NationStates Jolt Archive

Grand Duchess Beatrice looked over the possible sites for her trip. Always interested in modern life, Beatrice was looking forward to getting away from anachronistic Resurgent Dream. She had checked everything. Her sister didn't need her for anything in the immediate future. She had no pressing matters in her own Grand Duchy.

((OOC: If you want your nation to be a stop, just post that you're expecting her or telegram me. Also, I do plan for something shady to happen on this trip. Telegram me if you want a criminal from your nation, or even someone from your government, involved.))

((OOC: Normally, I don't believe in bumps. But someone specifically telegrammed me that they wanted in on this and I'm waiting on the post, didn't want to have it fade without them getting a chance to post.))

Well I would offer dragonsreach but things are mess there and thier not modern. Thier only starting to incorporate modern facilities and still learning about what thier getting. Would you really want to trust your Duchess to an elf air traffic controller with two weeks training? ;)

((Well, I wouldn't arrive by airplane at the first stop anyway. We don't even have trains, much less planes. There are some supernatural methods of travel but they're not used for casual transport in peacetime. She'd probably arrive in a wooden sailing ship. Anyway, if things are such a mess, maybe you could do that shady thing I mentioned. Telegram me if you want))

((Check your telegrams TRD, the tonilooni tourism agency is open for buisness))

((edit: telegramed))

At the city of Primus, the capital of Tonilooni, a crowd had gathered to see the arrival of the visiting Duchess. Two flags flew high above the citys main port. That of the Confedaracy and of course the flag from the visiting Empire. A special place had been reserved in the port, the usual large shipping tankers having been diverted elsewhere. A limo was waiting guarded by the ever present Union elite. The ruler of Tonilooni, simply know as Citizen Alpha, stood alone, apart from the crowds on the port.

*el bumpo for future postage...I've never received a dignitary before! *

((Please send requests to be on the tour by telegram so OOC comments don't fill the thread.))

A light, white ship with billowing sales and the cest of Gwydion upon it's side sails into the port. The porters immediately begin to lower cargo onto the dock as Beatrice moves to disembark. She's average for a sidhe, which means she would rank among the most beautiful of human women in all history but is not quite superhuman in appearance. Elegantly pointed ears peek out from soft brown hair that blows gently in the breeze. She is dressed in an elegantly low cut crimson dress, with billowing split skirts revealing black, gold, and white underskirts. Two human maids in waiting flank her as she steps out onto the dock. She whispers briefly to one of them before making her way towards Citizen Alpha. "Pardon my casual attire, sir. I was frankly not expecting a formal reception at the dock."

He smiled and bowed to her. Then began making their way to the limo, waving to the now cheering crowd.
"Ah your grace it is of little consequence, I had actually not planned this reception."
He held the door open of the limo and waited for the Duchess and her maids to enter. He got in and sat opposite them.
"My apologies, news of your arrival slipped out of my office and some how made its way into the hands of the media...as things often do. How was the trip here? Not to choppy I hope?"

SHe slips in, the maids following. Sitting elegantly, Beatrice crosses her legs with a casual grace. "The trip was just lovely. There was one small storm but...we had a good captain. But the purpose of my trip is really to get a first hand look at day to day life in other nations, particularly human ones. There are many things I wish to do here. However, perhaps it would be best to check into my hotel first." She smiles warmly. "I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mr....?"

One of the maids speaks up. "We're supposed to do modern shopping for ourselves and our lady. Our orders are to pick out things that won't stand out on the streets." They refrain to mention that, as the only sidhe in a human city, she couldn't help but stand out.

Beatrice looks out the window of the limo as she speaks with the local leader. She notes the day to day activities of the humans, the wide variety of cars and trucks, the cell phones. "This is only the fourth time I've been in an auto."

"You may call me merely call me Citizen."
He looked out the window as they passed a large shopping center and pointed to it.
"I would recommend there, it is what we call a hyper-market. They cater to all your needs there. There are a fine selection of clothes shops there, also there are many street vendors around, most of it is cheap rubbish, but some do sell some genuinly interesting trinkets of Tonilooni's heritage."
He took a sip from a nearby glass of water, after pouring one for each of his guests he then presented the Duchess with a set of three cards.
"In my countrie to keep crime down each citizen must carry an identification card with them at all times. Do not worry these cards will reconise you as visiting dignateries, should we become separated show one to an official he will aid you to the best of his abilities. So you do not have many cars in your countriy? Due to a recent uppage in funding our Automotive facilities are flourishing. Perhaps when you leave we could ship a few hundred thousand to your home country?"

Taking her card, Beatrice frowns a little. "I do not think my people would appreciate that, not in the least. In fact, at present, it would be quite illegal. A woman in my station might get away with having a car but smuggling items illegal in my nation on such a level would land me in a great deal of trouble with my sister. I am not authorized to change the laws or negotiate trade agreements." She sips her wine. "I want ordinary clothing, not fascinating trinkets."

The maids eye their wine, looking nervously to Beatrice. At her nod, they begin to sip. One of them looks up, smiling charmingly at the Citizen. "So what is everyday life like here, Mr. Citizen? Do you really have so many cars that you could casually spare a few hundred thousand? That seems like an aweful lot for a nation your size. I'm not even sure we have that many dragons in the whole empire."

He looked up with a new interest.
"Dragons? One of my neighbour states, The Sharadim, the ruler there bless him, he has a good heart, but he is indignant on keeping the 'old ways'. I have visited his country many times, he takes me on the most plesant trips across the desert on camel-back, quite good actually perhaps that can be your next port of call, anyway where was I? Oh yes! Camels! So we go off on long trecks across the desert in search of his countrys fabled protector, the Dragons of the desert. I am still a little skeptical about the whole matter, but I'll tell you the nation has some very large lizards! He assures me though that one day we will see the real dragons."
He took a drink of his water again and rolled down the window as the limo stopped at a que at a security checkpoint.
"Of course your highness I meant no disrespect on my offer, I am slightly unfamiliar with your country. I meant not to offer you all the auto's at once, it would have been a trade deal, but I wont bore you with those details. Life in my country is generally good for most. I do my best to keep order, although I have been quoted as harsh sometimes. My country has no enemys, war thankfully has not seen our borders. We have and long, but unfourtantly not so noble history. My great-great-great grand father, was the first ruler as such. He forged the states into one nation, but they still used the old language back then, it is where my country gained its slightly comical name...tonilooni. The language is only spoken by a select few, mostly decendants of that line. You can see many relics in our national museum, perhaps we can visit there in the near future. But tell me about your fine nation, I wish to know more of your homeland."

Beatrice smiles faintly at the man's scepticism. "Had you ever met a sidhe before today, sir? Dragons, I do not believe, are that much less believable. Unfortunately, they are grown rarer in these later ages of the world." She takes another sip of her wine, savoring the flavour, eyes lost in thought.

The maids look out the window as the limo pulls to a stop and Beatrice looks expectantly to the Citizen. One of the maids frowns in confusion as she looks to her lady. "Your Grace, I don't think we're at the hotel."

Beatrice arches a brow, glanceing to the window herself. "Why have we stopped, Citizen?" She uncrosses her long legs, recrossing them the other way. "There seems a line of cars in front of us. That is why they my sister outlawed them. The increased traffic often blocked roadways and we did not like what it did to our air. You see, our land is magic. It doesn't merely have magic in it. It is magic. That is...hard to explain to ourlanders yet it is the core of who we are as a people."

"This is merely a security checkpoint, we will pass through in a moment."
As if by him merely saying the words a guard poked his head through window, gave a short splurt of suprise and a crisp salute. With that the limo moved through and into the complex grounds.
"I know what magic is my lady, but it is lost to humans. Whatever magic they knew departed millenia ago. Human 'magicians' now are little more that entertaining conjurers."
The door then opened, after letting his guests out he stepped out behind them. Several workers quickly picked up the luggage from the limo and took it to a prepared area.
"With what little we now, we have tried to make this complex seem Sidhe like as much as possible. If you need anything please do not hesitate to ask. I will return tommorow morning to give you a tour of national monuments and such. If you prefer we can go by horse drawn carriage or something similar rather than by car."

Beatrice nods politely, her eyes lowering slightly. "That was very considerate of you. However, I would prefer to go by automobile. Do have a lovely evening, Citizen." At that, she glides into the quarters prepared and lowers herself wearily into the great chair.

The maids immediately head out once more, walking towards the mall they were shown. They quickly load up on shorts, jeans, suits, skirts, heels, sneakers, t-shirts, rubber rain coats, halloween costumes, and other strange and exotic outfits. The maids smile a little at the odd costumes, blushing and giggling and the revealing nature of shorts, skirts, and many dresses in the human fashion.

Beatrice wakes up the next morning and slips into what her maids tell her is standard for humans, blue jeans, a white tee, and sneakers. She looks over her curvey, lithe figure in the mirror. She frowns a little. The clothes look odd, unnatural. Still, one must get used to such things. She waits for the First Citizen.

Wating out-side casually leaning back on the limo, is the first Citizen himself.
Once Beatrice had arrived outside, he gave her a smile and opened the door.
"Good morning my lady, good choice of clothing, we have a busy day ahead of us. Where would you like to go first, we have our national museum or a large nature reserve. Or perhaps you have something else in mind enitirely? Perhaps breakfast...unless you have already eaten."

Beatrice smiles gently. "Good morning, Citizen. Breakfast does sound rather lovely and then we could see the musuem." She slips into the limo, crossing her legs. She fidgets a little, not used to the outfit. "Is this the usual garb for a woman of my rank outside formal state functions here? My maids bought many other local outfits but they are seemed absuredly revealing. Even in these...jeans...I worry that I am showing off my legs too much for a lady in public." And what legs they are, long, slender, perfectly formed and curved, the tight blue denim showing the perfect muscle tone that does not detract from the inborm grace of a sidhe.

He laughed quietly getting into the limo and sitting across from her in the same place as yesterday.
"My Lady I assure you, the jeans will suit you fine. From the lowest citizen to the highest monarch, you will find them in jeans at some point. Heh if I had known what you were wearing, I would have probly dressed to match."
He shrugs with a lopsided grin and indicates to his own casual attire, a dark blue long sleeved button up shirt and a pair of black trousers. He then turns and taps the driver on the shoulder, indicating they should move on.
"I'm not to familiar on Sidhe etiqutte, are your people vegiterians or have any other kind of eating restricitons?"

She shakes her head. "Not really, no." Folding her hand on her legs, she smiles again. "What is the normal cuisine here?"

"Whatever you want to eat, where we are going they will probly have it. It has large buffet section."
Soon enough they pulled up at a large restuarant. Leading her in gently by the arm the first Citizen passes through the restuarant and secures a table for the two of them. He then goes up to the buffet and takes a selection of fruit, two pastries and jam for himself. He also orders a pitcher of fresh squezed for the two of them. Sitting down at the table he poured juice for each of them. Once the Duchess had joined him he took a small bite of apple then looked up at her.
"So fair Sidhe, how are you finding my country so far?"

For her part, Beatrice loads her plate with eggs, fruits, and salad. "It is a lovely country. The people are nice. The food is delicious. I do believe I am learning quite a good deal. I could get used to cars and fried foods and jeans, I believe."

The grand duchess shrugs lightly. "However, I has, as of yet, hardly seen any of it." She finishes off her breakfast, eating properly and slowly. As she finishes, she lightly dabs her mouth with her napkin. "Shall we?"

Beatrice rises on her own, awaiting the First Citizen.

((I think Toonilooni might have lost interest in this thread. If there's nothing next time I check, I'll head for the next host nation.))

After concluding a pleasant tour of Toonilooni, Beatrice returns to her ship to head to Iansisle.

Passing through the Royal Iansislean Navy’s blockade in the Southern Straits had been relatively easy, as the King’s ships were informed to be expecting the Grand Duchess. The following sail across Troobodia Bay to Ianapalis were also uneventful.

It was a typically shabby morning in the capital city of the United Kingdom of the Shield. Dark gray clouds clung closely to the ground, producing an effect somewhere between a very heavy mist and a very light rain. The lighthouse at Feinwick’s Point traced its beam despondently through the gloom at an almost impossibly lethargic pace.

As they drew closer, more and more elements of the city became visible. Like a sentinel, the granite bulk of Ian’s Island, the last bulwark of the monarchy, loomed from out of the fog. Above the ramparts of Dûn Ádien, almost in defiance of an entire nation, waved the blue and green Cross of Shadoran and the Arms of House Callahan.

Still farther in it was possible to see the towering monoliths, Whitman Tower and the International Building. Slicing fifty stories into the air, their tops lost in the clouds, the skyscrapers had once lorded over the city as a testament to the power of the corporatists. Now, the red, white, and green Gull Flag flew from both of them, as indeed it did nearly everywhere in the city. Nowhere to be seen were the Royal Standards.

The Duchess’ ship was boarded by pilots of the Ianapalis Harbor Service, who guided it into a berth just outside Jameston Place as the last of the morning mist burned off. The five building complex, which had once housed the Combined Parliament and now hosted the National Constituent Assembly. was done in a splendid Greek Revivalist motif. However, the brick townhouses and stores behind it, the Art Deco and Gothic skyscrapers, and the multitude of other styles which threatened to overpower the viewer underscored one of the fundamental truths of Ianapalis architecture: any single building, taken by itself, was beautiful and powerful, but the strong clash of different styles often drowned out individual beauty.

On the dock, a brass band kicked up into the Smoke of Unsterbank. A group of five men stood near the Grand Duchess’ gangplank waiting to greet her. They were all clad similarly, with tan jackets and light brown trousers. Three men wore bowlers, another a derby, and the fifth a large top hat, to which was pinned - rather ridiculously - a cockade in the colors of the Gull Flag. He also wore an identically colored ribbon upon his chest and a scarlet cummerbund under his jacket. Iansisleans had never been known for their sense of style.

“Good morning, Your Grace, and welcome to Iansisle! My name is Rinehart; I am His Majesty’s Director of Foreign Relations. Premier Bradsworth would have liked to meet you himself, but duties called him to Vesshampton at the last second. Now, I understand you must be tired, but, should it please Your Grace, I have taken the liberty of arranging an automobile tour of the city before this evening’s ball at Dûn Ádien.”

Beatrice glances out her window at the official party gathered below. Sighing lightly, she looks towards one of the crew. "Just as happened in Toonilooni...I suspect my desires for this trip might have been better met had I travelled anonymously."

The sailor shrugs helplessly. "Perhaps, Your Grace." He moves quickly about his business.

Returning to her private chambers, Beatrice changes out of the jeans she had been planning to wear and back into her crimson court gown. A human noble might take hours to don such a garment but a sidhe puts it on with almost natural motions. Seeming to glide more than walk, the grand duchess descends the gangplank, smiling graciously to the five men awaiting her on shore. "It is my pleasure to be here, Master Rinehart. I am Grand Duchess Beatrice ni Gwydion." She extends a hand, palm down. "I am not so weary as one would expect and quite honored by your kind attention. I eagerly await your tour."

Rinehart bowed by way of a response and motioned the Grand Duchess over to a waiting motorcade. The centerpiece was a stretched Westerton Jackrabbit done over in a highly polished black. An attendant opened the door for her and Rinehart. As soon as they had settled into the comfortable leather seats, the ultra quiet engine started and they were on their way.

“If you look out there,” said Rinehart, pointing to the left, “You’ll see the Gallaga Office, where we administrate our overseas empire. We’re on the Avenue of the Revolution right now, heading north.”

He continued to point out sights as they went along. Some of the buildings had curious scars on them, as if from fire. They passed Unity Square, which was adorned with statues of the heroes of Iansisle’s past. Ominously, a large gallows stood on the side nearest St Patrick’s Cathedral. Rinehart didn’t say anything about it unless asked.

After they had passed out of the historic center of town and were puttering around the suburban areas, Rinehart leaned back in his seat.

“I imagine Your Grace doesn’t need me to play at tour guide any longer,” he said. “We should be getting back soon anyway; you’ll want to make your way to Dûn Ádien before the afternoon showers start.”

Beatrice nods a little at each sight pointed out, giving polite attention to the monuments and other important landmarks in the nations history. Her eyes focus intently on the passer by every now and again, studying what they wear, how they seem to interact, and other such details with evident interest.

When they enter the suburban area, Beatrice's attention peaks, and she looks to Rinehart in faint confusion as he seems to end the tour at the most fascinating part. "No, no, I am curious about these sights. Is this a merchant district? Why do automobiles in this neighborhood require stables while others rest on the streets? What are those green tubes lying in many of the yards?" She leans forward, almost pressed against the glass, as she examines the neighborhoods.

((ergh, I wasn’t clear enough. Sorry! To clarify: ))

A ‘suburban area’ in Iansisle might be slightly different than its counterparts in other western countries. It consisted almost exclusively of the mansions of the landed elite who, as a class, had more or less run the country before the revolution. Iansisle had never seen the development of a proper middle class; the old aristocrat-peasant dichotomy prevailed even into the industrialized age, when the aristocrats had become the factory owners and the peasants the unskilled labor.

These homes each sat on a few acres of superbly tended grass with spreading gardens and tree belts. Only the scale differentiated the ‘near-city’ homes of the elite from their sprawling manors in the country.

Most of those manors, which provided food for the country, had been nationalized as part of the Revolutions rooting out of the corporate threat. However, directly linking the landed aristocracy to the corporatist atrocities definitely enough had proven difficult; most of them retained their titles and their ‘second’ homes, which allowed them less influence in the country but more in the capital. Solving the problems of the Old Regime was proving more difficult than disposing of it.

Rinehart was still quite eager to explain the concept of the ‘garage,’ which was present on a few of the more modern and small additions. But some gardener was with out in line for punishment if any hoses had been left laying out.

Should the Grand Duchess wish to see the ‘real’ Iansisle, rather than this fairy-tale of the elite, she would have to look to the eastern, industrial extremity of the city. There, families lived crammed eight or nine to a room in crumbling brick tenement houses and great smokestacks poured thick coal smoke into the air.

((Just to clarify: Iansisle’s about 1952ish in terms of technology. Don’t know if I’ve mentioned that previously.))

((Ok. Ignore that part of the post then.))

Beatrice nods a little at each sight pointed out, giving polite attention to the monuments and other important landmarks in the nations history. Her eyes focus intently on the passer by every now and again, studying what they wear, how they seem to interact, and other such details with evident interest.

((like this, I presume?))

Most passerbys are dressed in a curious fusion of old and new. Modern day sports coats contrast with top hats and pantaloons, women wear tremendous hooped skirts, and policemen can be seen twirling nightsticks while watching over crowds. It seems to be a chivalrous place; at least that part which Rinehart allows the Grand Duchess to see is.

“We really ought to be getting back,” said Rinehart after a while. “His Majesty, I understand, was very anxious to meet you, and we wouldn’t want to arrive to Ian’s Island in the rain.”

((Quite))

Beatrice nods. "I thoroughly agree. Does it rain often here?"

((Sorry for ubershort post. Half-conscious at the moment))

"Your Grace, we are in Ianapalis!" said Rinehart with a chuckle. Seeing that his 'answer' didn't seem to clarify anything, he frowned slightly and expanded. "Here, it rains every morning and afternoon; only the intensity varies! But of course I exaggerate - the midday is usually sunny, and we do get our occasional dry spells."

Now that the Grand Duchess thought about it ((or more like now that I remembered to write about it)), nearly every male she could see was carrying an umbrella. The women would too, but that was considered bad form in chauvinist Iansisle. They would just have to plan their outings around the rain and duck into nearby shops in the event of a sudden squall.

They were now driving back south along the same street on which they had driven north.

((don't worry about it. I fell asleep directly after my last post.))

Beatrice tilts her head a little. "I noticed that the men and a few women all seem to carry a rod with cloth wrapped around it. Is it some sort of weapon?" She smiles a little, regarding the man with earnest curiosity.

She glances out the window again, gesturing towards one of the umbrellas. "Those objects there."

She leans back in her seat, thinking a moment. "There are legends of a place in the Empire where it rains never ceasingly. However, that is more a thing of magic than of nature."

“Oh,” said Rinehart, peering out his window. “Erm, yes, those aren’t weapons. If you push on the one end, it unfolds - well, I’m not doing a very good job of explaining it. Basically, however, it provides a cover in the rain which you may carry about town. Very useful.”

Her last words seemed to genuinely peak his interest. “Do tell? Magic as in what the Daezmani - oh, but you wouldn’t know of them, would you? Erm, as in not pulling a rabbit out of a hat type of magic?”

Beatrice laughs lightly. "You are looking at magic, sir. I am sidhe, after all." In truth, it is rather hard to dismiss a sidhe (or any other fae, for that matter) as simply an alternate course of natural evolution. It's not that their forms are impossible or that they overtly perform some supernatural feat, though their grace and beauty are literally supernatural. It's something in their nobility, some indefineable sense that their grace comes not from training but from the dreams of fairy tale princesses and warrior kings, of sinister courtiers and Arthurian knights, drawn from the forms of the imagination rather than simply carved from flesh and blood. There's something in the eyes, eyes that once looked upon a world of splendor and legends and now see the magic of creation fading from the world, eyes carrying a sadness beyond words, eyes to see a fading world. There's something in the presence of a being of purely magical nature that is simply enchanting. It is almost unreal with an alienness, a strangeness about it, yet stirring the dreams of childhood fairy tales. Beatrice just sits, focusing her presence, allowing him to drop his diplomacy and examine what it is he sits with. Yet, she seems to find all this normal. It is automobiles and umbrellas which she finds surreal, and thus she gazes at the world of modern man with a sense of wonder few might expect to see in a grown woman.

Rinehart hadn’t really been paying too close attention to her, to be honest. If you’ve seen one aristo, he thought, then you’ve seen them all. But now curious brown eyes scoured the Grand Duchess’ face while his lips muttered something about forgiving impertinence.

Iansisle had the double curiosity of advanced technology and magic. When, years ago, the motor-car and the aeroflyer had first been introduced, great crowds had gathered to watch each new test. The fascination had worn off with time, but the people had never lost their respect for the supernatural.

At last, just as they were turning into Jameston Place, he managed to tear his eyes away. “I, er, forgive me, Your Grace. We should be ready to sail for the island inside of the hour. Is there anything from the mainland that you’d like before the ball this evening?”

She shakes her head. "No, I'm quite prepared. It would be helpful if I could learn some of your king before meeting him, however. I have never met a human monarch before. I do believe they must be quite something."

((I'm still here, just haven't had any time all day. Will post tonight.

--Ian))

OOC: It would be nice to have you come by Iuthia so long as your people planned it (we can assume they did). Iuthia would be open to such a tour to show the world how nice the society of Iuthia is.

Here some background information:

Tourists Guide to Iuthia (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=6890350&postcount=4)
OOC Guide to Iuthia (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=302034)

Rinehart shrugged. “His Majesty has lived his entire life on the island, almost never venturing to the mainland. I have met him but a few times myself, and never for a long period of time. I can only tell you what any other of his subjects could.”

Assuming that the Grand Duchess pressed him, Rinehart continued: “His Majesty was once the High King of the Empire of the Shield. But - though not through his fault - the Empire was corrupt and malleable. His Majesty agreed with Mr Bradsworth and myself that the time was ripe for a change, and united the kingdoms directly under his control. Some states of the old Empire, their leaders being too stubborn to give up archaic privilege, broke away from the central government, but they will be back in time. Without Shadoran, no Shieldian state can be anything.”

They arrived back at the dock at Jameston Place and Rinehart motioned the Duchess to a small motor boat. “It will be quicker than sailing,” he said, “and you can send for anything that you need from your boat.”

Five miles distant, the outline of Ian’s Island could just be seen. It was a hunk of granite jutting from the water beyond Feinwick’s Point, hardly more that perhaps a dozen acres. Upon the highest points clung the old ramparts of the castle, but Dûn Ádien had never been a fortress. The water was the only protection any man who controlled the Royal Iansislean Navy would ever need. Still farther off in the distance, ominous storm clouds loomed.

((sorry about the short/crappy/long-time-in-coming response. Tuesday through Thursday aren’t real good for me.))

Beatrice eyes the motorboath sceptically for a few moments before smoothing her skirts, putting her chin up, and climbing boldly aboard. As soon as it starts, she begins to stare at the motor, almost transfixed. "That device can move a boat with neither sails nor oars."

“Yes,” said Rinehart, indicating the engine. “Something we call the ‘internal combustion engine.’ It’s the same thing we use in the motor-cars. It works by...erm, well I’m not really sure. Something to do with small explosions and pistons.”

The little boat skimmed over the dark waters around Ianapalis quickly and passed under the north ramparts of Dûn Ádien. They tied up alongside a small pier in a sandy cove at the end of a long staircase, cut from the living rock, which led up to the castle itself. The wind howled curiously around the rocks.

Beatrice rises from the boat, lifting her skirts slightly. She begins to move up the stairs, seeming to find it far more normal than the rest of Iansisle. She smiles graciously as she reaches the top of the stairs, looking about the island. Before moving on, Beatrice pauses to gaze out over the waters, getting lost in the view.

Rinehart led her up and up, obliging the Grand Duchess when she wished to partake in the amazing view. There was, of course, that part of Ianapalis that was obscured by dark smoke, but for the most part the surrounding land was a dark green color from wild grass and moss covered hills.

Overhead, it began to drizzle slightly.

“Come, Your Grace,” said Rinehart politely, “I wouldn’t want you to catch your death of cold.” He led her through the gate - which was exquisitely decorated with pictures of kings past - and down a fine crushed pebble pathway, where they met a soldier wearing the green uniform and white crossbars of the King’s Grenadiers.

“Director Rinehart,” he said with a curt bow. A deeper one, preceded by a second of long gazing at her face, followed to Beatrice. “And, if I’m not mistaken, Your Grace the Grand Duchess. His Majesty bids you welcome to Dûn Ádien and commands me to have your luggage brought up at once.”

Beatrice shakes her head slightly. "We do not die of such things, not truly, at least." Nonetheless, she glides after Rinehart. She inclines her head to the guards bow. "Of course. My thanks." Her eyes move over the line of kinds curiously. She had never seen human nobility before. By the laws of the Empire, such a thing was quite literally a contradiction in terms. The faces of the men fascinated her. They were not created to ruke but were part of a race which ruled and farmed and fought and divided all the functions of society among its members, according solely to individual taste and disposition. The idea was alien yet...had a certain appeal. Turning back to the door, she simply waits, folding her hands demurely in front of her lap.

“Of course,” Rinehart replied uncomfortably as Weathers walked down the staircase behind them. “Er, I believe His Majesty is waiting to receive you in the Honeycomb even now.”

He led her down a side path towards one of the more unassuming buildings surrounding Dûn Ádien’s courtyard. A footman stood outside and bowed to them before opening the small door, banging his staff three times, and announcing “Her Grace the Grand Duchess Beatrice and the Honorable Benjamin Rinehart, Director of Foreign Relations!”

The interior of the Honeycomb was nothing at all like its exterior. It was windowless, with an intricate honeycomb pattern, and completely done over in gilded paint, so that the electric lights produced an eerie golden glow. The furniture was modern, having been purchased in Larkinia in the days of the Alliance.

There was a man standing at the other end of the room. As the guests were announced, he turned towards them and smiled. James was perhaps thirty, although worry creases in his forehead made him look much older, and had the dark brown eyes and lighter hair of the House of Callahan. The smile made his face look pleasant, though not handsome. He crossed to the door in easy steps, towering at a full six feet tall over the more typically diminutive Rinehart.

“Your Grace, may I present His Royal Majesty James I, by the Grace of God of the Shield King, of Sentry Island Archduke, and of Gallaga Emperor? Your Majesty, may I present to you Her Grace the Grand Duchess Beatrice?”

“Duchess, it is a pleasure to meet you at last. The whole country’s been in a fuss with news of your coming; would that it had come but a few years ago!”

Rinehart coughed slightly into his hand and James’ smile flickered, but soon returned.

“Am I to understand that you will be attending our ball tonight, Duchess?” asked James instead.

Beatrice follows, curtseying deeply to the king. She blushes ever so lightly and looks demurely down, folding her hands before her lap. "Your Majesty, I am hardly worth such excitement. I must admit, I have been looking forward to this meeting as well."

She smiles a little, charmingly. "I am truly looking forward to the ball. Shall there be many of your nobles present, Your Majesty?"

Nothing of her curiosity shows. Beatrice's attitude towards the king is natural, demure, and formal, almost as though she did not notice the difference in race. Her brown eyes peer up at the throned man, awaiting his words.

“Not at all, Duchess!” James insisted, “We don’t get very many visitors of status anymore; your presence is a great honor. Besides, ever since the government assumed responsibility for administrating the land, the great families have little to do but sit around Ianapalis and attend parties.”

A meaningful glance was directed at Rinehart, who bowed and held a faux smile on his face.

“I understand several of those noblemen have advanced an interest in escorting you to the Grand Ball, Duchess. Unless, of course, you’ve already someone in mind?”

“If Your Majesty will not be needing me further,” said Rinehart with a bow, “I will take my leave.”

“As you will, Director.”

Rinehart bowed to James and Beatrice. “Good day, Your Majesty. It was a pleasure meeting you, Your Grace.” He straightened and walked out of the Honeycomb.

“Well! I should like to take you on a tour of my home, Duchess, but I fear there are scant hours left to us!” said James after the other had left. “If you should care, one of my men will escort you to your chambers to prepare.”

Beatrice blushes ever so delicately, smiling winningly. "Then at least I may count upon attending a party thrown by experts."

Beatrice pauses, visibly thinking. "Might I know somewhat of the noblemen who are my options?"

She nods to the departing Rinehart. "Likewise, of course."

Beatrice nods. "I require little preparation. I am already dressed in a proper gown, after all. Nonetheless, I shall await my escort in my chambers."

“For one, the Duke of Evanpass,” replied James, with only a faint trace of disapproval in his voice. “He’s the Shield’s most eligible young bachelor, according to those ridiculous fashion periodicals. He’s also in the habit of making and breaking relations with anyone in my realm. He’s not yet thirty, but the old girdle has become more snug of late, if you catch my drift.”

He paused to think. Obviously, Evanpass had been the only name on the tip of his tongue. “Also, Lord Philip Clayburgh,” he remembered at last. “The younger brother of the Marquess of Westergate. He’s not that young, though: perhaps ten years older than I am. He’s also a naval man.”

A strange smile came over James’ face. “And, of course - how could I forget! His Majesty the King of the Shield has requested to escort Your Grace to the ball.”

Beatrice smiles coyly. "I suppose one does not say no to a king, does one, Your Majesty?"

"Not in my experiance," replied James with a wry grin. He glanced down at his simple white tunic. "Of course, I shouldn't go anywhere in public wearing this. I don't suppose you might excuse me while I go put on something more appropriate?"

He pressed a button on a nearby table and the Honeycomb's door opened. The same soldier who had gone to collect Beatrice's bags appeared and bowed.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"See that the Duchess is well taken care of, Weathers. Show her about the castle if she'd like, or just to her room if she'd prepare."

"Of course, Your Majesty," replied Weathers with another bow. "Your Grace?"

Beatrice smiles a little. "Of course, Your Majesty. I would hardly mind."

She turns to Weathers with a light smile. "Just to my chambers for the time being, my good man."

She curtseys once more to the king. "By your leave, Your Majesty."

After taking leave of the king, she follows Weathers to her chambers. She glides elegantly, not breaking step. However, brown eyes wander curiously over the adornments in the halls.

James half bowed and smiled to Beatrice before she was led out of the Honeycomb and across the courtyard into Dûn Ádien’s main building.

The walls were a deep gray, but one could hardly see them through the tapestries, paintings, and arms hung upon them. Most depicted the kings and queens who had called these halls home for more than three centuries, though others showed the defining moments in the history of the Shield and its empire. The stone looked to have been quarried locally, but the woodwork was almost exclusively teak and mahogany, from far distant Gallaga. After a while, all the corridors began to look exactly the same.

At last, Weathers paused before a large door and pushed it open. The heavy wood creaked on iron hinges.

“Your room, Your Grace,” he said simply.

Her room consisted of a spacious, well-appointed antechamber with a second door leading to the bed chambers. Small windows looked out over the south ramparts at the sloping, sandy end of Ian’s Island and into the vastness of Troobodia Bay beyond. Wind and sounds of the rain outside crept through the ancient stonework, but logs of Shieldian oak were burning merrily in both fireplaces.

“His Majesty will call on you fifteen minutes before the ball, Your Grace,” Weathers said, bowing again and leaving Beatrice alone.

Beatrice examines the halls, paying close attention to the walls. When she passes the iron hinges of the doors, Beatrice winches visibly, her face twitching in intense discomfort. She walks faster, hurrying into the room proper. "Of course. I shall eagerly await His Majesty."

It took James more than an hour to prepare himself, but he arrived at last, a quarter hour to the ball as promised. His hair had been flattened down and combed in the interim. The white tunic had vanished and been replaced by a heavily starched black suit that was all the rage in Ianapalis. He bowed somewhat stiffly to Beatrice after she came to the door.

“I trust you are enjoying your chambers?” James asked, offering his arm to her.

Beatrice walks out of the door as quickly as possible, the same wince and the same pained contortion of her face as she passes through. She moves well away from it before curtseying and taking James's arm. "I have simply been awaiting the ball, Your Majesty."

James looked with curiosity - or was it concern? - at Beatrice's pained expression.

"Is there anything wrong?" he asked as he started to escort her towards the Great Hall.

Beatrice nods a little. "I think someone has managed to hide wrought iron in the door itself. I do not know how such a person could have evaded the guards long enough to do so, Your Majesty."

James’ mouth hung open for a second, but he soon snapped it shut. It’s a good thing most of the metal work here is steel; she doesn’t seem to have a problem with that. Well, I suppose iron ore heated to umpteen thousand degrees is hardly ‘cold.’

“I’ll have someone look into that at once,” James promised as they arrived at the Great Hall. The majordomo opened the door, knocked his staff thrice against the floor, and announced them.

Several dozen people were already present and they went down on bended knee as the monarch entered. All of the men wore either a suit like James’ or a curiously eighteenth century dark blue tailcoat. The goal of men’s fashion in Iansisle was to be as inconspicuous as possible; if you were noticed for you clothes, chances were something had gone wrong. The women, on the other hand, wore great billowing skirts done over in vibrant, springtime colors. James guided Beatrice through the throng, people rising in their wake, to a table at the opposite end. He picked up a pair of dance cards and handed one to her. It was a fairly typical Iansislean ball assembly: the Grand March opened into four sets of cotillions, quadrilles, minuets, and jigs. Somewhat surprisingly, the fourth set had a single waltz - surprising (and almost scandalous) given extremely socially conservative Iansisle’s attitude towards that ‘demmed Viennese debauchery!’ Of course, everyone who was anyone in Iansisle knew how to waltz; it just wasn’t a fact they liked to own up to.

“If I may be so presumptuous,” said James cautiously, “May I ask for you hand in the last set?” He produced a ball-point pen (the newest thing to hit Iansisle, the ball-point was threatening to undo Walmington’s fountain pen monopoly) and perched it over his dance card.

Beatrice walks with the king, inclining her head to his statement. "Thank you."

As they enter, she looks quietly over the kneeling crowd, taking it rather for granted. She accepts her card, reading it over only briefly before looking up to James once more. "Of course, Your Majesty. You are, after all, my escort." She smiles graciously. "I merely hope I shall be able to fill the rest of the card."

James nodded over her shoulder at the more than a few well dressed nobles who were craning their necks to get a better glimpse of Beatrice. They came in all shapes, sizes, and ages.

“I shouldn’t worry too much about that. It’s an Iansislean gentleman’s duty to make sure every woman who so desires has a partner for every dance. However, is there anyone in particular to whom you’d like me to introduce you? I promise I shan't be jealous!”

Beatrice laughs lightly. "It is a hard question to answer without knowing any of them."

“There’s only one way to get to know anyone,” James replied with a triumphant smile. “Would you prefer to draw names from a hat?”

Beatrice laughs lightly, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "I suppose that might be appropriate in the circumstances. But surely there are other ladies present with whom the lords wish to dance."

"I would be most surprised if that were the case," James smiled, "but, if it is your decision. I'm sure my lords can just live with their jealousy."

"Will the lords and ladies please assemble for the Grand March!" a servants voice rang out over the general din.

"Well, that's our call," said James, offering his arm to Beatrice. "We're leading, of course."

She takes his arm. "I said that I would use the hat."

"Ah, damn," replied James, "and here I was sure that stuffing my fingers in my ears would work. Well, no time for that now - there'll be time before the first minuet."

(([/stupid, tired mistake]))

She blushes lightly, looking down demurely. "You flatter me, Your Majesty." As she leads the Grand March with the king.

It was, like most Iansislean affairs, a long, somewhat dull process. At last, everyone had entered the ball room. The floor itself was rather nondescript, excepting the expensive woodwork, but the room was extraordinary. Tall, narrow windows looked north across the bay to the city of Ianapalis. The rain clouds of that afternoon had already burned off, leaving a clear, unobstructed view of the city lights.

"Pardon me, Lord Hestonbrook," said James suddenly, walking up to a young man whose only distinguishing feature was his bright blue eyes. He bowed deeply.

"Nothing needs pardon, Your Majesty. Please, let me introduce you to Lady Mary Clayburgh.” Hestonbrook stepped aside so the young lady standing next to him could extend her hand to James. It was a long standing tradition that no man could make conversation with an escorted lady unless they had been introduced properly at that very ball.

“The Marquess of Westergate’s daughter?” asked James, kissing her hand. “Let us only hope that you will not ruin that perfect skin by following in your father’s footsteps.”

“Or my uncle’s,” she replied with a slight blush, “but I have very little calling to the sea.”

“And, Hess, let me introduce to you the Grand Duchess Beatrice. Duchess, may I present the Viscount of Hestonbrook?”

She smiles lightly. "It is an honor, Your Excellency." She delicately extends a delicate, white hand, palm down, of course.

"The pleasure is mine, Your Grace," replied Hestonbrook, kissing the hand. "I must say, the stories of your beauty which preceded your coming could hardly do you justice. I only hope,” he continued, eyes shifting briefly to James, “that our good monarch hasn’t completely locked you down?”

Beatrice arches a brow ever so faintly when he actually kisses the hand. "Your Excellency, I am beginning to suspect that His Majesty has organized a conspiracy to flatter me. However, I do have quite a few dances free, yet."

"The pleasure is mine, Your Grace," replied Hestonbrook, kissing the hand. "I must say, the stories of your beauty which preceded your coming could hardly do you justice. I only hope,” he continued, eyes shifting briefly to James, “that our good monarch hasn’t completely locked you down?”

“He wouldn’t need to,” replied Hestonbrook earnestly. “But, if that is the case, would you care to be my partner for the quadrille in the first set?”

“Hess, you read my mind,” said James, “However did you know I was just about to ask Lady Mary for that very same dance?”

Mary blushed and averted her eyes. “Of course, Your Majesty,” she replied in a quiet voice.

((if this starts dragging too much, just let me know and we can let Beatrice get on with her life. Things happen slowly in Iansisle, and I've no desire to keep you tied up here longer than you want to be.))

Beatrice inclines her head. "Most gladly, Viscount." Writes him in on her card. She smiles lightly to Mary. "It is nice to meet you as well, lady."

((Yeah, probably. I'm having a lot of fun here but there are three other nations I after you on the list for the thread as well))

((No problem. Shall I write the time warp to the end, or would you care to do the honors?))

"There's the call to the first minuet," said James, extending his arm.

Beatrice takes his arm, smiling.

((You can. it's your nation, after all.))

((ah, but leaving things in my hands usually isn't a good idea. Just so you're warned. ;) I think I'll do the "crash" style time warp. Fasten your seatbelt!))

A heavy fog bank hung over Ian’s Island on the day of Beatrice’s departure. King James himself condescended to see her off from the pier below Dûn Ádien along with most of the court. During her short stay there, the Grand Duchess had made quite the impression.

“Better than the usual lot of impertinent outlanders we usually get,” an older gentleman in the back whispered to his wife. “At least this one knew how to behave herself in court!”

...shan't...

Remind me to invite King James to Imitora again so he can relearn modern speak. Maybe when Queen Elizabeth from Versalles comes by, I'll invite James. Alright, I'm done with the hijack, going back to figuring out how much I need to start saving for my next car...M3 turbocharged numiness...I'm out

Against the evening sky, now alight at the setting of the sun, the metal spires of Lictoria gleamed. Their structures were supported by large, winding metal wires, forming a structure that appeared as delicate and finely-crafted to the eye as lace.

In the distance, on the shimmering surface of the water, a small craft could be seen, speeding towards the capital city of Lictoria. The crystalline surface of the water was disturbed as it rose up in a foamy path around the blazing vehicle. But the path was not cut by the craft itself- in fact, the craft did not touch the water, but traveled over it, hovering three feet above its surface. And though the sea was not calm in the patches that they crossed over, the craft remained stable, moving in no direction save forward.

Looking from the window of the harbor tower with slanted, crimson eyes, the emperor gave the signal to open the sea maze and allow for their recently-picked-up guest to be taken below deck. It was not that she couldn't be trusted. But the emperor was a cautious man, and did not trust his own family- quite possibly for good reason.

He stood in the window a bit longer, contemplating the events and the status of his political enemies. Finally, with a small grin, he wondered how impressed the duchess would be by hovercraft. Where she came from, it was quite a wonder. But here, the technology was ancient. The grin vanished from his face, drowned again in his melancholy thoughts, as he turned away and marched down the winding staircase to greet his guest.

Beatrice waited quietly below decks. If she was annoyed that another monarch had picked her up personally, her polite expression didn't show it. She wore a flowing gossamer gown of light green and had her hands folded neatly in front of her lap. She shifted only to curtsey to the emperor as he approached, smiling lightly with that strange, radiant beauty.

Neron smiled as warmly as a man such as himself could manage. His race was known to be quite devoid of warmth or emotion in general. Were the emperor a human, he would be jubilant to see a visitor of such grace and power finally come to this recently forged nation. However, because he was of another, more ancient race entirely, he merely presented a calm and pleased status.

He did as best he could to make what a human would think of as a good impression. Though his kind once regarded humans as savages, now that they were masters of the world, the majority of his race had a deep respect for humans, and understood that not all were the vile souls that were more publicized.

"Duchess, I am honored," the emperor said with a pleased smile on his face. He considered giving a bow, as a human might, but it was against tradition for an emperor to humble himself in such a way, and among many differences between his culture and man's was that his wasted no time on the meaningless rituals known as "formalities." However, he was quick to make it clear that he truly was honored. He could not have been more pleased that his nation was already receiving a visit from an experienced and well-known politician. Perhaps better days lay ahead...

Beatrice smiles faintly. "I as well. I was not expecting to be received by an Emperor. The technology that makes this vehicle float...interests me somewhat, I must admit. I have seen nothing of the kind among the other mortal peoples we have visited."

((Is he visibly or metaphysically different from a human?))

(OOC: His race of people are tall humanoids, but the emperor is an albino, and that is part of the reason why many call him the devil king. Also, his race is slightly longer-lived than humans. The emperor himself is frail and requires herbs, pills, and some cybernetic implants to keep himself going.)

"Indeed, it is quite a fascinating age we live in, is it not? So many wonders, so much to see." There was a pause as Neron seemed to look somewhere else entirely, past the world and into some old memory. He snapped back to attention though, turning his attention back to the duchess.
"I hope you were not troubled to go below deck. It has become an instinct since the wars that formed this country."

Beatrice shrugs gracefully. "It is no trouble, really. I am sorry to hear of such warfare, however. How recently was this?"

The emperor's eyes grew weary with remembering.
"Some say it was five years ago. It started before. Before man took over the world, it was ours. We were equalled in no area. For ten thousand years, the world was ours. But young kingdoms began to reach a higher stage. They built, organized. Our species was one nation. Humans of the same color killed each other. We were not above that. We lacked what you call 'inhibition.'
Over time humans ushered in a new code of behavior. We were tamed and herded into pens. We live in a world they rule now. We go against our nature. Then, morality and ethics were being developed even for humans. We had none. We were intelligent. We knew what was best for ourselves. And we organized while they warred. But soon they organized. They rose up and lost again and again. Misfortune struck us. More citizens embraced our enemies' culture. Humans are the most advanced beings on Earth. They were animals then. We were weakened. Tradition fell. Rituals, gaining favor from above, were not honored. Our power waned. Then the demon took the throne. He honored nothing. He was weak, of a school of thought embracing human culture. Because of him, savages took over. Changes occurred. Things shifted. Now we see a grand cycle. Thousands of years ago, something was altered globally. Cultures were forgotten, destroyed, and melted down. In the fire of creation, new nations and people rose. It was millennia after that I wished the throne. But now, we had changed. I was a shadow of what once was. They hated me. I was everything the old rulers were, called devil king. Small nations were sucked into the maelstrom of conflict. Battle raged. Cultures were forgotten, destroyed, and melted down. In the fire of creation, new nations and people rose from their ashes. I took the throne, but it was the throne of a small, weak kingdom. There is conflict. Rebels swarm in my nation. I do not hate humans, and work by morality. But we must accept that we are not human and that we cannot possibly be like they are. Maybe I am on the wrong side. It makes me heartsick to wonder."

Beatrice shakes her head. "I highly doubt that, just as I doubt that humans are the most advanced beings in the world. There are more things in this world than they will ever understand."

"Perhaps humans are not the most advanced beings, but I know of some that have far surpassed what even this proud nation has accomplished. But it does not matter now. What matters now is that our guest enjoys her stay. Though the sun is setting, it may be another time entirely where you just arrived from. The choice is yours- shall we eat dinner or breakfast?"

A look of vague surprise crosses Beatrice's face. "Will we not be eating ashore, Your Imperial Majesty?" She tilts her head, only slightly.

One of Beatrice's attendants runs up, handing her a slip of paper. The grand Duchess reads it, frowning. "It seems a foreign power has just attacked the Empire. I really should be with my people now."

A grim look crossed the emperor's face. He felt guilty about being angry that the visit was cut short- obviously the circumstances were much more grave.
"Very well. I could not expect you to stay in such a crisis. We ferried you here on a hovercraft. But I fear the voyage home will be much longer. Unless her majesty would prefer transportation of her own, I can arrange for one of my faster aircraft to transport you. We have one already prepared. It travels sixteen times the speed of sound. If you wish, it could be leaving with you and all you brought with you in under an hour."

Beatrice shakes her head. "I would not ask you to risk testing the enemy blockade yourselves, though a statement would be helpful."

(OOC: Should I issue it here, or start a new thread?)

"There is no need to worry about that. We shall issue a statement quite soon. What is the name of this foreign power that has attacked you?"

((Issue it here http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=364211 ))

Beatrice pauses a moment. "Androtia. I'd never heard of it before now."