Tsaraine
03-03-2005, 08:38
OOC: To tell the truth I'm not sure what exactly this is; it's not an RP (unless GMC should decide to add something), and it's not a story (because unless GMC does, I don't intend to write any more), but it is RP-related, actually naming my ambassador to GMC. So ... yeah, here it is.
Offices of the Arkhreifane of the Exterior, Deep Tsarai, Tsaraine
"Please sit down, Ambassador. Tea?"
"Thank you." Ksarine's promotion was recent, a tight knot of anxiety deep in her gut; but one didn't turn down the Arkhreifane's tea. Rumor had it she grew the plants herself, and whatever reason it might have, Ksravi Ekina's tea was good.
Now she poured delicately from a china teapot, and set the teacups aside to steep.
"Ambassador," Ksravi began, "Compared to some of our neighbours - Samarkant and Ekatori being the ones you have served in - Marshall Island will be a cakewalk. Compared to many nations, in fact, the Invincible People's Federation is a very easy assignment. The people are friendly, they do not ascribe to any particularly unusual religious habits, and they are not currently involved in any major external conflicts.
"They do, however, have certain quirks perculiarly their own - all this is covered in your briefing materials, of course, but I will highlight certain items now."
Ksravi removed the strainers, and passed her a teacup. Ksarine sipped carefully - the tea was very hot, as advertised, very good, and likely entirely too subtle in it's flavouring for her to appreciate.
"For example," the Arkhreifane continued, "Marshall Island is probably the only place you will ever be assigned where your sexuality is a selection factor."
Ksarine spluttered hot tea.
"That is hardly the only selection factor, mind," - Ksravi held up a hand to forestall her questions - "And in this case it is not so major as the reason we do not send Tsakh ambassadors to Ekatori. Ambassador Shezekh did quite well there until his retirement, after all, and he remains happily married to a woman.
"I believe the Benevolent Dictatorship of Iuthia uses predominantly female diplomats for a similar reason; barring certain fundamentalist third world nations - to which no Tsarainese citizen will ever go, may Fate be kind and God be merciful - they tend to do better than males in similar situations."
"I see," Ksarine replied carefully. What in all the names of God Above does she think I'll be doing in GMC?
Tsarainese Embassy, Marshall Island
That had been twenty hours ago, and now Ksarine woke to the crisp mid-morning of Marshall City.
While the majority of Tsaraine's embassies were utilitarian concrete boxes, the one in GMC was new enough to break the mould; patterned to some extent after the buildings of the First Dominion, it was a mess of pitched rooves one atop the other, spires, attics, and litte rooms sandwitched into corners on varying levels.
From what Ksarine had seen of it (which wasn't much - her flight from Tsaraine had arrived late last night, and she'd caught only glimpses of it on her way to bed) it seemed eccentric, rambling, and entirely unTsarainese. It meant, however, that her bedroom had windows, through which she could see the sky above Marshall City's skyline; right now the clouds looked yellow with snow, as if God Above had pissed on it before it fell.
Due to some strange error of burecracy which could only possibly happen in Tsaraine, her luggage had been flown seperately to some country nobody had ever heard of and which apparently didn't exist (or so the Undercommandant who'd escorted her had informed her, when he'd been unable to locate it at JC Denton International). So the embassy staff - her staff, now, a fact which sent thrills of terror up her spine - had gone out early to purchase replacements, no mean feat on a wintry Sunday morning.
They'd done their best, all told (or so she assumed, taking a look in the closet on her way to the shower) but there were little things - the cut of a shirt, or the number of buttonholes, or the height of a collar - which said, cumulatively, that she was no longer in Tsaraine, was in fact quite far away from the Tsarainese sphere of cultural influence.
An Ambassador - a Diplomat-Commandant, even, which she'd been until a few days ago - should be beyond such culture shock, but there seemed to be a hundred things revealed with every step, saying quietly; This is not Tsaraine.
So this is GMC, she thought. I wonder what shall become of it all!
Offices of the Arkhreifane of the Exterior, Deep Tsarai, Tsaraine
"Please sit down, Ambassador. Tea?"
"Thank you." Ksarine's promotion was recent, a tight knot of anxiety deep in her gut; but one didn't turn down the Arkhreifane's tea. Rumor had it she grew the plants herself, and whatever reason it might have, Ksravi Ekina's tea was good.
Now she poured delicately from a china teapot, and set the teacups aside to steep.
"Ambassador," Ksravi began, "Compared to some of our neighbours - Samarkant and Ekatori being the ones you have served in - Marshall Island will be a cakewalk. Compared to many nations, in fact, the Invincible People's Federation is a very easy assignment. The people are friendly, they do not ascribe to any particularly unusual religious habits, and they are not currently involved in any major external conflicts.
"They do, however, have certain quirks perculiarly their own - all this is covered in your briefing materials, of course, but I will highlight certain items now."
Ksravi removed the strainers, and passed her a teacup. Ksarine sipped carefully - the tea was very hot, as advertised, very good, and likely entirely too subtle in it's flavouring for her to appreciate.
"For example," the Arkhreifane continued, "Marshall Island is probably the only place you will ever be assigned where your sexuality is a selection factor."
Ksarine spluttered hot tea.
"That is hardly the only selection factor, mind," - Ksravi held up a hand to forestall her questions - "And in this case it is not so major as the reason we do not send Tsakh ambassadors to Ekatori. Ambassador Shezekh did quite well there until his retirement, after all, and he remains happily married to a woman.
"I believe the Benevolent Dictatorship of Iuthia uses predominantly female diplomats for a similar reason; barring certain fundamentalist third world nations - to which no Tsarainese citizen will ever go, may Fate be kind and God be merciful - they tend to do better than males in similar situations."
"I see," Ksarine replied carefully. What in all the names of God Above does she think I'll be doing in GMC?
Tsarainese Embassy, Marshall Island
That had been twenty hours ago, and now Ksarine woke to the crisp mid-morning of Marshall City.
While the majority of Tsaraine's embassies were utilitarian concrete boxes, the one in GMC was new enough to break the mould; patterned to some extent after the buildings of the First Dominion, it was a mess of pitched rooves one atop the other, spires, attics, and litte rooms sandwitched into corners on varying levels.
From what Ksarine had seen of it (which wasn't much - her flight from Tsaraine had arrived late last night, and she'd caught only glimpses of it on her way to bed) it seemed eccentric, rambling, and entirely unTsarainese. It meant, however, that her bedroom had windows, through which she could see the sky above Marshall City's skyline; right now the clouds looked yellow with snow, as if God Above had pissed on it before it fell.
Due to some strange error of burecracy which could only possibly happen in Tsaraine, her luggage had been flown seperately to some country nobody had ever heard of and which apparently didn't exist (or so the Undercommandant who'd escorted her had informed her, when he'd been unable to locate it at JC Denton International). So the embassy staff - her staff, now, a fact which sent thrills of terror up her spine - had gone out early to purchase replacements, no mean feat on a wintry Sunday morning.
They'd done their best, all told (or so she assumed, taking a look in the closet on her way to the shower) but there were little things - the cut of a shirt, or the number of buttonholes, or the height of a collar - which said, cumulatively, that she was no longer in Tsaraine, was in fact quite far away from the Tsarainese sphere of cultural influence.
An Ambassador - a Diplomat-Commandant, even, which she'd been until a few days ago - should be beyond such culture shock, but there seemed to be a hundred things revealed with every step, saying quietly; This is not Tsaraine.
So this is GMC, she thought. I wonder what shall become of it all!