NationStates Jolt Archive

Somewhere near Port-Allanea

Senator Pavlovsky looked out of his window and frowned, looking at the city skyline on the horizon. Still, several months after the war, it was in very bad condition - even from here you could see the burned-out skyscrapers, and the injured wide dome that was once Congress Hall. Right now, Congress was meeting in a stadium. Senate was little better - they were meeting the basement of Congress Hall, luckily uninjured by Shanderian bombs or by the looting of the civil war.

He shrugged. Leonard Grigorievich Pavlovsky knew that unless Allanea got herself a new connection or three - and in a big hurry - it was not going to be fixed. It would go worse. People would starve in the streets, soon. The country would be destryoed.

But herein lay the rub. Nobody - nobody - would officially associate with Allanea outside the Empire. Allanea was a pariah state - with no capability of getting aid. Unless…

He had it.

Nobody would officially associate with Allanea.

He began typing


From: Senator Pavlosky, Senate Majority Leader of the United States of Allanea [R-Hestonia]
To: [list omitted]
Subject: Tea party.

Good day!

Senator Pavlovsky would like to invite you for a traditional Russian tea party - as to the custom of his ancestors from Pre-Allanean times. Cake, sugar, and transport from Port-Allanea Internatoinal will be provided. He hopes you will enjoy yourself at his house.



"So who do we send it to" - he wondered out loud. "Well, the Roanians and the Taraskovyans are obvious… the Revenians.. maybe Assingtonians. - they are among the nicest folks, even though they are Metusians… I know… Tartarus!" - and he typed in more and more people’s names into the CC: list of the letter. When about twenty nations’ officials.

He paused. "Wait… I missed someone.. someone important."

For a second, he paused, the glass of tea on his table cooling slowly unattended. "I know." - and he added the Menelmacary governor in Haven to the list. "We need to differentiate ourselves from Kazansky’s little stunt. He’s bloody done it this time. Maybe the Menelmacari will understand."

Office of the Field Administrator, Calirnevris, RSN Sol Station, Sol System

Field Administrator Sir Vernon Sevirek sat in a chair before the desk of his superior in a way that would horrify outsiders who knew little of Revenian protocol.

Vernon didn't so much sit in the chair, really, as he simply draped his tall, muscular body over it. His immaculate white mantle normally did a positively wonderful job of hiding the powered armor he wore beneath it, colored the same bright white as the mantle.

Sure, camouflage or a darker, more subdued color would have been better...but an Administrator was not a soldier. Besides, if Vernon ever did have to worry about being shot at, it largely wouldn't matter what color his armor was -- the enemy would know exactly where he was.

Vernon was, as previously mentioned, a tall man, and quite broad at the shoulder. He took care to maintain his physique, and that care had granted him a powerful body that had been shaped by Fhellanti combat training.

He was possessed of brown hair that he wore relatively short and silver-blue eyes that marked him as being Halfling Ascended.

Displayed on his belt buckle, the shoulder of his armor, and on the lapel of his collar, was the insignia of the Revenian Diplomat Service's Rapid Response Teams.

The RRTs had been designed to go into hostile situations and commence negotiations. That violence could break out against an RRT was a given, and as such the Field Administrator who was the center of each RRT was trained into a sort of warrior-diplomat and supported not only with diplomatic aides but also a complement of men drawn from the Silver Knights regiment.

The Tri-staff leaning against Vernon's chair was both weapon and symbol, and Vernon was most definately proficient in its use, just as he was quite proficient with the heavy pistol in the holster at his right hip, beneath the mantle, as well as all the other weapons concealed about his body.

Though for all of that, he was a diplomat first and a fighter second.

Sector Administrator Rel Markinsen, The Earl of Hartford, was dangerous it quite a different way to that of his subordinate.

Generally considered to be the best pistol duelist in Star Supremacy, Rel taught pistol instruction at Hartford Hall when he wasn't in Sol. He was by no means an expert with the tri-staff, though he understood the basic concept of sticking the bad guy with the pointy end.

He was around six foot, wiry in build, and possessing silver eyes and dark red hair that he kept long and curled ever so gracefully without any prompting from anybody.

"You have read the missive, then, Vernon," Rel inquired with eyebrow quirked ever so slightly.

Vernon nodded, "Aye."

"And?" Rel prompted.

Vernon shrugged, "I'll go. Even if the Allaneans have reformed somewhat, the past cannot be ignored. I'll just flit on over to Hrosvatir and jaunt my way back to Earth, then take a shuttle down, I expect."

Rel rolled his eyes, "I certainly would expect so. It'd be a godawfully long walk."

Vernon laughed as he rose, "Aye, that it would."
---

The assault shuttle was painted white, and the RDS' open palm emblem figured prominently on its side. The weaponry was kept retracted behind panels, as was usual even on non-diplomatic shuttles, and as such the craft looked quite non-threatening.

The ramp would lower with a hiss that had nothing at all to do with hydraulics but had everything to do with effect, and the small vehicle would make its way down that ramp and onto Allanean soil.

Seeing as how Port Allanea was quite largely...in ruins...Vernon had foregone the Peregrine command car and the larger lander that it required in favor of the RDS' version of the AFESSR's Puma gunjeep, as modified for use by RRTs.

It was painted Administrator white, with the open-palm of the RDS on the hood and the flag of the Star Supremacy on the doors. The jeep was driven by Knight-Companion Evan Wesley, the XO of the Silver Knights component of Vernon's RRT, while Knight-Sergeant John Grant, Vernon's personal bodyguard manned the 2cm tribarrel.

Vernon rode shotgun, as it were, in the passenger's seat of the gunjeep, with the driver within the up-armored part of the jeep, which was the most obvious difference between the Puma used by the RRTs and the standard Puma.

See, the RRT Puma had doors. The standard Puma didn't.

Yet despite being within the armored "cockpit" of the jeep, there was a CAF-12 autoflechette held upright by a set of brackets by Vernon's right leg, just in case a threat tried to remove the Administrator from his vehicle.

Vernon's attention, however, was on his surroundings. Reminded him of stories of spacer's pleasure circuses that were supposed to exist way out in the boonies...

Which was, to say, bizarre.

And indeed, their surroundings were bisarre- to any rational observer. The Revenians route would lie through Trek-Town - the quarter of the city populated, coincidentally by those Allaneans who were still fans of that old film series and television show. During the civil war, that was the area of the city that was most damaged - first by Shanderian and New-Haven bombs, then, when the Imperial Guard came, by the gunfire of both sides. It was a Socialist stronghold back then - and the Imperial Guard went door-to-door, cleansing people in dark-red uniforms with grenade and bayonet Still, some life remained. Weird life. In those houses that were not blackened piles of rubble, you could see shops dealing in Trek memorabilia. On the sidewalks, impoverished prostitutes posing as Klingon women - life was tough these days, and prostitution has always been legal, anyway. Many a man wore a Trekkie item - a bit of a uniform, a communicator, or a handgun styled to look like a phaser. Some had their entire bodies resculpted to look like Klingons, Vulcans, or Ferengi. The place was an unholy mix between a vacation and a slum.

The next site was Metalhead Ghetto - surprisingly, much cleaner, and better looking - if not for the semi-satanist posters on every wall, the huge mount of beer sold on every corner, and not the black-leather equipped beings filling every corner - not just humans, but Valaquine and penguinoids as well. And, of course, it was noisy. In the basements, bands trained for their Big Show, in the houses above ground, stereos made the neighborhood shake and quake, their volume gauges similarly pinned in place.

Next, if the Jeep took the advised road through the city, it would burst out onto the Promenade - comparatively the neatest part of the city - and see the only part of Port-Allanea that still was buzzing with life - the Allanean Arms Drydocks. Rightnow, they were busy building gravships - monstrous 750-meters contraption, spiked with gun turrets like a veritable hedgehog. Sure, Allanea had no military - but her experience and knowledge was worth gold, and paid for with gold. It was the only thing Allanea was currently exporting in any serious quantity.

Then, the gunjeep would blast along the Promenade - a route, that, the Senator opined, would allow the Revenians a view of the sea - instead of the city ruins - and finally jump out of the city and onto the interstate highway, which would, in five minutes, lead them to the Senator’s mansion. As Vernon would fly though the last miles of road, he would note that of all things Allaneans drove, nobody drove "ordinary" vehicles. Paramilitary jeeps not unlike his own Puma? Sure. Decommissioned APC’s? He would count three. Sports cars that can outrun a helicopter - he noticed two. SUV’s taking up two lanes? Popular and reasonable. Regular family coupes? If you noticed one, you were lucky.

The Senator’s mansion was big - not because the Senator was very rich - he wasn’t. Simply, Allanea financed and promoted anti-urbanism. And that meant, cheap land. So if you were established and had a job, you had a suburban home. If you were a person of moderate wealth - like the Senator - you would be having a large country home.

It was styled to be a copy of a baroque French house - updated of course for elevators and electronics. The security was not obvious - but present. As the gate opened before the Puma, the Revenians would notice two men in black suits and helmets stand soundlessly in the guard cabin, an image of a dagger stitched on one forearm, a flag on the other - a hint of the larger, invisible, security perimeter and structure.

As Vernon exited the jeep, he was immediately approached by a Hashi butler. "Hello, Mr. Vernon. Welcome to Allanea. Let me take your coat - oh, I see it won’t be necessary. I am sorry. Follow me, Mr. Vernon."

The Tiburonese people were singularly unable to keep up with Russian traditions. They had descended from the Americans, the Japanese, and the Indians, three of the least able nations to accurately understand Russian customs. America had seen Russia as a country they could defeat. Japan had seen Russia as a country they could ignore. And India had seen Russia as a country that you bought arms from until you became a major power- then you bought American arms. All in all, it was hard to understand Russian customs.

And it was against this backdrop that the civilian helicopter Lockheed Boeing AGX-90 SuperScout landed in Port-Allanea, carrying with it two Honor Guard soldiers, one flanking and one leading the Assistant Deputy Undersecretary of State in Northwest Haven for the United Solaris Federation, William Lee.

The Tiburonese were probably aware that this meeting was not official - and thus they would not be provided with any official looking transport. But still they would probably not be aware of the vehicle that awaited. The car was, at least on the outside, a copy of the Humvees used in the Old Common Era in the Gulf Wars. Inside, the upholstery was ripped up, the rear window was smashed, and the rear-view mirror was sticking out on an awkward angle. On the other hand, the vehicle internals, the stereo and the air conditioner worked. The Humvee was painted bright yellow - the sign on its roof simple: ‘Taxi’.

The vehicle - rented by the Senator, of course - was scheduled to carry the Tiburonese ambassador along the same route the Revenian one was taken through - giving him the scenic view of poverty, weirdness, and hope in the Confederate States of Allanea -just as it was in reality. Even if it was not a very friendly picture.

The Weyrik Skyways Group serviced Allanea with hardly a lapse in service, if only because it had by now become used to violence and wars and other such things that could be bad for business. Granted, it also learned to capitalize on such things, since people who wanted to get out of the country would need some way of achieving this. It had adjusted to ever-increasing violence at home by hiring and training its own security, and by armoring its heavy duty skyliners, which where what a pair of Weyreans took on one particular day on a trip to Allanea.

Ierich Gao was not a government official, per se. He wasn't part of anything, really, more of a tourist who just somehow picked up another destination on his itinerary. It wasn't that he didn't exist, but rather that he existed on some strange level where asking certain questions resulted in Bad Things. Officially he was a Ministry of Economy, Trade, and Industry traveling representative. His companion was woman who would have looked striking if she, like the man, wasn't wearing an almost too-average combination of jeans, jacket, and boots, all broken in but not yet worn out.

"Don't get to do this often anymore," she sighed to herself, feeling her rapier sheath slide against her ride's side.

"No, no we don't," Ierich responded lightly. Their hoverbikes more or less worked, and at the moment were perfectly decently propelling them at two hundred kilometers through the Allanean city. He could tell there was potential in this place, even with the usual Weyrean habit of making everything as mechanized as possible. Hell, Infuzion Tech could sell its fusactors as replacement engines for the local monstrosities, although he wondered why the lanes here weren't winder to compensate. It seemed strange, sort of, but then Allanea itself was strange. Anyway, he wondered at the thought of a fusactor plant allowing locals to use whatever shit they picked up off the road as car fuel. Would be a whole distribution industry, maintenance industry, trade schools, how-to books....

"Watch the road," Maaya shouted sharply over the humm of firien cells, before letting her helmet's faceshield drop back down. "Kill yourself in this dump on my fucking watch and I'll..." beneath a normally placid look was the mouth of a sailor after a year at sea, even for a Weyrean. With that kind of encouragement, getting safely to the senator's house -- that was what they called their [Octagonal] Councilors here, apparently -- wasn't too difficult.

The soldiers and the diplomat climed into the Humvee and awkwardly positioned themselves in the seats, looking quite dignified- or at least, as dignified as possible given a taxi that would be more suitable for combat troops, not spit-and-polish troops.

As the HMMVV rolled down the highway of a Green Party's nightmare, Lee couldn't help but stare on as he saw an entire town dedicated to the popular Star Trek show, bombed out by Hermes forces during the early days of the war. As he passed down Metalhead Ghetto, he noticed many people who would be not out of place at a Rammstein concert look at them, as if they were the motley crew. And, of course, exchanged heated words as they drove by with a denizen who wasn't all too accomodating to the USF as a whole.

And then throughout the Promenade. The soldiers and the diplomat covered their mouths as they passed the Allanean Arms section, with weapons that, thanks to the USF Navy, would never be travelling down the Democratic Canal to complete works of death and destruction against the people of the world. They covered their mouths- too much smog and exhaust- as they went down to the Senator's house, passing by perhaps the strangest collection of aspects of Tiburonese society that he had ever seen.

The soldiers didn't see anything. They looked straight ahead.

OOC: For all the people that are late, don’t bother to post arriving - just assume yourself into the party.

IC: At the Senator’s Home

As the Weyrean, Revenian, and Tiburonese guests entered the Senator’s dining-room, they would be exposed to a completely different athmosphere than what they encountered so far. On the white tablecloth there was positioned, in a position of honor, an electric-driven samovar - perhaps the only deviation from tradition that was in place. Tall glasses mounted in steel podstakanniks were already waiting for the guests, and so were little piles of sugarcubes and candy - Taraskovyan candy, of course.

The interior of the house would not be anything different from that of a high-society home anywhere else in the world - save for the pre-ODW assault rifle hanging over the mantelpiece, it’s still-functional body lavishly decorated - like many soldier’s rifles in the CSAF. But the Senator wasn’t much of a gun collector - save for this one rifle, his carry handgun, and his backup gun, he owned no firearms. Thus, the visitors were spared a display that might otherwise have offended them.

On the other hand, the Senator was apparently quite fond of art - paintings by Allanean, Edolian, and some other artists adorned the walls - mostly pseudoclassical in style, since Senator Pavlovski was not a big fan of modern art. On the mantlepiece stood two small busts - one of Lysander Spooner and the other of Leo Tolstoy, the two bearded men seeming near-identical to an inexperienced observer. And then, of course, there was the Senator himself, seated at the head of the table.

"Hello, gentlemen," spoke Leonard Grigorievich Pavlovsky, passing his hand over his graying beard involuntarily. "Welcome to Port-Allanea. Sit down, please. My wife, Pelagia, will be with us in a moment and then we’ll pour you all some Stossel… probably the most wonderful tea there is in the world. I am quite proud of my wife for having managed to procure some in these frugal times."

"Senator," Gao inclined his head. Great, dropped into a chair to the right of the senator, Maaya poditioning herself to the Weyrean's right. Usual preliminary shit before the business.

Weyrean work habit had a very simple dictum -- get the job done. The problem was, very few other states seemed to respect this concept. But then, most nations also liked to show off whatever they were proud of. Weyr just existed, and moved along, and didn't really care all that much. To be exact, it thought it didn't care, even when it did. Gao wasn't about to complain about anything that'd happen here in terms of protocol.

Maaya watched her surroundings, decided this would be another incredibly pointless meeting, and hoped the food would be good. Someone who had enough cash to buy this much space and waste it surely could afford something decent to eat.

Daniella Lawton hated being late, and it was with a blush that she had arrived at the Senator’s house later than she had expected. She just hoped that she was not the last to arrive, or that the others had already gone past the general greetings and such. Composing herself, she entered the main room where the gathering was taking place, and was pleased that she did not seem to have missed anything of importance, in fact it looked as if the others had only just arrived too.

She moved deeper into the room, still wondering why Tartarus had been invited to the proceedings. They had had little interaction with Allanea in the past, but they were not ones to throw away the opportunity of building relations with anyone, though they were not the kind of nation to jump in feet first, they were weary which tended to follow a long period of isolation.

Smiling at the others that had already gathered, she moved to where the main action appeared to be taking place, and greeted all those present with a little informal greeting.

William nodded slightly, replying, "Thank you, Senator.", seemingly ignoring the pity plea in a wave of formality. Unlike the soldiers, however, he didn't sit down immediately. His eyes moved around the room, looking at the art in mild interest, coming to rest on a small piano. He was a former concertist, after all, and the desire to play still existed in him. He gradually sat down, occasionally stealing glances at the piano as he waited for the tea.

"Have a seat, gentlemen," offered the Senator. "I am sorry it is not such a dinner as I am used to be serving - but in such hard times, even the wealthiest are affected, and I am not one of them." The Senator’s wife - a kind-looking Russian woman older then him, in traditional dress - arrived in a moment, rushing to and fro and pouring tea to the guests, asking the usual question - how much sugar? Would you like cake, good Sir? Cookies? Would you like some of… - the guests would be thoroughly overtaken, including the Senator himself.

"This is Pelagia, my wife. I learned not to intervene with her tea-serving - but she is a shy one. Pelagia, why don’t you have a seat and the guests will…" - the woman turned to her husband. "Oh but dearie, but they are guests! Let me handle it all and they will all be safe and snug and comfortable as I pour it and mix it and…" - she looked at the Tiburonese ambassador. "Oh, the young man is probably an artist, isn’t this lovely? Oh I am sure he will love to meet Suzie, our daughter, she plays the piano as well. Would you like to meet Suzie, Sir? I’ll call her down…’

Vernon Sevirek was a firm believer in the theory of the nod -- it was economical, neutral, unoffensive, and incredibly versatile. He used it as a greeting, an acknowledgement of greeting...hell, suffice to say that he used it a lot.

Anyways, he picked for himself a choice seat, lifted it up off the ground with all too much ease, palmed a small device onto the seat as he did so, then set it back down far enough back that that he could slide into it. Thusly he created the illusion that he was sitting on the chair, when in fact he was sitting on a float pad.

It was standard practice outside of Revenia to not test other peoples chairs -- Revenians weren't much bigger than humans on average...but they were considerably denser. Revenians tended to build their chairs overly strong, but others often times didn't.

Thus the reasoning behind most Revenians standing. Many individuals who regularly came into contact with outsiders carried about float pads quite like the one Vernon was using, which were miniaturized versions of the devices used in cargo handling and such forth.

Anyways.

Vernon would nod absently to the Senator's wife as she poored the tea, smile, then wave off her further inquiries. As was also usual practice, he had already eaten -- it would have been unfair to require one's hosts to make concessions to the Revenian metabolism, which was...perhaps too efficient, and also the somewhat unusual nutrient requirements...

Vernon, like most Revenians, however, was not averse to a nice snack.

Captain Pokrovskiy, the young Adjutant to the Lieutenant-Governor of the Sovereign Base Area of Sukhum, got out of the vehicle provided by the locals to reach the Senator’s house and walked up to the entrance to the building, straightening his black Airborne uniform. He knew quite well that the even was unofficial, but all Taraskovyan officer had to look presentable in front of foreigners, and he intended to become no exception to the rule.

He entered the interior, joining up with the rest of the guests soon enough, inclining his politely to all those he met, giving the Tartarian lady a bow and a clacking of heels, all accompanied with a smile, before he greeted the Senator himself. “Den dobriy, Pan Senator.” He said with a polite nod of his head. “His Excellency General Starovolskiy sends his greetings and wishes to apologize for not coming himself, but he is occupied by some urgent affairs.”

Maaya by all indications should have been twitching by now, and considering pulling out a gun and shooting either the Taraskovyan, who had a ramrod rammed up the ramrod rammed up his posterior, or the crazy lady who was overdue for a medical and possibly some shots. Except the Mormegil -- that was who she was, although without the usual sixty pounds of armor, weapons, and gear -- couldn't say that, just like Irech Gao couldn't ask that the business move along. Gao, in truth, used the time to eyeball the other representatives and to think, and he did honestly mean it when he said 'thank you', because the senator and his wife really were trying to be nice, even if they came off as rather nervous. Or they were secretly drugging the tea.

"Thirteen spoons," Maaya answered to the question of how much sugar.

"Thank you," was the longest string of words uttered by either Weyrean, possibly because they were overwhelmed, or because they had nothing more to say. Otherwise they stuck to the usual nodding, eating, thanking, and wondering how long this was going to take, even if they didn't mind extra food. No self-respecting Weyrean would ever refuse something free, or so the stereotype went.

Vernon sipped his tea...silently, because "sipping audibly" was one of the many things which could drive a Revenian into a homocidal rage. Anyways, the undoubted delicacy of the tea was largely lost on the Revenian, but then...most Revenian beverages were far to potent for the earthly pallette.

Regardless, it certainly wouldn't have surprised any of Vernon's contemporaries when he palmed a decidedly small flask from a pouch on his belt and poured a measured amount in his tea cup under cover of lifting it up so as to drink from it.

The flask went back to his belt after he brought the tea to his lips...and he was quite satisfied with the result. He wouldn't say that it tasted -good,- but it at least didn't taste like fancy water.

Then again, grain alcohol did that to things.

Will blushed slightly at the graciousness of the grandmotherly woman standing before him. After answering the standard questions "Yes, I used to be a concertist. Played at Carnegie Hall, actually." Then, answering the other question, "Would you do that, please? I'd love to meet another pianist..."

This elicited the only response that had come yet from the Honor Guard soldiers, who turned to look at Will with mild amusement and faint disapproval. Then again, he was only an Assistant Deputy Undersecretary, so he still had much to learn.

The Senator’s wife did not even flinch at the Weyrean request- she simply poured thirteen teaspoons into the cup with amazing grace and accuracy. "Here you go, young lady, here’s your tea. Oh and Mr. Sevirek, here’s your cake, enjoy it, Sir. Captain Pokrvosky! Pleased to meet you, what a wonderful, young man1" - she turned to the Senator - "Here, dearly, look how gentlemanly Captain Pokrovsky is, he knows how to treat a lady - but of course here it is all different, we don’t teach out boy manners anymore! What a wonderful, wonderful man you are, Captain!"

She turned her attention to Will - "Carnegie hall! Oh that’s so special! Our Suzie is not such a great artist of course, but she can play the piano rather well - let me call her. Suzie! Suzie!" A girl arrived - perhaps not to the standard of beauty of Allanea’s models - or even Allanea’s prostitutes, as the Revenian might know - but with a long, plain - one might say ‘decent’ - dress - and a certain glimmer of innocence around her that made her even more attractive. She curtsied as she arrived - the mark of a girls’ boarding school in Reischburg, no doubt - "Good evening, gentlemen" - and her mother motioned her unnoticeably to the piano. "Should you wish to hear the Goldberg Variations, gentlemen?"

Then, as the music began to play, Pelagia suddenly said "Oh, I am sorry, gentlemen - I must leave you here. I am not well. Don’t let my husband bore you with his politics talk, will you?" - then she left the room, bending slightly with what sounded beginning of a terrible cough - or what might be simply an excuse. Either way, they were now alone with the Senator, his daughter, and her beautiful music.

"So, Mrs. Lawton" spoke the Senator softly, trying not to interrupt anybody’s enjoyment with the music, "I understand you had quite a ride when you arrive here. Have you formed a view of your own about Allanea, yet?" - while it was addressed to the Tartarian, in a way, the question in face appealed to all of the guests.

Like all good diplomats, Daniella simply smiled and ignored the use of a title that did not fit her. “Please, call me Daniella.” She hoped that covered up the first part without making the man look like he had made an error in addressing her. “As for Allanea, I have to admit that first impressions are very good.” She could not really express much more of an opinion as she had only arrived and had travelled from the airport to the house.

She turned her attention elsewhere. “Your daughter plays beautifully. You must be very proud of her.” She smiled and took a sip of her drink, not wanting to interrupt everyone’s enjoyment of the music.

After thirteen spoons, Maaya's cup looked like it contained a small white mountain, shining and glimmering as it melted into the tea. It was good tea, too, she noted, drinking it a bit too quickly and scorching her tongue. Weyr imported most of its foodstuffs, or used multipurpose paste. The paste tasted like paste, and the imports were usually not that great to begin with, nevermind after a month or a year of storage.

"I love your tea," she said, though probably too late for the woman -- she didn't catch her name -- to hear. It was questionable how much actual tea she was able to taste between all the sugar, but the comment was sincere.

It's...interesting, Irech Gao thought, mostly listening to the music. The true fortepiano was almost unknown in the First Distributed Kingdom, occupying too much space and requiring too much maintenance, although he could see it becoming popular in the outer Distributions, where space was not at a premium the way it was on the Home Island. Gao wasn't about to say that, pointless as it was to the discussion. Just another cultural difference, although it was interesting to draw parallels between Weyr and Allanea as well, even if some of them were tenuous or false.

OOC: Just trying to move this along slightly

IC "It used to look better, Daniella," - whispered the Senator, not wanting to infringe on a single moment of his daughter's music. "Before the war. None of the poverty, the destruction, the violence...." a few minutes of silence passed, when the Senator let hiis words sink in. "But yes, we're really proud of my daughter. Reichsburg private school for girls - funded as a charity by the Emperor, God bless his soul."

Daniella looked at the Senator and smiled, before taking another sip of her tea. Keeping her voice low, she spoke. “Your schools are funded by a charity?” Her brow furrowed in disbelief. She turned her attention to his earlier words. “Nations that allow themselves to get into skirmishes with others, must brace themselves for the backlash that usually follows. If you will excuse me for being so blunt, Allanea has hardly the reputation of a being peace loving nation.”

"Oh, not all of them," -answered the Senator, "simply the best ones. State education has never been good enough - and it's definitely not good enough now. As for our reputation... well we haven't started the last three wars we were in - and we have an intent not to start any new ones any time soon. As a matter of fact, we recently ratified a treaty reducing our military - and then voluntarilty reduced it further - as the honorable officer will affirm. Given that it is Allanean diplomats that ended the last war in Haven, I would think we fully qualify for the title of the most peace-loving nation in the region."

“Indeed, as I remember you count an approximate eight hundred thousand men, two hundred thousand short of what you are allowed to by the terms of the treaty you have with us. And I heard you were quite cooperative with the High Commissioner for Treaty Compliance as of late, which only gives you credit.” Pokrovskiy nodded to the Senator as he entered the conversation.

“However, you shall forgive me, but I cannot support your claiming of the title of the most peace loving nation in the region. I heard that the High Commissioner is looking into your possible violation of the Treaty during your reent conflict with Edolia.”

Oh, certainly, honorable officer - and I mentioned the war with Edolia just now - we didn't start it, you know. But all of that is of little importance - we're making effort, and we're doing what we can - there is great opposition to the forces of peace in this land. Perhaps if we could show some concrete results - but nevermind that. How do you find my daughter's music, honorable officer?"

Daniella looked at the officer as he joined the conversation, listening to both parts of the conversation, finding it hard to compare what she had heard about Allanea with what the Senator was saying. She was not surprised to find her thoughts being confirmed by the officer. “I congratulate you on your success in Haven and the reduction of your military, but being in three wars, even if you did not start them, is hardly peace loving.”

Smiling, she takes another sip of tea, not really wanting to say more, least she put her foot in it. “The fact that you are moving towards a more diplomatic approach, does of course put Allanea in a better light than it may have previous been in, but the international community has a long memory, and does not easily forgive past indiscretions.”

"I wouldn't say a powerful military automaically makes a nation incapable of diplomacy," Gao shrugged dismissively. "Iuthia maintains one of the more powerful armed forces, and no one would call it warmongering. Besides, there are plenty of things a uniformed service can do besides kill people. As long as Allanea doesn't get involved in Prussian conflicts...." he let the words sit there for a moment, targetted partly at the Senator and partly at Pokrovskiy. "I'm sure we don't have to worry about any violent interruptions in Allanea's future. Your daughter plays better than most proffesionals in the FDK," he added, not really as an afterthought.

"As you know - and the honourable officer can certify - the Confederate States Armed Forces are entirely prohibited by law from participating in any conflict outside Allanean borders - at all, whether the conflict is Prussian or otherwise - even if it is Allanean. We depend entirely on our allies for protection from such threats. We need no reminder of the need for peace. " - he sighed heavily, perhaps remembering some long-gone loss - "And the International community? They are not here. Only you are here. I am here talking about the opinion you have about Allanea - which you will carry home to your nation. And, I hope, bring us some aid." - he smiled at the Weyrean’s comment. "Oh, yes. Suzie does play beautifully. She’s the hope of the family, really. Maybe she’ll make a career in the Empire - here, there’s no future for her. " .

He was not looking at his daughter at that moment - or he’d notice the strange - perhaps, even, not so strange, given she was, after all, a teenage girl - glances she was throwing at the Taraskovyan. Perhaps he would be angry.

Perhaps..

History does not know the subjunctive.

Daniella gave the words of her companions some thought, especially those of the Allanea. “I hate to correct you, Senator, but we are the international community. You want us to return home and beg our government to give you aid. Do you think that someone who just sips tea has that kind of power?” She shook her head. “There is no one in this room that is viewing this meeting as a simple ‘afternoon tea’. I know that I am not.”

Her eyes flicked around the room. “And regardless how you present your nation today, in the back of the minds, of all those listening, is your past history. It doesn’t just go away because you hide yourself behind your allies.” She frowned. “You are deluding yourself if you think a cup of tea will change people’s opinions over night. I could go back to Tartarus and tell them what a nice man you are, but you are just that, one man. Your nation has a lot more to answer for than one man can atone for.”

Porkovskiy nodded to the words of Daniella. “What Lady Lawton says is true, Senator. I doubt most present here even have the right to ask their respective national governments for aid. I, most surely, have no such rights. I doubt the Grand Duke or the Parliament would listen to me, even if I can be proud of having been on the royalist side during the Federal period of my nation’s history.” He paused for a second, giving a look to the side and catching a glance from Suzie, smiling at her as he pondered. “Milady, do you know the song called Autumn Rain?”

Suzie blushed - almost unnoticeably - unless you were a ladies’ man like Pokrovsky - and said - "Oh, but of course, honourable officer! It is all the rage in Reichsburg right now - at least among such people as I have encountered." - she was ashamed to say that while in Reichsburg, she has only encountered the girls in her boarding school.

The Senator wanted to comment on Daniella’s words. Perhaps it would have even been something rash - probably, given the arrogance of the Allaneans and their dislike of basic diplomacy. Instead, when Suzanna’s slender, young fingers lay on the keys of the piano, and started playing, her voice carrying the romantic song, every note sounding like a pearl dropping, he had no more desire for such argument, captivated by the music. Outside the room, the two black-clad Team Dagger guards held their eyes half-closed, enchanted as well by the heavenly sounds.

And Suzie kept playing, seemingly completely overtaken by the tune - or, perhaps, by something entirely different.

Daniella was strangely surprised and oddly disappointed that the Senator chose to dismiss her words without answer. She was not sure whether it was the sign of a good or poor host to so blatantly ignore a guest. But she was not here to cause trouble. In fact, she was not exactly sure what she was there to do. So taking another sip of her tea, she let the conversation change to that of the senator’s daughter, and then took herself over to one of the seats, and made herself comfortable.

“Not only does she play good, she also sings nicely and her Russian is perfect.” Pokrovskiy said with a slight smile to the Senator. “I guess you are the one to be commended.” The young officer glanced about the other guests at the table, flicked his eyes briefly at Daniella, as if he was trying to see whether all of those who came were still present. About that time, the song came to an end, the Taraskovyan clapping politely to the young girl.

“This was excellent, Milady. Where did you learn to play?” He said with a smile. “I remember my parents wanted me to learn to play piano and asked a renowned professor to give me lessons. I just blew his piano up.” He laughed briefly. “So I was sent to a military school instead.”

"Oh, honorable officer" - Suzie blushed - "You flatter me too much. I have been a student at the Walker-Arnot Christian Girls’ Establishment at Reichsburg - that’s in Reichskamphen, if you don’t know, capital of our glorious Empire. I was far from a good student… but you blew it up, you say? That is interesting… I had a small interest in explosives when I was about fourteen… probably more of an interest then you’d be comfortable knowing. I can still rig something basic if I really have to… just got bored of it as I grew up, I guess."

In the meanwhile, the Senator approached the Weyrean - "And you, my lady? I understand your people profit much from loans… is that true? Can you tell me a bit about the First Distributed Kingdom? Surely that would be more interesting than a poor nation like Allanea and it’s supposed crimes or problems?"

"The entire country runs on credit," Maaya almost shrugged. She was actively trying to shut out the budding conversation between Suzie and Pokrovskiy. Why the hell are you asking me? "And everyone understanding that abusing the system is a bad idea. So the system works out. When it doesn't the trains run late," she chuckled slightly. It was an inside joke in Weyr -- when the market turned sour, people jumped in front of the trains. "You could visit the FDK; it'd be better than getting second-hand descriptions."

"Oh wonderful. " - replied the Senator. Evidently, an idea was already being born in his mind, and he was focusing on it, a solution that already began to materialize right there, without the attention of anybody else at the dinner table so far. He smiled at Maaya. "Wonderful. When I get back to work, I’ll ensure someone gets sent to actually get the first-hand impressions from Weyr, then. It is possible to secure a state-level loan, is that correct? Could they actually work that out with us or is there some form or rule, law, or crazy regulation against it?"

"That's what we're here for," Gao smiled. "The Ministry of Finance has evaluated your credit rating, and thus far everything looks good." Now if it wasn't for all of your little wars in Haven and elsewhere it'd be even better, but we work with what we have, not what we want.

"Oh wonderful - absolutely great - excellent." - replied the Senator, while scribbling a small note - which he passed to the Weyrean with a small doze of sleight-of-hand, to prevent it from being seen by anybody by it's intended recipient. It read, simply:

What are your terms?

"That," Gao considered the Senator, ignoring the paper. He had rough estimates memorised, and a data chit with more specific information, but he wasn't going to commit himself or Weyr to anything just yet. "Is something I'll need to discuss with your department of finance. I doubt it'll be much different from the ODW agreement."

"Actually," smiled the Senator, "you describe it with the legislature. We'll be the one to affirm actually lending any serious money off you."

"Okay then," Gao nodded. If the senator wanted to manage this transaction, then it was his decision. Granted, Gao would have to establish some form of a working arrangement with the local givernment financial office, and Weyr would certainly be maintaining an advisory office in Allanea for the duration of the loan, but he had no problems in writing out the terms right here. "Your borrowing ceiling is two-hundred-thirty-eight billion, with up to twenty-five percent up front, up to eight percent issuable yearly, a hundred years maximum time outstanding starting from the first transaction, a maximum of thirty years without interest, and a minimum compound interest of point-one percent. The exact terms depend on how much you borrow, how much you select to pay back how fast, and how rapidly your socioeconomic status improves."