in? I care deeply about third-world nations in our geographical area, IanIsle...

BTW, Tsar Alexander was actually quite liberal, Free Outer Eugenia))

((ooc: I'd appreciate an extremely limited number of first world delegates, at least 5-1 in favor of the third world. If you feel it imperative to come, please do.

Oh, and if so, make sure you keep a strict watch on IC/OOC segregation. We're not here to insult anyone's personal beliefs, nor their characters beliefs from a position where the character cannot respond. That goes for everyone here. Thank you.))

...thralldom."

((Ooh! Ooh! - a thousand quatloos on the big one!))

These meetings had always produced fireworks, Constancio Ainaro reflected, remembering the past summits. Even at a simple meal, it seemed that would be the case. And the Valerian Emperor and the Outer Eugenian syndic weren't even veterans of these meetings. It seemed they had entered right into the swim of things.

It was even possible, he thought as he listened to something entirely new, a rousing chorus of God Save the Tsar, with no expression on his face at all. As the anthem ended, he smiled at the singers. A noble effort to be in tune, it had been. It was the thought that counted, anyway.

But with his colleagues, Ainaro remained silent, except to compliment the soup.

"Gallers in the soup?" Rosa Almeida whispered to him. "Did i hear that right?"

"I'm fairly sure our hosts are not grinding up the people of their colonies," he answered sotto voce. "You must have misheard."

"Well, as long as it's not beef." Almeida took another appreciative spoonful.

((der bumporz - if there's no more posts in about five hours, I'll do what I can to advance the plot. Just making sure everyone's finished with the current conversation.))

Alexander II was irritated at Free Outer Eugenia. He wasn't a braindead emperor; he quickly caught the indirect comment spewed by the F.O.E. delegate. Fletcher began hacking up a storm, which momentarily caught the emperor's attention. "Choking on an artichoke heart or something, Sir Fletcher?" he said with mild interest. The servants on each side of the emperor went to attend to Fletcher by Alexander's command.

Now, with Fletcher taken cared of with his odd coughing problem, Alexander turned back to the Free Outer Eugenian delegate. The four bodyguards might come in handy sooner or later... The emperor probably should command them to give the Eugenian delegate a bristling welcome of bayonets or bullets. The emperor ultimately decided against attacking the representative; he can't afford a war right now with the technological and industrial progress his nation is making.

The garlic comment brought up by Fletcher was a little awkward. Alexander raised an eyebrow but then agreed that the soup needed more garlic. "Yes, the soup needs a touch of more garlic. The flavor isn't terribly present." The servants returned to their seats and they, along with their emperor, quietly finished their soup with their drinks. The emperor had a gin and tonic that he was happily drinking to himself.

Michaels watched the interaction between Alexander II and Sandoval with some amusement. "Now which federation are you representing here?" he asked Sandoval.

“Thank you,” muttered Fletcher as the two Valerians came to help him. He quickly ‘recovered’ and shooed them away.

“I’ll be sure to mention that to the kitchen staff,” said Burton to the kitchen staff, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Lord knows this meal could use some sort of garnish.”

Meanwhile, Dhawan, occupied as he was with gazing at Ainaro with a vaguely insulted expression, was too busy to hush Burton.

The hell bovinians enjoyed their soup a bit silently. They luckily didn't noticed the gallers presence in the soup and certainly enjoyed hearing to the different conversations and opinions brought to the table.

When Jono asked them about the chairs, they honestly answered they had no idea on why the chairs were supporting their weight ("they usually break and we have to sit in cushions"), to what the duque replied that they must have been reinforced on some way.

The duque heard with attention to the new anthem of Magnus Valerious, clapping (or, more accurately, making noise with their hooves) and almost feel tempted to start singing "Cows With Guns", in loud and proud Spanish. But these thoughts were interrupted by the escalating political debate.

The duque then, decided to spoke:
"Well, well, seems that everyone has a different definition of third world around here.
As I see it, and as it's shown in this room, we, the third world are indeed an special and colorful group of nations. We are usually either the poor of the world, the marginalised, or, on the other side, the ones that don't want to fall into the trap of imperialism, the ones that don't want to align with any superpower. We are the nations that don't want to enter into the game of political manipulation, the ones that don't want to be puppets into the game of pervesion perpetruated by the powerful nations.
We only defend our right to self-determination, to freedom, to decide what we want our countries to be like.

Hell Bovines, for one, has find its freedom in socialism. I am not, in fact, a real duque except for my name and crown. It is the hell bovinian people who elected me democratically and they are the ones that tell me what to do, by voting in referendums and local councils. I just represent my nation, but I don't hold almost any decision-making power.
Hell Bovines has find its way of living in socialism and direct democracy, but we respect those who believe in other systems, as long as they are democratic and not opressive.
That is, my friend, what unites us. Not a common ideology, but our common desire to be free and to be whatever we would like to be.
We shouldn't argue senselessly, but stand together to defend ourselves from the opressors, from those who want us to be their colonies again, to steal our land and resources.
We are the third world, the heterogeneous world and our only common belief is our desire to be free."
"As for the soup, I do think it actually needed a bit more of extra garlic, unless the cooks are vampires, of course, hehehe"

Yuri Kovalenko looked slightly embarrased as he walked into the dining room, glancing around at the assembled delegates. He half-expected to have an usher quietly whisper to him that he would need to find a seat elsewhere, but that never happened.

Waiting for a lull in the conversation, he announced himself. "Comrades, my apologies for my tardiness. My name is Yuri Kovalenko, Special Envoy to Tanah Burung from the Caselonian Embassy. Foreign Minister de Valera expresses his apologies at his inability to attend, but we are facing some dire situations at home these days. I did not find out about this dinner until much too late. Forgive my intrusion. Additionally, making security arrangements to deal with Caselonian interests during the ill-advised invasion attempt by Knootoss has left me scarce time for eating, sleeping and the like," he said with a smirk.

"Where shall I sit?"

((err... for the record. "Ill-advised invasion attempt" is OOC knowledge so far. So far in this continuum, the DDR gov't is merely insinuating ;) And I would very much like to be there at that dinner but alas. ))

Michaels watched the interaction between Alexander II and Sandoval with some amusement. "Now which federation are you representing here?" he asked Sandoval."I have been elected to represent the declared will of the people of Free Outer Eugenia. My mandate comes from The Federated Communes and Workers Associations of Free Outer Eugenia."

Dhawan hadn’t been really paying attention as Kovalenko walked in, but the name ‘de Valera’ was enough to jerk his head up. He gazed at the unfamiliar young man’s face for a brief second before checking Jameson and Michaels’ reaction.

Many years had passed since de Valera - and almost Hiresh Dhawan - had stormed out of the Matebian Conference. The former Prime Minister adjusted his glasses to get a better look at this Caselonian.

Fletcher, who had been just a fresh-faced pup with the Walmingtonian mission when the Matebian Conference was taking place, stood and greeted Kovalenko warmly.

“Oh, no, Special Envoy. We’re just glad you were able to make it. Please, have a seat there -” he pointed to a place at the end of the table with a ‘Caselonia’ ticket on the empty plate “- and I’ll have the chef bring you something right out.”

Indeed, the staff was more on top of things than Fletcher was. A waiter hovered beside Kovalenko with a fresh steaming bowl of tomato and corn soup, waiting for him to sit down.

The De Novian scribe slips in the room, head bowed, feet moving quietly.

He walks up and hands a piece of folded paper to Jono.

Jono reads, his face quickly going white. He then pulls out a pen, writes a few lines of shorthand, and hands it to the scribe who speedily walks off.

He then sits back in his chair, his head resting on the back of the chair, eyes staring up the roof.

Olele looks on concerned, but then raises to greet Yuri.

Alkatiri rose to greet the Caselonian envoy. "Marvellous to see you here," he said, mustering up a little warmth for the occasion. "Simply marvellous. I'm sure our gracious hosts are thrilled to see you too."

Ainaro glanced to the de Novans. "Is everything all right? Can i help in any way?"

For her part, Almeida was enjoying the intoxicants. She glanced over at Dhawan. "Are you still in power? Forgive me, i'm not a diplomat, and I have to admit i've forgotten. You know, we really must do some trade. Are you in the market for rubber? Or some shade-grown ecologically harvested coffee, maybe?"

With some relative peace at his corner of the table, Tsar Alexander removed a small notebook from his pocket. It was adorned with gold leaf and several precious jewels lined the thick cloth cover. Cloth was abundant in Valeria; the vast cotton fields in the state of Tabriz made the country self-sufficient in cotton needs and had thousands of bales of the fluffy white stuff for export. The gems were mined in the Ioannopolitan Mines, in The Valerian Mines. The Valerian Mines was a protectorate northeast of Magnus Valerius, and much of the country is at a high elevation, almost like Tibet, except that there are several fertile river valleys in that region between tall mountain ranges.

The Tsar opened to a page bookmarked with a silk mini-flag of Valeria, with its proud imperial eagle emblazoned on its center. The page had what he had done so far in his new anthem... It was only one verse, but he wanted to create at least five verses.

Written so far in his personal notebook was the following:

God Save Our Tsar

God save our mighty Tsar
With power truly grand
God save the Tsar!
Unequaled in the land,
May he bless everyman
With a long and fruitful reign
Without disdain!

The Tsar pondered on how to begin the second verse. He quietly hummed Great Britain's God Save the King to get the notes correct; after all, that is the anthem that he wants to model his after. The first line of the second verse dawned on him in just ten seconds.

Through his keen leadership

"Yes, that's good," he murmured to himself.

When the Duque from Hell Bovines mentioned socialism, the servants beside Alexander II gasped. "Socialism?" Alexander queried with some interest. "Socialism doesn't always work. Sometimes monarchies are the way to go. Pedro II of Brazil's my good example of a properly functioning monarchy... or even Peter the Great of Russia. With the right man on the throne, you can have someone who can get the right things done with little resistance or delay. And this success can be passed down to the next generations if that monarch is a good parent, too."

“Rubber?” asked Dhawan in sudden surprise. “No, the Company provides Iansisle with that well enough.” His caustic tone drew a glare from Burton and a cough from Fletcher, who quickly assured the Valerians that he was quite all right. “What I mean is, er, coffee’s always nice.”

“Of course,” he couldn’t help but add, “my party’s been out of power for nearly six years, so I don’t know how good my personal assurances will be.”

Sandoval turned to Tsar Alexander, smiled and bowed gracefully without spilling a drop of his white Russian. "Your Majesty" he said. "I have never quite understood monarchy. If human nature makes us so terrible that we must be ruled over, then how can one of us be allowed to rule over another, or worse yet many others?"

Tsar Alexander II looked at Sandoval from his seat, closing his notebook silently and sliding it back in his coat, which now haphazardly dangled on the seat behind him. "Mr. Sandoval, would it be better to put a few 'elected by the people' in power? Human nature dictates that we cling to each of our own loyalties. So, if we have a few or more people in a government, it is likely that things will be misrepresented and progress will be stagnant. If one is in power, though, who is socially-minded, then he or she will get things done, for there will be no bureaucratic meddling from others in his way."

He gazed at the unfamiliar young man’s face for a brief second before checking Jameson and Michaels’ reaction.

Many years had passed since de Valera - and almost Hiresh Dhawan - had stormed out of the Matebian Conference. The former Prime Minister adjusted his glasses to get a better look at this Caselonian.

Michaels looked at the expression on Dhawan's face a moment as he tried to process the name. He'd been as briefed as possible about the current situation, and remembered the Caselonian stamping out incident from his time at the Foreign Service Academy.

He turned to Sandoval, "Interesting, so is this Association an extension of the government?"

E El had been meaning to ask Jono whom he had been praying to, but the conversation on socialism versus monarchy caught his attention.

"While Ariddia considers itself a socialist democracy, we recognise that the particularities of each country, each people, each culture call for a different kind of government," he put in. "Though it is, of course, an interesting topic to debate, especially as we all seem able to respect one another's differences..."

{OOC: Sorry, Knoot, didn't realize it was OOC-only at this point.}

Yuri stood and shook the offered, nodded to those who nodded and waved to the few who waved from the far end.

"Thank you for having me. As always, it is the pleasure of every Caselonian priveleged enough to be sent to a gathering of comrades such as this. Again, my apologies for the People's Republic sending someone who is unknown to all of you to this dinner. It is my sincerest hope, and that of Minister de Valera, that he can join all of us in Iansisle at some point. Alas, it is not to be tonight.

"I will attempt to join in the conversations as I may, gentleman, but my purpose here can be stated rather succinctly - Caselonia intends to expand its aid to the developing world. We have rather substantial budget surpluses at the moment, mostly due to the defusing of what had initially appeared to be imminent war on the continent to our North, Alcedonia.

"The hegemonic designs of an Islamic Fundamentalist nation were defeated without substantial bloodshed, and without the deployment of the Caselonian People's Army. It is our intent to invest in the infrastructure and indeed culture of the developing world. In past experiences, our investments in such nations have paid off in spades - both philosophically and economically. We intend to provide higher levels of aid to IFTA signatories, for the sole purpose of enticing those who have not joined to conduct reforms enough to meet membership requirements, and subsequently enjoy a higher tier, if you will, of the 'helping hand' we intend to extend.

"That being said, comrades, allow me to absorb the conversational currents that were in full swing before my arrival," he finished with a grin.

He looked startled for a moment as the waiter swooped in with a bowl of soup, then hunger overtook surprise and he picked up his spoon with a lustful gleam in his eye.

The duque saw the arrival of Yuri and nodded torwards him, waving his hoof.
"Indeed, It's a pleasure to have a noble delegate from Caselonia among us. I'm sure your country will be helpful in our quest for the well-being of the Third World and we sincerely appreciate your help."

He then carefully listened to the declarations made by the Valerians and sighed. His speech had been conciliatory and the last thing he wanted to do was to start a political argument. But such thing now seemed unavoidable. He answered to the Valerian:
"Oh. The last thing I wanted to do here was start a political argument. We certainly understand and respect Valerian's desire to select their own government form but, my personal opinion, is that monarchies, as well as all undemocratic forms of government, are flawed. I do agree with you, my friend, when you say that in a monarchy all the bureaucracy is avoided but I might ask you: How do you know that the leader you selected to be monarch won't turn into a murderer once in power?
And how can the monarch know what's right and what's wrong?
Each person has a different political opinion and I think not respecting the opinions of everyone would be a gross mistake.
As I see it, the more democratic a society is, the better. Who beter to decide the future of a country than its own residents?
As for socialism, it can work, if properly implemented. A democratic and socialist society is a society that ensures not only social equality and happiness to its citizens, but also their right to choose their own destiny.
Of course, we respect the decision of your country to be a monarchy, as long as your people truly endorse such government form."
He then sat down on the weakening chair and continued driking his soup.

Ambassador Bernardo Razormane, meanwhile was yawning and looking bored. He didn't seemed interested in the political debate indeed. Suddenly, his black and dumb-looking bovine eyes noticed the passing of papers between the cooler delegates. He decided to watch intensely at them and try to figure out what were they up to....

None of the trio from Tanah Burung could see anything to gain from taking sides in an abstract debate over democracy versus monarchy. Here, the question had long ago been settled, but a few former monarchical families were allowed to carry on with their business despite their complete lack of power. And yet Ainaro could not resists a short, neutral comment.

"Our hosts tonight would no doubt feel that countries would do well to have both monarchy and democracy," he said wryly. "We tend to hold democracy very dear here, but i've noticed that there are also some democracies which like to rattle their sabres. Of course, the highest value of all third world summits has been the right to self-determination."

Almeida raised her glass. "To self-determination!" She teetered slightly. The wine seemed to agree with her.

The Iansisleans also tried to stay on the edge of the discussion about monarchical versus republican government. To them, there was no inherent separation between a monarchy and democracy; after all, with proper limits on the power of the crown - like in Iansisle - a proper democratic government could not only survive but flourish.

Dhawan and Fletcher quickly echoed Almeida toast. Dhawan was a little surprised; in all his years of service to Iansisle, he’d never heard of someone representing Tanah Burung being anything less than professional, if eccentrically professional.

Burton offered up “His Majesty the King,” as a toast and was promptly kicked into silence by Fletcher.

Jono stood.

"Although the news cause my eyes to become moist, and my heart to sadden I'm afraid that I must leave here at once. Due to a recent ..."

He searched for the right word

"Move by people with excessive faux hair-do's"

"Err, it's 'bigwigs' Jono" Olele whispered.

"Ah, yes, Big Wigs. Due to a recent decision the Republic of Water Cooler De Novo has been absorbed into the Holy Empire of the Water Cooler. And as such all diplomatic missions have been cancelled, and all Diplomats have been recalled at once. I apposite once again, but I must leave at once. I expect you will receive someone from HEWC."

He bowed deeply

"I have enjoyed my time here, and I'm sorry to see it cut short. I hope my leaving does not cause unhappy feelings with anyone. If so the level of my sorrow is endless"

With that he and Olele bowed once again and left the room, quickly walking out to the waiting car, which was to take them to a waiting private jet.

More observant eyes would have noticed that the scribe was not with them.

“I understand, Lord Jono,” said Fletcher, standing, “and I am deeply saddened to hear the news.” A pair of servants appeared to lead Jono to the door.

“Godspeed on your return voyage, and remember: should you ever need help, you have made friends this day. Farewell!”

Meanwhile, half a world away on the Shield, the phrase ‘excessive faux hairdos’ instantly caught on.

"To self-determination," E El echoed solemnly. He glanced at Almeida, and wondered briefly if she would stop drinking before she got drunk. Probably, he told himself. It would hardly do for her to become inebriated, after all.

As the toast was completed, he took just a slight sip of his wine...

Rosa Almeida had been worrying all day. As people's representative for economic affairs & cooperatives, she had devoted years to building up Tanah Burung's trade relations with fellow signatories of the International Fair Trade Agreement, and presided over the most sustained economic boom national history, one that had boosted the national economy from developing to all-consuming. Now, with war clouds looming, all that was in jeopardy. At times of stress, she tended to become giddy. And wine only accentuated that.

She smiled at E El. "We really must talk business some time soon," she said in a low voice.

Ainaro laid a hand on her arm. "Gently, my daughter," he whispered.

Rosa Almeida had been worrying all day. As people's representative for economic affairs & cooperatives, she had devoted years to building up Tanah Burung's trade relations with fellow signatories of the International Fair Trade Agreement, and presided over the most sustained economic boom national history, one that had boosted the national economy from developing to all-consuming. Now, with war clouds looming, all that was in jeopardy. At times of stress, she tended to become giddy. And wine only accentuated that.

She smiled at E El. "We really must talk business some time soon," she said in a low voice.

Ainaro laid a hand on her arm. "Gently, my daughter," he whispered.

Michaels looked over as Jameson walked back in and sat down next to him.

"I miss anything?" he whispered to Michaels.

"Not much, the representatives from the Water Bottle, or Frozen Cooler had to leave, there's been a little debate about types of government. Anything on the trade discussions?"

"Not yet. If it fails, you get to tell the President to sign the check over."

The duque echoed the toast and drank his wine abundantly. He waved at the delegates from Water Cooler, feeling sorry that he wouldn't have the chance to talk to them and hear about their surely interesting culture.

As he contemplated the burgundy wine moving in the fine cristal, he suddenly felt an odd sensiation, as if time had suddenly stopped.
He felt like if something bad was about to happen - A sensation similar to the strange silence prevalescent before a storm.

With a shake of his inmense bovine head, he cleared his thoughs and spoke to the rest of the delegates about an idea that was of his concern:
"Well, to change the topic, does anyone know about the progress made in the Third World University? Hell Bovines is really interested in continuing its supply of teachers and professors to aid in such great project."

"Well, to change the topic, does anyone know about the progress made in the Third World University? Hell Bovines is really interested in continuing its supply of teachers and professors to aid in such great project."

Michaels and Jameson looked at each other nervously. "Well, currently the webcasts and other classes from Larkinian Universities are still taking place daily, and so far our donation checks haven't bounced..." Michaels said.

*mumble* "Depending on the results..." *mumble*

"What was that, Ambassador?" Michaels turned to Jameson.

"Nothing, dear sir."

Kovalenko, seeing an opportunity to more fully engage himself in the table's conversation, spoke up.

"Regarding the Third World University, Caselonia would be willing to offer up an additional campus if needed, begin exchange programs with Caselonian universities, and would most definitely be interested in offering professors for the program. As many others in the Anticapitalist Alliance, the major focus of our labors and funding is Education.

"Additionally, we would like to begin some sort of discussions regarding the setting up of limits and boundaries for Caselonian economic aid, as well as establishing criteria for nations wishing to receive aid from the People's Republic. All of these things can be done in a more 'business-like' setting than tonight's dinner, of course, but my task in attending was to make understood the willingness of the PRC to offer economic aid and continue its participation in Third World Solidarity programs and activities.

"That being said, I certainly welcome input from others as to how best to proceed and as to what areas the assembled nations are most interested in improving through external funding."

Ah, someone had provided the opening. It would have been impolite to raise a topic that had gone so far unmentioned, but now it could be alluded to safely. Constancio Ainaro gave a little smile and began to answer the Duque's question.

"Of course, the Third World University was a project in which we took a great deal of interest at the summit in Matebian. Hopefully others here may wish to open a 3WU campus in their own country. I'm pleased to report that the Matebian campus of the 3WU is up and running, with students and professors from many nations. My colleague here," he prodded the grinning Almeida, "has recently had the chance to see the success of the 3WU campus in Watfordshire as well, and signed a trade deal with Hell Bovines that has seen a growing exchange of students between our two countries."

Ainaro took a deep breath before continuing. "I consider the 3WU to be a great success story. Many of our countries have moved to the top of the world educational rankings on the strength of this experiment in international cooperation. As for our own campus in Matebian, i want to pay special tribute to the government of Larkinia. We had a shortfall in teachers once, and we asked Takeo Katana, then the president of Larkinia, to help. He responded by offering even more aid than we had requested. And so there are a great many teachers from Larkinia there today, training local people in the technical skills needed so that we can teach ourselves.

"You know, we've always enjoyed good relations with Larkinia. Even when we took the opportunity to advance the working conditions and grow our economy offered by the International Fair Trade Agreement, we and our friends from Hell Bovines were careful to make sure we could maintian our trade relations with Larkinia and with Iansisle. I'm confident that none of our countries would take any steps to jeopardize the mutually beneficial links we've developed over the years."

With a bow to the Larkinians, another to the Duque and a third to Ambassador Fletcher, he sank into his seeat.

Alexander was lost in talking with his attendants on some petty matters ( for instance, which duke had the cleanest stables but the dirtiest horses or which countess had a crush on a beggar ). However, the word of the 3rd World University system caught his attention. The attendants shrugged their shoulders and continued talking amongst themselves.

"I am interested in initiating my country into the Third World University project, my lord. It would be very beneficial for all of our nations, from I assume, if we all had a 3WU, and thus, I am willing to open one in St. Valerian, a city 100 miles northwest of the capital. My nation's education system is unsurpassed in Kortania, the region where we hail from, and I'll be certain that the university gets the maximum funding and potential worked out of it for its students." The emperor bowed his head in respect. "It would be honored if I may construct one in my nation."

The Emperor thought on how grand the campus should be. It should, like the other universities all over The Crown Empire, be splendid in its architecture, yet simple enough for the students. The professors and other staff should also be the best as well.

"Free Outer Eugenia's advanced education collectives have always been open to students from abroad." Sandoval said "The University at Port Bakunin is a particularly popular choice for international students. I have been mandated to submit The University Collective at Port Bakunin as an official TWU campus and I am sure that other collectives will gladdly join this program when aproached."

E El returned Almeida's smile, perhaps a little awkwardly.

"Whenever you wish, Madame Representative," he said. "There is indeed much for our two nations to contemplate."

When the conversation moved to the matter of the Third World University, he listened with great interest.

"Ariddia already welcomes international students, of course," he put in, "but perhaps my country should consider preferential relations with fellow Third World nations..."

Fletcher, convinced that his diplomatic finesse had maneuvered the conversation away from controversial politics and into the safe waters of education, sat back and listened to the conversation with a silly self-satisfied grin on his face.

The duque smiled upon hearing all the responses.
*Finally, we are making some consistent progress*

"My friends, its a pleasure to see our common project has been advancing. Our third world university in Tiahuanaco is buzzling with students from all the world, eager to learn, and, as my friend Almeida here pointed out, the student exchange projects have been a complete sucess so far." He took a puff from a newly-litten cigar and continued...
"As for the new voices in our project, namely Caselonia, Magnus Valerius and Free Outer Eugenia, I certainly welcome your eagerness to participate", he said as he bowed to the representatives.
"We could really use more campus in our project and Hell Bovines would love to create more student exchange programs with your nations."

He drank a sip of wine and awaited for the response, while he was secretly wondering what could Fletcher be laughing about. *Was something that I said? Oh, please tell me I did remember to wear underwear this time!*, he thought with a worried look on his face.

Meanwhile, Magda Vogels was sitting all alone in the Knootian embassy, only a couple of metres from the dinner party. She wondered what was going on.

Constancio Ainaro leaped to his feet again.

"I imagine those who wish to build Third World Universities in their countries have ample resources. If not, we naturally stand ready to assist with funds and teachers."

The latest figures had shown that Ainaro's department accounted for over half the government budget, with education alone making up 48% of government spending. A highly educated population was also an under-employed one, there being less call than many graduates would have liked for professional philososphers (especially unionized philosophers, members of the International Brotherhood of Professional Thinkers and Allied Trades). Ainaro longed for the chance to send some of these highly-educated folks to other countries. Even if that meant subsistance wages, frankly.