NationStates Jolt Archive

2045, South Pacific, near the Pitcairn (http://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook/geos/pc.html) Islands

There it was. Huge. Magnificent. Reminiscent. The giant floating-fortress citadel of Hogsingrad. Seventy five years ago, after Hogsweat was laid waste by a chain of giant nuclear explosions, the survivors had fled to the South Pacific. They based their first city off the remains of the giant Hogsweatian colony vessel The Soviet Union and a cluster of battleships and aircraft carriers. Tons of scrap metal had been salvaged by the million from old, useless tanks and aircraft and other items. Slowly, the citadel had been built, powered by giant hydroelectric reactors which the buildings, some of them at least two kilometres high, rested on.

Data and scientific research, for example cures for cancer, AIDS, and other deadly viruses, an entire Era of military and medical research had been lost in the initial explosion. The subsequent society had had to re-learn what it had taken 300 years for their ancestors to discover. The citadel of Hogsingrad had been put together piece by piece, year after year, as new and exciting discoveries had been made. Therefore, the very inner part of the citadel housed some of the first places made in the Hive, as it was called. As technological progress expanded, so did the Hive itself. It got taller and wider - so that if one looks deep enough into the inner Hive, they may find dockyards and airstrips that have long been out of use, their cranes nonfunctional and their hangars boxed up and empty.

And six of these cities were dotted in sight distance of each other - the citadels of Huskov, Horonezhov, Huzska, Harazovalovsky, Hunzerpantavagrad and finally the capital, Hogsingrad. So, for seventy five years, the Hogsweatian people had begun to regrow their future in these giant steel fortresses. They retained their love of their motherland, their Soviet Parliament and law system, and their pride in the military, which was now vastly different, consisting mainly of a fleet of low flying fighter bombers, fast interceptors, and hypersoar bombers. Batteries of super-high calibre guns and box upon box of rockets with literally millions of autocannons defended the Hives from foreign attack.

Ever since their leave from Haven, when they had broadcast one last international message, "There is no God", the Hives had made money from trade (to extremely close allies only) of oil beneath their foundations, and lived off fish and the like. The city of Huskov was built upon a giant dormant volcano from which was boxed in the water inside drained; while mining teams took precious energy and minerals from the volcano.

But now, they were ready. Confident in their ability to defend themselves, whether it be by the giant 2500mm shore guns on the defence batteries of Hogsingrad Hive, Horonozhov's huge airstrips with thousands of flyers, the Surface to Orbit [STO] missiles and cannons, or the huge rink of defence and observation satellites that ringed the area of their planet, the Hogsweatians began communication. From their old communication contact network that they had found, the Hogsweatians opened all lines of communications, Earth, Stellar, or Interstellar, it did not matter, the giant satellite receiver dish off the top of Hogsingrad Hive could reach them all. It would only be a matter of time.

From: Chancellor of the Hogsweatian Democratic Republic, Maria Tenishkova (http://img216.imageshack.us/img216/120/tenishkova6fr.png)
To: Anyone who is listening
Re: Hello

Greetings,
For years our people have suffered from our mistakes. We have worked and strained hard to rebuild our civilisation, our culture, our mighty Motherland. We have withered under the sun, toiled under the rain. Now, we are ready. We are ready to restart. We will not make our mistakes again. We request a peaceful audience with anyone who can forgive us and we wish for a new reign of peace and friendship with other nations. We invite you to send an ambassador, a minister, or whoever, to meet with us and discuss our future as friends or even allies.
Thank you,
MESSAGE END

Official Statement by Yao Yang Nelson Neo, Prime Minister of the United Sovereign Nations of Southeast Asia
http://www.geonames.de/flag-asean.gif

Greetings Chancellor Maria Tenishkova,

While I was unable to attend the funeral mourning the passing of the Valiant Commonwealth of Hogsweat as a result of the Joint Conglomerates/Southeast Asia Conflict, I swear, Chancellor Tenishkova, on that day your nation's nuclear missile system went beserk and wiped out one of the greatest left-wing bastions in the world, I had all flags lowered to honor the Valiant Commonwealth. I, like many, personally cried on that day.

I speak my true feelings, Madam Chancellor, I am pleased - no, ecstatic - that the Hogsweatian culture has survived and returned. I strongly feel that the Hogsweatians may rise again as an international power, regaining her former glory, perhaps even ascending much higher than it's former glory. As I cannot attend the conference myself, I shall be sending Henley Leong, long-time friend and good colleague, the Deputy Prime Minister of the United Sovereign Nations, in my place. Even though before Hogsweat's nuclear destruction we never had official diplomatic ties, I wish to correct this. I wish nothing but well for the people and the nation of Hogsweatia.

Sincerely,
His Leadership,
Prime Minister of the United Sovereign Nations of Southeast Asia
Yao Yang Nelson Neo

South Pacific, Coral Island

"How depressing..." George Tamiya sighed, looking out of the window. Technically, being located in the south pacific was supposed to equalise a mixture of corals, white beaches, scantily - If at all - clad women (And men, come to think of it. George was not someone who would miss either opportunity), a blue sky and the occasional hurricane.

Practically, corals had issues surviving in the nearby water, white beaches could be found indoors - Otherwise they tended to be gray -, and scantily clad women - And men - were a rarity due to the rather regular rain.

Well, at least they had the hurricanes, which was something, he supposed.

Granted, it was getting better - The northern half of the island was now actually having a few vaguely appreciable beaches - but it was a very, very slow process that could largely be blamed on a relative reduction of the population density.

Ah well.

"You think so, Sir? I'd suggest some skydiving during the hurricane tomorrow, Sir!"

Christine Onizuka was not looking outside, but stared intently at George Tamiya - And, every now and then, at pretty much every object in the room, without her head ever really coming to rest.

She was rather young, and that equalised inexperienced, but that didn't really stop her enthusiasm from boiling over. Why exactly she had choosen to become a diplomat (And more importantly, why exactly she'd succeeded) was beyond Tamiya... But given the lack of personnel he was suffering from, he'd decided to give her a chance, anyway, potential disasters nonwithstanding.

"Well, anyway, Christine-"

"Yes Sir?"

"- No need to be formal. I'm George, or Mr. Tamiya at most." I thought she grew up here ?

"Of course, Sir!"

"... Anyway. I take it you're familiar with Hogsweat, and its follow-up entity?"

"Yes, S-"

"Perfect. You'll go there - They're not a particularly important entity, all things considered, but given both, their rather violent history and their relative closeness, I'd like to have you there, anyway."

"Sir, do you mean I'd become an ambassador?" Christine's eyes brightened considerably, for once resting on George.

"Not specifically-" So much for bright eyes. "Though that could happen, depending on how things go." Or maybe not. "For now, envoy, learning a 'lil about them, their culture and their internal politics, mostly."

"I see, Sir!"

"Yes..." George gave her a tired look, thinking about the - Rather more important - internal troubles he was facing. The times when he'd near-dictatorial control over Coral Island were long over... Annoying politically informed masses. On the other hand, it made his job interesting, even though he had to deal with the likes of SUD 14/52, blessed be its neo-anarchic rhetorics. "I suggest that you prepare everything - I don't have a confirmation yet, of course, but it shouldn't take particularly long."

"Yes, Sir!"

"And quit the... Nevermind. Just, uh, dismissed. Have fun."

Diplomatic Exchanges

Open Transmission
From: The hypocrisy of Der Angst, DA Earth, Coral Island, George Tamiya
To: Chancellor of the Hogsweatian Democratic Republic, Maria Tenishkova
Subject: Hello

Dear Maria Tenishkova,

Congratulations to you for successfully rebuilding the many things you've lost. Having watched your strugge with interest and no small amount of sympathy, and being located relatively close to your new home - At the very least, we're sharing the same ocean - we'd of course be glad to accept your invitation, to see with our own eyes (Or the equivalents thereof) what you've created.

If you so wish, our envoy - Christine Onizuka - can fly almost immediately, in order to do just that, and possibly to establish more constant relations with your nation.

Sincerely,

George Tamiya, High Council, Coral Island (DA Earth)

~GOVERNMENT MESSAGE~
http://img416.imageshack.us/img416/25/flaghogsweatia2jv.png
From: Chancellor of the Hogsweatian Democratic Republic, Maria Tenishkova (http://img216.imageshack.us/img216/120/tenishkova6fr.png)
To: Yao Yang Nelson Neo, Prime Minister of the United Sovereign Nations of Southeast Asia
Re: Excellent

Greetings,
It is with most pleasure that we come to contact with you, and naturally we are very glad to hear that you are willing to send a delegacy to visit us. We would gladly accept your Deputy Prime Minister to our glorious Hive for as long as he wishes. We look forward to meeting him; enclosed inside are the landing codes for Hogsingrad Hive Airhulk.

Thank you,

MESSAGE END


~GOVERNMENT MESSAGE~
http://img416.imageshack.us/img416/25/flaghogsweatia2jv.png
From: Chancellor of the Hogsweatian Democratic Republic, Maria Tenishkova (http://img216.imageshack.us/img216/120/tenishkova6fr.png)
To: The hypocrisy of Der Angst, DA Earth, Coral Island, George Tamiya
Re: Excellent

Greetings,
We are glad to meet with the Angstian people and we would be delighted to accept your visitor. Our facilities are always open and welcome to your nation. Inclosed inside are the landing codes for Hogsingrad Hive Airhulk. We anxiously await your representative.

Thank you,

MESSAGE END

Jaime Wolfe rubbed sleep from his eyes, blinking to try and look at the paper below him. His secretary entered the room, looking down at him with pity in her eyes. "Jaime," she said.

He looked up and blinked, as she slowly came into focus. "Yeah? What?" he mumbled.

"Jaime, you've barely slept since you took office, and that was two weeks ago. You've spent enough time being burnt out over politics back when you were sitting in that chair years ago. You need some sleep, and then -" she placed a proposal on the desk in front of him, "- you need a trip to the south pacific."

"What?" he asked her, still looking up at her, but she directed his gaze down to what was sitting on the desk beneath his eyes. An open invitation by Hogsweatia to bring anyone to their capitol for a trip. He skimmed through it and said his agreement. "Yeah, I'll go," he replied quietly. "Can you-?"

She nodded. "I'll organize a response. Go home, get some sleep. I'll get you on a plane as soon as possible."

He nodded, shut the folders in front of him, and left his office, while she sent out a reply for him:


To: Chancellor of the Hogsweatian Democratic Republic, Maria Tenishkova
From: Prime Minister of Haraki, Jaime Wolfe

I would be happy to accept your proposal. We never had relations with you long ago, before the tragedy that struck your nation, and we apologize for that. But now is a chance to remedy all that. Thank you for your invitation, with your permission I would like to attend, to start new friendships and form new allegiances.

Thank you.

---Dominion Central Command---

"Sir!" yelled a private who had just ran down the hall to the secluded office of the Admiral in charge of CentCom, "We are picking up a signal from Hogsweat."

"But how?"

"It seems as though they have been rebuilding their soceity in the South Pacific, sir," the private replied. "Sir, they seek a peaceful audience..."

"..." The admiral sat silently at hsi desk with his head resting between his thumb and forefinger of both hands.

"Admiral?" the private asked.

"Yes, yes..." he said still thinking about his response. "Alright... send them a response saying that we will send somebody."

"Yes, sir!" he replied smartly as he saluted and turned to walk out of the door. As he reached the doorway he turned back and asked, "Sir... who are we sending?"



From: Dominion Central Command
To: Chancellor of the Hogsweatian Democratic Republic, Maria Tenishkova
Re: Hello

We have recieved word of your rebirth onto the international stage and would like to first welcome you back from the dark age you had entered. After discussing the matter among the top members of the command post, we have decided to send an envoy lead by the great Admiral Roc Birguron.

~GOVERNMENT MESSAGE~
http://img416.imageshack.us/img416/25/flaghogsweatia2jv.png
From: Chancellor of the Hogsweatian Democratic Republic, Maria Tenishkova (http://img216.imageshack.us/img216/120/tenishkova6fr.png)
To: Dominion Central Command
Re: Excellent

Greetings,
We are glad to meet again with DMG and we would be delighted to accept your visitor. Our facilities are always open and welcome to your nation. Inclosed inside are the landing codes for Hogsingrad Hive Airhulk. We anxiously await your representative.

Thank you,

MESSAGE END[/CENTER]


~GOVERNMENT MESSAGE~
http://img416.imageshack.us/img416/25/flaghogsweatia2jv.png
From: Chancellor of the Hogsweatian Democratic Republic, Maria Tenishkova (http://img216.imageshack.us/img216/120/tenishkova6fr.png)
To: Prime Minister of Haraki, Jaime Wolfe
Re: Excellent

Greetings,
We are glad to meet again with Haraki and we would be delighted to accept your visitor. Our facilities are always open and welcome to your nation. Inclosed inside are the landing codes for Hogsingrad Hive Airhulk. We anxiously await your representative.

Thank you,

MESSAGE END[/CENTER]


In addition to the landing codes, each representative was sent a list of customs in the Hive.

1.) "At 6 PM precisely, alarm sirens around the Hive will sound and everyone will stop their business and remember fallen Comrades, for one minute."

2.) "The date of October 15th (next week) is a national day of mourning, and one round shall be fired from each shore battery for ever city lost in the Great Destruction."

3.) "At the start of each working day, when assembled at their workplace or place of education, each citizen will salute a Hive flag at full mast and sing the Hymn of the HPDR"

4.) "It is customary to salute whenever meeting a member of member of the Armed Forces. This is a custom in our nation that can cause great disrespect if underestimated."

5.) "Littering is punishable by a 5 year prison sentence - although we do not expect the sentence to apply to foreign citizens, let alone ambassadors, we note that Littering is an offence punishable to foreigners by permanent expulsion."

Bump?

So should we just RP our arrivals?





The VTOL plane touched down in Hogsingrad Hive Airhulk. Despite better technology having been developed, the Prime Minister still preferred to use the older stuff, so a VTOL learjet had been comissioned for the trip. He had admired the resilience of the Hogsweatian people as he had seen what their cities had turned into - In other words, the pilot got lost and circled the hvie several times before landing, and Jaime Wolfe had a chance to look out his window and see just what the citadel was like. Truthdully, it was just as the pictures he'd seen had predicted, but still iut amazed him that they had managed to survive like this.

The jet's enginge turned off and the stair-ramp descended from the side of it, touching down on the metal floor of the hangar room with a mettalic clang, and an HIA agent stuck his head out the door to make sure it was safe. Jaime shoved him aside, whispering to him something about paying respects to friends, and how this was a peaceful trip, then walked down the ramp on his own. The agent shook his head and settled back in his seat. Jaime hadn't wanted an escort at all, but the Deputy Prime Minister had managed to convincec him to take along one agent. Jaime agreed on the condition that he remain unarmed. Hogsweatie were friends, he insisted. They had emerged into world politics aroudn the same time, and had known each other for quite some time before Haraki and Hogsweatia's respective downfalls.

Jaime walked down the ramp, stepping down at the bottom onto the floor of the hangar, looking around for where to go or anyone who was there to meet him.

[OOC: Yes. I'll post tommorrow. Just so every one knows, the airhulk is on almost the bottom level, it's very rusty and doesnt look safe. It's about 5km long and consists of 5 ex-aircraft carriers stuck together. There's also loads of military aircraft that look pretty crappy around the place.]

The surface of the ocean swelled and broke as a Supremacy Class submarine surfaced. To anyone who knew international vessels, it's nation of origin was narrowed down to two: The Silver Turtle and Crimmond. Niether were very interested in the Pacific, though. And niether had a history of good realtions with Republics or Democracies.

It sent a short transmission in Morse Code, not wishing to bother with using translators.

I am Vladimir Saratov V onboard the CSS Democracy's Bane. Forgive the name, it was the only vessel I could aquire and the military has a long standing dislike of anything not Imperial. I come here on behalf of the Intercontinental Empire of Crimmond and request permission to enter your city.

The attack submarine bobbed slowly in the water, as a swell lifted it, the flag of Intercontinental Empire flapping over the conning tower.

Yet another less than perfect arrival by a Crim official... but why break tradition now?

"Is that thing safe?" the Admiral asked to his aide as he looked out the window of his private jet. "Looks like a rust hunk of junk to me," he commented as he was unsure about the stability of it.

"Well... these are the coordinates we were given... so it must be," the man replied as he looked through his notes. "Yep... this is it."

Please prepare for landing came the pilot's voice over speaker system. The admiral held on to the arm rest of his chair as the plane began descending, preparing himself if the ground just cracked beneath the plane as he could imagine it doing.

The four fighter planes flanking the jet split off and curled around back to the carrier from which they had left. The plane descended and lightly landed on the rusted frame of old aircraft carriers before coming to a smooth and safe stop. "Phew..." the admiral whispered to himself as he took a napkin from the table in front of him and wiped his brow of the sweat that had formed. "Alright... lets go," he said as he stood up and straightened out his uniform. As the door opened, the sun's rays reflected off the emaculately white uniform of the Admiral. He stood for a moment on the top step as he surveyed the area, before making his way down the steps and onto the hive.

If Natasha Morrison had believed in a god, she would have been praying furiously as the plane made its decent and landing at Hogsweatia. As she did not, she merely watched in semi-horror as the plane she was travelling in landed safely. She mentally noted to thank the pilot for getting them down safely and to have a word with the Foreign Minister, Emma Sarie about sending her to a place that looked like it should be resting at the bottom of the sea, rather than floating on it.

Stepping out of the plane, a smile plastered on her lips, but looking more like a nervous grimace than a pleasantry, she made her way to where the meeting was to take place. As she walked, she wondered what she had done to upset The Empire. Close behind her, carrying all their necessary documents and information followed Emily Carstairs, her aide, who like Natasha seemed more than a little unsure of her footing.

“Ambassador, is this really a nation?” Emily asked in disbelief.

Natasha nodded her head gingerly. “It would appear so.” Her gaze flicked around her. “I’m sure it’s safer than it looks.” She gave her aide a smile that did nothing to soothe the other woman’s fears.

The two Tartarian women continued on their way, neither saying another word.

Christine yawned audibly as the subsonic touched down, its somewhat, well, not rusty, but seemingly older hull not quite gleaming in the sunlight, but dark, brown colours sucking up the light that dared to touch its pseudo-wrinkled skin.

Of course, there'd been vastly more appropriate, newer, and most importantly, faster vehicles available, but given the location she was heading for, it had been decided that Christine would take a more expendable transport - Besides, it only had to cross several thousand kilometers, so the flight wouldn't take longer than half a day, anyway.

The exit opened, and after a minute of grabbing the various papers, documents, optic memories, plug-ins, plushies and bags she had managed to spread throughout the plane as she'd read up on Hogsweatia and the post-nuclear-cataclysm events (Oddly familiar events, all things considered. So history did repeat itself...), she eventually exited, all standard business suit, short hair and assorted necessities in the form of documents - Why the hell they hadn't managed to abolish paper in an for all intends and purposes completely networked nation was a frequent topic in Public Administration courses. Sociology & Political Science dissertations tended to try and answer the question why it'd even become more.

In any case, Christine Onizuka stepped on the deck of the aircraft carrier, blinked once or twice, stared at the sun and adjusted her wavelength perception - Light was so bright when not blocked by black clouds of smog and vapour -, and eventually looked around, slowly getting used to the (Oddly familiar, if rusty, in its basic design and overall features. It wasn't only history that repeated itself... Or perhaps history was strongly connected with architecture) 'architecture' of the 'hive' around her, and eventually noticed some of the other guests.

Hum. Quite a party here.

Slight exaggeration, perhaps. She seemed to be the fifth.

"Ummm... Good morning?"

ooc: I guess I'll just post an arrival along with everyone else even if my message is just coming now

{Open Standard Diplo-Link}
{From: Empress Oronra, Largent Prime, Earth}\
{To: Hogsweatia}

I would like to first congradulate you for all you have accomplished and secondly I would like to give my condolences for all you have lost (I relize they are well over due). We had watched the happenings within your former nation and have had some, although minimal if any, contact. For this reason my interest by your offer has peaked and I will be sending a representative. Everyone should be given a chance to rebuild, right wrongs, and correct mistakes that have occured wheather of not they are totally your own. For this reason I am looking forward to hear of how discussions go.

{Close Diplo-Link}

Helen Gogolos was quite thrilled. This was her first assignment in, well, quite a few years that would not take her beyond her home planet. Usually it was days of travelling just for an hour long conversation that was usually pointless, boring, and redundant. However, work is work and things could be a lot worse.

She was just finishing watch a hologram display containing all the information she would need to know before travelling to Hogsweatia. The areas history was actually rather interesting. This little display was vastly superior to others. She had never actually whitnessed a nuclear holocaust. It seemed to here that these people were very resiliant to say the very least. She then turned to a mess of files and papers concerning the specifics of her assignment. It seemed to her she was only here because the Empress was a little curious and felt you could never have enough friends. The logic was good enough.

Just as she was finished and all her things put away her ship touched down and she stepped out onto the carrier. It was odd, she'd never actually been on an aircraft carrier before. She'd learned about them, they always seemed like one big target to her but she was no expert. She glanced around to some other guests. She saw an Angstian droid but no one else she could recognize. "Hello all. Nice Day."

To: Maria Tenishkova, Chancellor of the Hogsweatian Democratic Republic
From: IDC Headquarters, Iuthia Prima, Iuthia
Subject: re: re: Hello
Message:

Dear Chancellor Tenishkova,

On behalf of Lord General deGritz, leader of the Iuthian people, I would like to offically accept your proposal for a discussion on the future of the reconstruction of Hogsweat and inform you on our choice of Jennifer Mchail for these talks.

We find ourself very reassured by this proposal and the manner of which your government has requested it, we instictively feel that such discussions will help the people of Hogsweat move on from their past actions and look forward to a renewed relationship with the international community.

For additional information regarding our delegate and her security details, please refer to the attached file: [Attachement: S001a (1.4mp)]

Yours faithfully,

Foriegn Minister Mick Lakely, Iuthian Diplomatic Corps

------------------------------------------------------

On the whole Jennifer’s journey was pleasant enough; courtesy of heavy funding in the Iuthian Diplomatic Corps the private jet she was supplied with for the whole affair was relatively well stocked, more for the benefit of guests travelling with her then a taste for luxury in the IDC. Of course, there was no in flight movie and service was pretty much self serve, though the leg room made a lot of difference.

So the only discomfort even worthy of note was the unfortunate degree of turbulence encountered half an hour into the flight which had spilt coffee over the Ambassadors papers, staining the report she was reading. Without event, the Iuthian Jet made its way into Hogsweat airspace and promptly identified itself and followed correct procedure. The jet itself was a fairly old model considering Iuthia’s latest technological developments, more then likely this could be put down to the old idea that if it isn’t broken, it doesn’t need fixing.

Finally, the Iuthian Jet unceremoniously landed on the Hogsingrad Hive Airhulk and was taxied to one side where the representatives awaited them patiently. Several moments later, Ambassador Jennifer Mchail was escorted out of the Jet with female elven Black Viper bodyguard wearing the standard black suit with light armour underneath, the most notable thing about the guard was the presence of a small hole on the side of her head, almost like a small socket built in. Otherwise she was a normal elf in all regards, albeit not quite as fragile as others. Jennifer herself was wearing a grey power suit, well tailored though almost uniform in nature, a slight difference in her style as she usually wore a formal dress for such occasions; Jennifer herself wore her short black hair up and wore a smile on her face as she left the plane.

“Karen, make sure to register your sidearm with the Hog Security Forces, ok?” Jennifer said, walking down the stairs with her bodyguard. Karen simply nodded and answered.

“Yes, Ambassador.” Hogsweat had already been informed in advance of the security procedures Iuthia was taking and various liaisons already existed to make sure things were smooth, though there wasn’t really much possibility of clashing security forces as the whole thing was kept to low profile for any extraordinary effort to have been made.

Smiling as she walked up to the other representatives, Jennifer continued to talk to her aide and friend. "Karen, you remeber the fun we had in Insaaniyat?"

Karen nodded ever-so slightly, a smirk now appearing on her face. "Yes, Ambassador... you would like me to follow the same protocol as we did then?"

"If you don't mind... so long as you are comfortable with it." The pair were now standing near the others within listening range. Both Ambassador and aide were now looking as professional as they dared.

"Yes, Mistress." Karen replied, seemlying serious.

OOC: Editted in order to make more sense with the actual situation and Hogsweats own reply.

Wow. Lots of old faces here. Good to see you all again.



Jaime looked around. The other delegates were arriving, and many of them were congregating around his position and the jet he had come in, at least seeking a face to talk to, since it seemed there was no-one there to meet them yet. "Hello," he said, addressing them all, but specifically those who had already said hello. Many were representing nations Haraki had had dealings with long ago, but that he had lost touch with over the time he had been out of office. "I'm Jaime Wolfe. Prime Minister of Haraki."

(ooc-Sorry if I am Late...)
SSu Jason Mikoyan IV was Reading up about his Great Gandfather,The Original SSu Mikoyan and his Heroism in Fighting off Capitolist and the Xharn Kingdom when the Message Came in."Hmmm? So they are reborn,like the UUSS back in '04."He thought that why sent any old delagate if he could Send himself.Not has been going on for decades since the Usean-Xharn war,and the Xharn Barracade,So why not.

To Chancellor Maria Tenishkova
From Supreme Soviet Unifyed Jason Mikoyan the Forth.

On befalf of the people of the Union of Usean Soviet States,We would like to aplode your nation on returning to power.We would like to Start a bond between our two nations.I,Myself,Will be ariving to talk with your delagates.

Hogsingrad Hive Airhulk Landing Strip
Alexei wouldn't leave the guests to himself. He gunned the small ammo-loading cart down the bumpy aircraft carrier to where most of the planes had dropped their passengers off. He didn't dare push the thing past 20km - the shake of the airhulk beneath the thin steel of his jeep scared him, and the visible holes to the surface from the deck didn't do much to make him feel safer. Finally arriving at what seemed to be a congregation, Alexei peaked his service hat (http://www.russianlegacy.com/catalog/images/hats/FRZH017.jpg), smoothed his loose light beige uniform, and coughed.

"Attention, Comrades!" He shouted, and jumped down from the small dark green carrier jeep, leaving the full ammunition boxes in the back. He would remove them later. "Welcome to Hogsingrad Hive!" he gestured. "I am First Field Major Alexei V Valentov - you can call me Alex, or Alexei, for short." Alexei continued, smiling. "If you would like to make yourselves comfortable on this little... go getter" he patted the Jeep's bonnet with a grin greater than his last "Then we can get going. There is a timetable to meet, and I assume you would all like lunch!" He opened all the doors of the open-top six seater, and ru his hands together and surveying the crowd, awaiting a response.

[OOC: I'll give ya a post tomorow, Crim]

Parliament Square, Dowland City

He had tried to remain in the rebuilt Grey House, truly he had. For several days Alexander had sat in the Oval Office, had rested his arms upon that desk, touched that same thin carpet. Breathed the same air. It had been too much, however. Its previous occupant and his fellow tyrants might have fled or died within its very walls, but the whole building still seemed to carry with it an air of brutality, as well as...expectation, as if it were merely awaiting its master to return. Silly to imagine it as a living, breathing thing, but in many ways, far too many ways, it was. It carried too many memories, and they were overwhelming to him.

Thus he had signed the Monarchical Order to have the building and its grounds preserved as a Historical Site, to bear witness to tyranny in all its forms. It would eventually become a museum to Xavier Martin and his downfall, but for now it merely remained, empty, gazing out over the rebuilt city. Now Alexander reigned as Monarch of the Soveriegn Nation in Parliament Square, in Parliament Centre itself. He had fought against, and then for Parliament, and he thought it fitting to rebuild the country from the instituion that he owed so much. Thus it was that he was in Parliament Centre, at his desk, when the communique from the Hogsingrad Hive was recieved.

The doors to his Chambers burst open, and a harried aide ran to his desk clutching a thin message flimsy in a shaking hand. Bowing slightly, despite Alexanders best efforts to stop people doing so, the aide dropped the sheet onto the desk. "Your Majesty. We have just recieved word from....from Hogsweat..." the man stammered from the surprise, and the effort of running from the Foreign Ministry to the Chambers.

Hogsweat

The name ran through Alexander like a chilling wind. He had only been a Private when word of the disaster that had befallen that might country had gone through the ranks, yet he still remembered the shock, the horror, at such an event. Yet the whole country had been destroyed - how could a communique have been sent? He turned to the aide and presented him gently with such a question, tempering his enthusiasm by offering the man a glass of Lemonade, a case of which was always by his desk.

The man shook his head politely, then continued. "Your Majesty, the communique came from the South Pacific, specifically some kind of large Hulk that has been created by the survivors of Hogsweat itself. They request a meeting with any interested nation."

Alexander gripped his glass of Lemonade tightly to contain his excitement, the liquid shaking slightly as he did so. To find survivors, in a large area, and ones that seemed coordinated, was marvellous. He dismissed the aide, then began drafting a message personally, to be sent in response to the communique.

From: King Alexander I, Sovereign Nation of Skinny87
To:Chancellor of the Hogsweatian Democratic Republic, Maria Tenishkova

It is with great surprise and joy that both myself, and indeed the entire country, have found a surviving group of Hogsweatians. It is truly a great day, as we believed your country dead except for scattered survivors. Though I have only recently ascended the throne as leader of this country, I know from deep personal experience that this country owes yours a tremendous debt. As such, I shall personally be arriving to negotiate with you to once again join links between our two great countries. I have ordered that two Carrier Fleets escort a relief mission to the Hogsingrad Hive; more than three hundred vessels shall arrive to aid your Hive, filled with equipment, arms, weapons, foodstuffs and trained personnel. No expense shall be spared to aid you in your rebuilding.

Alexander I

Admiral Roc Birguron smiled for the first time since he had set eyes on the rusted aircraft carriers, as the man mentioned food. Despite having eaten only two hours ago, on the beginning leg of the flight, he was all ready for another meal. "Roc. Pleased to meet you," Roc said in his voice which was quite comforting, though when he needed it to be stern and commanding... it was.

As he walked over to the jeep, he saluted, as was custom in the Dominion between officers, no matter what nationality (unless at war).He then climbed in the front seat next to Alex.

As with much of the newly-Imperialised Imperial armed forces, the Tu-142FMJ presently orbiting over the grey and remarkably dull waters of the South Pacific was not in the best of shape. Its four magnificent turboprop engines whined and growled alarmingly, the turbine bearings almost worn out by more than 20 years' continual use with only minimal maintenance attention. The electronics had an engaging habit of emitting noxious black smoke and turning themselves off at inopportune moments. Most interestingly of all, it was not unknown for the pilot's seat-adjusters to tip him back into a reclining position, which made controlling the aircraft challenging. However, the big, ungainly aircraft was evidently in a good humour this morning, restraining itself to having one overheating engine and a non-functional windscreen wiper. The pilot leaned over to tap his co-pilot on the shoulder, doing so carefully in order to avoid upsetting his twitchy seat.

"Hey!"

His comrade stirred from the droning stupor he'd been sitting in for the past hour and a half. "Unh? Wha'?" he asked groggily, flipping his headphones off and sending them catapulting onto the plane's vibrating floor.

"Where'd the music go?"

The co-pilot appeared stunned by this revelation. "We had music?!"

"Yeah, don't you remember?"

"Nah," the co-pilot replied cheerfully, "I've been switched off for the last hour or so." He flippied his interphone to the "W/O" position. "Sparks?"

"Yeah?" The W/O sounded preoccupied, thought the pilot. This was unusual, since ordinarily his job consisted of sitting back in his chair, listening to jazz music and watching the coloured lights of his instruments flicker.

"Where'd the music go?"

"It got blanked out," sparks replied defensively. The pilot was, to say the least, surprised.

"Blanked out? By what? There's no radio station worth a damn out here." So where the hell's my jazz gone?

"Well, it seems one's just arrived." The W/O sighed down the interphone. "And you're not gonna believe this, but it claims to be from a bunch of survivors from that country... what was it... oh yeah, Hogsweat. Seems they built themselves some really snazzy rafts and now they want to get to know people again."

After considering this for a moment, the pilot made his decision. "Pipe it through, then." A further pause while he listened to the mechanistically repeated message. "Well, it sounds real enough." Addressing the plane in general, he asked, "anyone object to us paying them a visit?"

"No," replied the Nav, W/O, Electronic Warfare Officer and Gunner, in a strangely measured sequence. This was just as well; the overheating engine had chosen now to flameout, and the windscreen wiper appeared to be attempting to compensate for its previous inactivity by enthusiastically spraying the screen with cleaning fluid. With an air of general agreement circulating around its crew, the aged aeroplane began to descend, unusually rapidly, towards the Hogsweatian hulks. Altogether, it was rather handy that they happened to be around, reflected the pilot. After all, it was a long way to swim.

"Hogsweatian hulk... things... this is Naval Aviation patrol aircraft requesting landing clearance...um...urgently. Over."

OOC: Apologies for the genuinely dire quality of this post. Hopefully I'll be able to write before the week's out, or at least in time for the exams.

Recalling his list of local customs, Jaime saluted the man as he began his response. "Be glad to, Alexei," he replied, "I'd love some lunch." I wonder what they eat here. His internal monologue carried on its neverending doubting of his capabilities, as he walked over and took a seat at the back of the jeep, on the right side, where he placed an elbow up on the window and leaned his head on it, looking out the window.

To someone who knew Helen closely, she would have seemed drastically out of place. She was the type of woman who ironed her socks and organized clothing by color. She had never ridden in a Jeep before and had only on rare occasion been around so many men saluting and wearing service hats. However, it was her duty to come and be nice and just go along with it. So, she walked up to the Jeep, extended her hand (small and dainty compared to the one shaking it) and introduced herself, "Hello, I'm Ms. Gogolos, feel free to call me Helen." She tucked her skirt under her knees and lowered herself into the seat next to the others.

OOC: Hog, out of curiousity, why did you post this in NationStates and not International Incidents? Making a transfer?

Friendly greetings all around on the about-to-sink carrier hulk(s), and Christine is of course returning them while simultaneously trying to keep her documents in the annoyingly strong wind.

Lesse. Who is here. Important... Vaguely important... Interesting... Irrelevant... Irrelevant... Ah well.

And then she blinked at Major Valentov's arrival.

Weeelll. I suppose the time they spent... No, actually, I believe they were always like that.

Still, she kind of had expected a little more class. If not for the ambassadors/ emissaries, then at least for, well... The heads of state present.

On the other hand, it did fit her liking for somewhat barbaric societies and the chaos attached to them. She wasn't quite sure about the others, though... But well, she wasn't them.

Eventually, she walked over, choosing an empty place with (So far) nobody sitting next to it, and contemplated Hogsweatia's somewhat lacking customs some more (I should have brought some arms with me... There might be savages about...), while once more going through her notes, and eventually sat down.

"Well, lets hope their airport doesn't sink before we're leaving it, shall we?"

Incidentally, unlike the others, she hadn't saluted. Not to show disrespect - Though this wouldn't have been unlikely, with some other Angstian diplomats - but simply because she'd forgotten, despite really trying to learn everything there was to be learned about Hogsweatia (But then, you tended to forget most of this things in an actual encounter, just like she had just now). After all, where she came from, 'soldiers' tended to be somewhat deviant and... odd shipminds or RTS-mad highschoolers, and salutes were a mockery, rather than a sign of respect.

Recognising the two Tartarian women, Ambassador Mchail approached the official looking pair, like Jennifer both Ambassador Morrison and her aide where wearing grey suits, albeit with trousers instead of the knee-high dress and lighter grey. Jennifer couldn't help imagining the two women in full victorian attire.

Offering a short bow, Jennifer greeted the pair. "Good to see you could make it Ambassador, I trust you are well?"

Ambassador Natasha Morrison smiled as she spotted the Iuthian delegates walking towards her, pleased to see some familiar faces. It did wonders keeping her mind off the floating wreak image that refused to stay out of her mind.

“Ambassador Mchail,” Natasha smiled as she presented her hand. “I’m very well thank you. I hope that I find you in equal good health?”

She then turned towards her aide, getting the greetings out of the way quickly. “This is my assistant, Emily Carstairs.”

"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Carstairs." Jennifer replied, shaking the Ambassadors hand then and giving her a minor bow of recognition to her aide. "and this is my assistant and personal body guard, Karen Evans."

Karen smiled politely and bowed to the Tartarian each of the Tartarian women without saying a word.

Like Jennifer, Natasha gave a silent nod in greeting, then turned her attention fully to the ambassador. “I have to admit that I am not really sure what we are expected to get out of this meeting.” She tapped her foot on the ground, indicating what they were walking on. “But whatever it is, it will be interesting to see what kind of people can make a city out of such materials.”

For the first time, she took a real look around her, taking in the sights beyond the airport, finally glancing upward at the tall structures that dominated the skyline. “It will be a most interesting visit.”

"Yes, I can certainly imagine it will be, especially given their history..." before she could finish her sentance, a large empty ammo cart approached the group of representives being driven by what looked to be a Hog Official in a military cap. "Ah, it would seem our hosts have arrived." Jennifer stated.

Natasha looked at the new arrivals and then looked back at the Ambassador. "It would appear the party is about to get started." She turned to Emily. "Are we ready?" The nod from her aide enough for Natasha to begin the walk to the transport, the Iuthians following closely behind.

OOC: Joint post for both Gehenna and Iuthia RPing out in IRC for our convience...

OOC Additional for Southeastasia: If you are going to post OOCly, please do so either as a small note on the end of a IC post or better yet, ask him with a telegram... I don't want this thread being cluttered with OOC, much less irrelevent OOC.

The Bear's landing was about as graceful as one could expect of a worn-out, semi-antique aeroplane suffering increasing mechanical troubles.It roared in low and rather too fast over the heads of the various delegates, overshot and climbed angrily away again; swung overhead, made a long, slow circle to line itself up with the pitching hulk, and finally managed to land with a sqeualing of over-stressed tyres and a great cloud of acrid, greyish-white smoke from tyres and brakes alike. As the cloud blew away on the sea breeze, the plane rumbled slowly to its assigned berth, stopping surprisingly neatly within a large, painted rectangle and letting its engines whine down into silence.

The pilot's nametag read "Courror", which he had been told meant "cheerful" in some long-dead tongue. Evidently opting to live up to it, he declared:

"Well, that went pretty well, I think."

The Navigator opened his mouth, but left his sentiments unsaid. There would be time enough for that later. Meanwhile, they had to find out what was going on - and how much trouble they were in. Leaving his aircrew to attempt to raise their own countrymen and make sure the plane was approximately airworthy (which it probably wasn't, but he didn't really care), Courror stepped down the short ladder in the Bear's underbelly and wandered amiably forward, a friendly smile practically welded to his face.

"Hey there! How's everyone doin'?" he asked. You breathtaking idiot; now they'll probably think you're insane.

[OOC: I'll give ya a post tomorow, Crim]
OOC: Four days later.... *crickets chirp*

Naval Defence HQ, Hogsingrad
"What do these assholes think they're doing?" Admiral Fuvorov laughed.

"I dunno." The Ensign replied unenthusiastically. "But I suppose we have to-"

"Yeah, whatever. Give them clearance for the Dock. I'll go down to meet them."

"CSS Democracy's Bane, you have permission to Dock, over. Follow our signal and we'll guide you in."
The entire HQ room decided it would be most amusing to direct the vessel into one of the giant bulkheads of the submarine bays - or have them hit a door, or something similar. However, they knew they'd lose their heads for it, so decided not to.

The HQ guided the submarine in with a series of SONAR pings through three bulkheads and into a wet-dock where Admiral Fuvorov and two of his staff were waiting, sitting on a box of torpedoes.

The Air Hulk
Valentov gave the Angstian woman a funny look. He didn't hate foreigners, he didn't even dislike them, but to be fair, they could be damn ignorant. Ignoring the woman, he smiled and shook hands with the Iuthians and Tartarians as they stepped towards him. "Is that everyone then?" he asked, looking around. "Oh, evidently not" he mused as the old aircraft stuttered and came to a fierce halt. Awaiting an exit of somekind, Valentov watched in amusement as some insane person jumped from the belly of the plane.
"Hello?" Valentov shouted in English to the Dontian pilot, while whispering to the people behind him "Ah, hold on a second.."

The submarine approached the city at a good pace, coming into the port warily, with two deck guns, out of four, manned. Saratov, identifyable as the only person onboard not in a uniform, climbed down the ladder and stood on the wide 'deck', with two black uniformed Marines, unlike the deck gunners in green. One a man, the other a woman. Both had clean shaven heads. As the disembark, the sub throws off whatever lines were attached and immediatly started to go back the way they came.

Saratov didn't seem to care, dimissing it with a wave. "They don't trust anyone. The sub will be in the area. When I wish to leave, I will signal them. I am Vladimir Saratov." He then looked at the two non-commisioned officers with him. "My escorts are Imperial Commandos. This is Sergeant Pike and the lovely Corporal Santiana." Both nodded in turn, though Santiana gave Saratov a glare. Saratov just chuckled at her reaction, then grew serious as he looked at the Hogswetians.

As the pair reached the ammo cart the Hog Field Major turned to shake their hands, smiling sincerely as he offered his hand which was duely accepted by both the Ambassador and her aide with a firm-but-friendly handshake accomanied with the usual polite smiles.

It was clear that Ambassador Mchail wasn't really part of any military institution despite the irregularities in Iuthia's government structure making it seem like they are at the very least closely linked to the military. Regardless she was pleased to have been treated like a diplomat and not an officer. As for Karen, her elven bodyguard, it was something of a relief not to be saluted by the man... it would have felt odd.

Both Jennifer and Karen bowed slightly to the man afterwards, briefly introducing themselves before allowing him to move on to the Tartarians and the other guests. The pair got onto the cart and sat down, not even visibily grimacing at the likely state of the vehicle.

Ambassador Natasha Morrison, following behind the Iuthian delegation, greeted the Hosweatian with a shake of the hand, before moving slightly for Emily Carstairs to carry out the same greeting. With little more than the usual greeting and pleasantries, both women climbed aboard the ammo cart and made themselves comfortable for the journey ahead.

Even though their smiles did not slip, Natasha could not help wonder she would ever feel fully comfortable with her surroundings. It seemed strange to her as she looked around her. She was sure that once they arrived inside the structure, her mind would be drawn away from the look of the place. Of course, she knew that once the meeting began, her mind would be too consumed with the task at hand to even pay notice to what was going on around her.

Affecting his best "I'm honestly perfectly sane" posture, Courror advanced affably upon the Hogsweatian, his arm raised in what could have been interpreted as a friendly wave, but could have been a Hitler salute.

"Yes! Good - " Corrour checked his watch - "morning, whoever you may be. I mean, er, sir. Yes." He paused to look around him at the assorted other delegates, grinning broadly. "Where was I? Oh yes. I apologise for the manner of our arrival. We heard your transmission and had just finished sending it off to our masters back home when the port inner decided to go in a mood with us." He paused, and then added. "And that windscreen wiper was annoying, too." Extending his non-saluting arm, he saluted with the other. "Courror, Imperial Naval aviation, DPUO." And then, leaning towards the Hogsweatian, he asked conspiratorially: "Do we get lunch?"

Valentov gripped the Dontian's hand and shook it, saluting with his left arm.
"Valentov, Soviet Red Air Armada. A pleasure to meet you." he grinned. "And yes - Lunch is in about twenty minutes. Hop aboard."

As the jeep was full,Valentov kicked it into gear and with a cough and a stutter the transport began to rumble down the runway. It was a typical seaside setting - birds flying, the seawaves smashing against walls, except there were no fish and chip shops (yet) and there were certainly no beaches. The jeep left the diplomatic planes as ground crew rushed to check the Dontian aircraft. In the distance, a flag jumped up from a mast and a klaxon blazed.

"Alert, alert, all personnel clear the runway for launch."

"It doesn't matter." Valentov stated, pulling the jeep to the side and slowing down. From a makeshift hangar an elavator pulled up a series of bomber planes, closely resembling Tu 160s. (http://www.globalsecurity.org/wmd/world/russia/images/8001.gif) It was not long before the first was hurtling past the runway and took off into the sky, followed by it's brethren. For anyone who would care to observe, they were joined by more down the line, and even more from neighbouring airhulks. "I expect..no, it doesn't-" Valentov muttered and cut himself off. By this time the jeep had stopped at what looked like a metal gangway. He motioned for everyone to follow him, and as they stepped inside the building labelled "HOGSINGRAD INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT" a cool breeze from air conditioning would wash across them. Hogsingrad International was a nice place - from the bright red carpet to the luscious plants to the shiny steel walkways it looked modern and high tech. There was, however, one hint of the inner violent nature of Hogsweatia. A plaque above the desk noted, in big red digital letters; All flights to and from Guffingford are cancelled until further notice. If you are a Guffingfordian citizen, please report to the nearest military checkpoint as soon as possible.

Valentov gave a friendly wave to the woman at the desk and continued his walk before stopping at a checkpoint. For anyone who still thought Hogsweat would be security-lax, they would now be proven wrong.

"Your passports please." The guard said, like a robot.

"These people do not need passports" Valentov replied. "They are foreign diplomats." he glanced at Courror - "And respected guests. They are not Guffingfordian spies."

"I'm sorry comrade. But I need to see their passports." he repeated.

"Us'air! Kawar new regeyfaig I'e U'kay geclwa ti'ye auorawa!"[Idiot! Let me through or i'll have your stripes!] Valentov barked in Hogsweatian. He didn't want to appear violent to his country's visitors.

"Yes Comrade Major." the guard turned the machinery off, giving the Major the once-over, and waved the people through. Turning the corner, the room expanded and it was a giant hall with bigger aircon and a huge glass top. "Welcome to Hogsingrad!" he beamed. "If you'd like to take a seat here -" he pointed to a round table with about 10 seats "I will go and see what is happening for lunch."

Jaime walked into the large hall, looking around. It seemed somewhat odd to him that the Hogsweatians were serving them lunch not only in the airport itself, but also in a massive hall filled with travellers at a small table. He'd think they might have ended up in somewhere a little smaller and possibly, well ... he couldn't put his finger on the right word, because civil didn't seem to fit. Oh well. In the grand scheme of things, it didn't really matter. Lunch was lunch. He'd eaten lunch in worse places.

He walked up to the table slightly ahead of the rest of the delegates, sitting down in one of the seats before anyone else, and leaning back in the chair as the others took their seats.

[it's not a hangar. it's the airport itself]

Apologies. Edited above post. So are there other people walking around and stuff, or is it a secluded area?

There are airport staff etc, but many foreigners. There are other tables and stuff.

Well, that's not what I was expecting... Christine thought, trying to keep her stomach in working condition - She wasn't particularly used to cars, yet alone cars on seasickness-inducing platforms - and saying rather little, due to aforementioned stomach.

Ooo. Planes. She looked at the planes taking off while making sure that her ears wouldn't be damaged by the sound of them taking off, for a moment wondering if she should perhaps...

Stop being stupid, girl. This is what you wanted, damnit. Though it's not quite the way I imagined it.

And then there was of course her stomach. Still.

But eventually, the trip ended, and Christine, - Glad to have survived it - chuckled a little at her surroundings. "A bit too obvious. I wouldn't report myself..."

A few more chuckles followed during the 'conversation' between Valentov and the guard - Partly because she was more familiar with DA's own system ('What are passports?') and partly because she did understand Hogsweatian.

A very different, but nonetheless fascinating society. And of course, she could see the advantage of brute-force approaches - In DA, they'd probably have taken another half an hour to resolve the dispute to everyone's dissatisfaction.

Dispute resolved and walking past, she smiled at the guard, bowing slightly. "Thank you very much, Comrade."

In Hogsweatian, of course.

And then they were there.

"Understood, Major." She smiled again, this time at Valentov, trying to (Sort of) fit Hogsweatia's militarism, even straightening up, a little.

Trying had to count for something.

Vlad and the escorts stand around and wait to be posted to...

The Bear's remaining crew were, needless to say, somewhat surprised to see their captain departing rapidly in a Hogsweatian 4X4. They were even more surprised to see a group of concerned-looking ground crewmen jogging up to the battered patrol bomber, apparently convinced that it was about to explode. A Hogsweatian tech poked his head through the plane's nose belly hatch, searching for signs of life. As it shuddered from the concussion of passing aircraft, the co-pilot leaned forward and drawled laconically.

"You'll not find anything really wrong with her, as such." The surprised tech turned to face him. "Not much right, either, mind you." After a moment, he continued, "anyway, I'm gonna have a kip for a bit. Cheerio," he waved, and immediately fell asleep.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Nice passport procedure," Courror muttered. He was, actually, pretty impressed by the punctiliousness with which the Hogsweatians carried out their allotted task, and for that matter amused by the swift bollocking administered by their host. In his own country, matters were far more likely to involve a lot of shouting and wild gesticulations, during which someone almost invariably burst into tears for no particular reason, followed by an agreement by all involved to let the matter slide so as to cause less bother. Of course, that was not always the case, so it did pay to be prepared.

His inner monologue was still turning over various passport-related incidents when he found himself seated at the impressively-proportioned table, entirely unaware of having really come there, and evidently waiting the long-anticipated lunch (of which he planned to steal numerous bits for his crew, a task made far easier by his flight suit's numerous pockets). Still mentally engrossed by his various recollections, he stared vaguely ahead of him, resting his head on one arm, and apparently peering unashamedly at the chest of one of the Tartarian delegates. This was, a small part of his brain reflected, likely to bring down outrageous and wholly unjustified opprobrium on him; had he actually been eyeing her up, he'd have been at least, it thought, subtle enough to shield his eyes on account of the sun whilst carefully angling his hand for the best view.

"Sir. We have recently gotten a message, from this nation far away." a short human told a man sitting on the chair. The man sitting on the chair was bald, completely, and was looking pretty grim.

The bald name looekd at the short name. "From who?" he said. The short man then replied, "Leader Dite...it was from From: Chancellor of the Hogsweatian Democratic Republic. Some Maria girl. She sent it some days ago." LeaderDite, the blad man, looked sternly at the General. "I want you to find out all about this nation. If it is violent, ignore it. We do not have enough troops for war. If it is peaceful, then perhaps a false treaty can be sent. Then when we are strong, we can destroy them when they are weak."

"Is that wise?" said the short man. "Are you questoning my authority? There is no way for them to know of a false peace treaty, they have no spies anywhere near this sector-I believe." the Leader said. The short man nodded, and went forward.

Within a few minutes the short man was within the Communications Department. He then sent one little message.

To: Chancellor of the Hogsweatian Democratic Republic, Maria Tenishkova
From: The Nomadic People of Vaderism-Secretary of War ; Member of the Sith Empire.
Re: Hello

Greetings,
Hello Hogsweatian Democratic Republic. It is a pleasure to hear from a new nation-or a restarted nation. We Nomadic People of Vaderism favor peace-and suggest a slight treaty beetween the two nations. The treaty would exchange technology, information about each other, and trading. That is pretty much it. I hope you accept this treaty and send us a messgae back. We have set our communications dish-thing to recieve messages from you instantly.
Thank You
MESSAGE END

The Deputy Executive Jet, a modified Sonic Cruiser put to real life, which during the former Boeing's lifetime, failed to get off the ground, had been adopted by both the founder of the Union of Southeast Asian Nations and the deputy prime ministers for transportation and for future office occupiers.

There was little difference between the aircraft models except that they had different painting in words: the Prime Minister simply had 'Executive Jet' and the deputy prime ministers 'Deputy Executive Jet', written in all languages spoken in Southeast Asia.

"This is Flight UESC," spoke the pilot to the Hogsweatian Control Tower, "requesting for landing."

Entering the large hall Ambassador Mchail instantly felt the difference in temperature, a slight shiver going down her spine as the large air conditioning unit resumed it's efforts to keep everyone at a comfortable temperature. Jennifer rubbed her arms together for a moment as she adjusted to the change momentarily, the severe grey suit she wore was designed to be rather light in in reckognition of the warm climate they were in. The Ambassador took a seat politely next to the Tartarians.

As for the Ambassador's aide and bodyguard, Karen didn't seem to be noticably affected and she simply took her place at the table next to Jennifer before straightening out her black armoured suit.

It is said that Weyreans travel anywhere. With comparatively cheap airfares, thanks to vacuum-diesel zeppelins, Weyreans did, indeed, go everywhere except into war zones. War zones were serviced by military grade skyships left over from the Gramal Incident's fallout.

The zeppelin gleamed, a myriad of rain-polished surfaces reflecting light in all directions. Releasing pressure valves, its vacuum cells filled with air, increasing mass until its buoyancy became greater than the surroundings. Gravity took hold.

The skyship descended to hover just meters above the airhulk's ruined deck, as though afraid to touch the decaying surface. With regular flights to Hogsweat resumed some years back, it was not a difficult landing for experienced hands. Electromagnetic anchors latched onto the airhulk's deck. Air continued to replace vacuum within the rigid upper cells, compensating for departing and arriving passenger and baggage flow. Weyreans traveled light, usually, especially to places such as Hogsweat, but the mass added up. In all it was an operation perfected through years of practice.

Kira detached herself from the overall flow of passengers at the airport, because she wasn't a tourist any more than she was a proper diplomat. Her job involved trying to pass off like a diplomat and usually failing. Getting through the checkpoint was, considering everything, rather simple. She had expected more scrutiny, but maybe it was just part of being a national leader, of sorts.

Nimunde, Freedom Exterminated, three days ago

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs was a somewhat odd thing – Generally, government structures in the capital tended to be pathetically pompous, with a fairly significant percentage of the budget being blown into building and maintaining them (The latter being an annoyingly regular task, due to not all that infrequent shootings and bombings).

However, Faizah Ugande, FE’s minister for foreign affairs, thought somewhat different from the rest of the government. To the old partisan, the ‘Iron Lady’ of the revolution, such luxurities meant decadence, weakness – decay.

As such, she preferred a comparatively simple, or, more to the point, ugly complex of buildings with excessive security, much to President Sule’s annoyance – He wanted the Foreign Ministry to represent FE’s strength and continual growth (That neither was the case didn’t bother him all that much when it came to representation), not the ‘Iron Lady’s’ practical considerations.

Alas, he hadn’t succeeded, and still remembered the (Painful) slap he had received from her a while ago, during one of their many arguments.

Inside the almost brick-shaped buildings of the ministry, Faizah pointed at a (Huge) stack of papers on top of the single, gigantic desk in the room. Chalondra Beauvais looked at it, mildly scared. “…Me?” she asked, hesitantly.

“Yes.” The ‘Iron Lady’ had already turned, reading through a number of unrelated documents. She certainly wasn’t a diplomatic person, but one had to admit, she worked a lot.

Sadly, she also delegated a lot of work to other people.

“We’ve been sort of allied to Hogsweat in the past, so it’s only appropriate-“

“The IC… whatever never came off the ground, though, and proved to be fairly pointless…”

“Yes, so?” Faizah turned around, staring at her young subordinate. “It’ll still offer oppertunities – You wont be alone, there. Besides, you need some experience. Studying in Iuthia may be useful – But you need practise. And seeing as your ideological viewpoints seem to be quite solid – I think it’s time for you.”

“I see, although I thou-“

“Now take your documents, do your research, and then fly.”

“… Yes, Miss.”

Nimunde Int. Airport, two days later

The ‘International Airport’ of Nimunde was a, well, rather sad thing. Dirty, certainly. Hot, and comparatively small – The fact that FE is a part of the third world was easily noticeable. Chalondra sighed. I’ve been born into the wrong country…

Two hours later, the flight took off, leaving Chalondra enough time to once more go through her notes, and to take a nap or two, in between the necessary stopovers.

Hogsingrad, another day later

Having aquired the necessary clearances, and slowly gliding down for the landing, the pilot seemed to be satisfied, if a little nervous – Unsurprisingly, given just where he was landing his (Admittedly small) machine.

Chalondra, clad in a something that resembled the plain uniform of a Lieutenant of the People’s Army (Lacking the enormous amount of shiny badges they usually carried, again due to Faizah’s influence) and with her hair kept in a short braid, looked out of the window, rather more curious than her pilot – She liked the idea of a floating nation and had to concentrate to avoid showing her enthusiasm. Still, she knew that she had to be stern to properly represent her country,

So there we are…

Touchdown, stop, and out of the plane – There’s the greeting party.

A quick, carefully timed and executed (It’s all in the instructions!) bow follows. “Chalondra Beauvais, Emissary, The People’s Republic of Freedom Exterminated. I believe I’m a little late…”

Now to catch up with the rest.

OOC: Since Matt here doesn't seem all that keen on posting to me, I'm pulling out. I have better things for my diplomat to do than stand around for days on a dock.

Getting comfortable following the journey, Natasha allowed herself a moment to gaze around her, looking to see if she recognised any other faces in the room, but from her initial survey, she realised that all she had not met any of the others. She turned to Jennifer, who was sitting beside her, Emily seated to her other side.

“It looks like this meeting has attracted a good amount of attention, which makes for a much more interesting gathering.” She smiled, her eyes now focused on the Ambassador. “Let us hope that nothing untoward happens. Sometimes these kinds of events can get a little out of hand, especially if two unfriendly nations are brought together. Hopefully, those present are versed in the art of diplomacy.”

As Natasha talked to Jennifer, Emily took a moment to also look around the room, her eyes fixing on the man opposite, who seemed to have taken an interest in Ambassador Natasha, and not her face. Frowning at the discourtesy he was displaying, she interrupted the woman next to her, her voice low as she spoke.

“Ambassador, I believe that someone is trying to attract your attention.”

Natasha excused herself briefly from the conversation she was having with Jennifer, and smiled as she spotted the man in question. Raising her voice slightly, she smiled charmingly and without being rude she directed her attention to the man. “Hello,” she began. “I am Ambassador Natasha Morssion, from the Empire of Tartarus, and this is Ambassador Jennifer Mchail from Iuthia. It is a pleasure to meet you.”


[ooc: Gholgothian Crimmond, instead of leaving, do what the rest of us did and just get yourself into the hall.]

"Eh? Wha?!" Courror jerked his head upwards, an amused grin splashed over his face as he recalled the story involving the man whose passport was being defended vigourously by a walrus. "Oh, sorry. Courror, Imperial Naval Aviation, DPUO - you don't want to know the full name, believe me." He proffered a hand that was, as per usual, fairly covered with oil, grease and bits of perishing rubber. "Um... on second thoughts, perhaps you don't want to do that, either."

He sat, somewhat stumped for something to do, looking from one woman to the other uncertainly. "Who's she?" he whispered, after carefully considering his conversation options, and jabbed his thumb towards the other, unknown woman, who had scowled mightily at him as he strolled down his memory's lengthy lane; he remained, as one does, only very faintly aware that he had had his eyes fixed upon Morrison's more visible assets.

Freedom Exterminated
"A little late?" the Lieutenant snorted. "You're about twenty minutes late!" His expression changed to a smile. "But whatever. You'll need a few papers.. Do you have a pen?" He patted around his person quickly, and then said again "No, actually, I have one." he scribbled some words down on a small notepad, signed it, and handed it back over.

"Go straight down there - you're lucky the plane landed this close to the airport-" he said, nodding towards the four kilometres of track to his left. "Off the first ramp, and straight to your left. If you have any problems at security, come back here. I'm on duty for another.. four hours, then I have to go recalibrate some anti air guns up on Level 19, some idiot recruitprobably fucked them up again." he blushed. "Excuse my language, madam. I am rambling again." he saluted. "Welcome to Hogsweatia and we - I - hope you enjoy your stay." He tipped his beige forage cap towards Chalondra and went to go do something else, leaving her standing in the blowing wind and the beating pacific sun.

Vaderism
[You are welcome to come OOC and IC, but I cant' be arsed to draft another letter so let's just say my foreign ministry handled it correctly.]

Southeastasia
"Flight UESC, sir?" The operator asked.

"I don't know .Probably some other people coming to visit. Guide them in."

"Um.."

"What is it, Varozkay?" the Commodore asked irritably.

"Can you get me a cup of coffee please?"

Thwap.

Hogsingrad Hive Air Control to UESC aircraft, you are cleared for landing. Drop to 90 metres and...

Everyone Else

"Lunch is served!"

Valentov shouted, and licked his lips as a group of waiters deployed plates in a military-precise fashion onto the big round table. First, a clear glass for every person, a small cup of tea (Looks aromatic? Maybe it's Chinese. Noone actually knows, or cares, in Hogsweat.), and chopsticks. Then, a bowl of rice of each person, accompanied by some kind of fish soup, and an empty plate. The third waiter has the food - a gigantic bowl of prawns, and not (http://msucares.com/news/print/cropreport/crop02/images/prawn_200.jpg) the small ones either. Next, a fish, maybe a herring, cut open with all manner of vegetables accompanying. A jug of iced water, and one of diluted orange, placed on the centre of the table.

"Thank you comrades." Valentov nodded to the waiters, who nodded back. He sat down at the table, next to Courror, and produced a small sandwich, made from about a single slice of bread, from a bag, which he began munching. He looked up at the group of delegates sat around the table. "Nah, we don't say grace or anything in Hogsweat." his eyes looked to the roof and down again. "Tuck in!"

"They have replied" said the short man to Leader Dite. Leader Dite smiled and said "Good. Send an ambassador. Also, do not send message to the Sith Empire. This does not concern them."
"But sir-"
"They will not care. So why bother them?"
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because it is to far away from us."
"Alright sir. Who should we send as an ambassador?"
"Hmmm....Ambassador Shi Oi should do the trick. Brief him."
"Yes my lord."

The short man left to the Ambassador Oi's room. Once there he briefed him and the ambassador nodded and left.

--
20 minutes later:

The Ambassador smiled. He was finally lifting off to space, once again to serve Vaderism. His ship Oi Shi was a nice ship. He then sat there-he knew he would be there in a day or two.

OOC: I take it that you're moving from boats to aircraft Hogsweat out of favoritism? Oh, and for the record, I prefer to be refered to as 'Southeast Asia', because it's the name I wanted ICly and OOCly and somebody else got it, so I had no choice but to remove the space and the capital 'A'. Please refer to me by the name I wanted though (Southeast Asia).

IC:

"Dropping to ninety meters."

"We'll be in shortly. Southeast Asia's Deputy Prime Minister and his associates shall be staying for five days or so and will be delighted to meet your Chancellor."

"Twenty minutes are rather admirable, I'd think, given the usual issues transport-by-air brings with it, no?" Chalondra answered, smiling a little condescendingly - She was new to the job, and admittedly a little nervous, but (Contrary to what FE claimed it stood for) her education, as well as Faizah's 'Guidance', had instilled a sense of superiority in her - When dealing with mere Lieutenants, anyway. Technically, she was supposed to have a rather different attitude when dealing with heads of state, of course... Though Faizah Ugande's influence wasn't to be underestimated. There was a reason for FE to lack friends in the world at large.

She took the notepad, looking around to get a first impression - She was already liking it here. So different... I'll have to take my time.

"First ramp, left. Okay..." She grinned. 'Fucked them up' indeed. Somehow, the Lieutenant was reminding her of Faizah - Add a little more class, a scar on the left side of the forhead, and an infinitesimal dose of femininity... Anyway. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I'm glad to be here."

She wondered briefly why she wasn't getting a guide, then decided that she couldn't really expect such - FE really wasn't a nation one would usually care about - and after briefly looking at the sky, she eventually started to catch up, walking along the carrier, quickly.

Security shouldn't be an issue. At least she hoped that it wouldn't be one. She really would hate to walk back... But there'd probably some other ways to deal with it, should it be a problem, anyway.

Come to think of it, the seagulls are pretty.

She almost tripped over while looking at the sky.

Christine looked back, and, with Valentov coming back, eventually took her seat - Bowing politely to nobody in particular before doing so.

Appreciable food - If it had been served in a more private atmosphere, Christine would probably have decided to admit that the Hogsweatians had more class than she had initially expected - and then she had to suppress a grin when she heard Valenkov's 'Tuck in!' Well, it's certainly practical.

That, and it's a suggestion she's actually following up to - Used to chopsticks as she is. "Certainly, Major Valenkov."

Whether the smile was meant for the Major or the prawns was impossible to tell.

Helen took a seat as the food arrived and eyed it as though determining whether or not it was worth eating. Actually, she was deciding whether or not it was worth eating. In the end however, she decided to show class and some sophistication even if her hosts seemed to lack it slightly. Then again...she could play it off as sea sickness...no, even if she was used to much different foods she would remain professional.

She picked up the chopsticks and fumbled with them for a few moments before starting to get the hang of it. Smiling and nodding to the major she thanked him briefly before 'tucking in'. She certainly was a world away.

Ambassador Mchail didn't even so much as pull a face when the meal was set out for the entire group, the Major's attitude was not uncommon in Iuthia, who were a very practical people and the fact there was a meal at all showed the kind of respect she was looking for. Instead Jennifer politely put some food on her plate and got herself a glass of cool water having gotten used to the rooms temperature now.

"Cheers, Comrade." she thanked the Major, in a sincere manner raising her glass to man in gratitude before 'tucking in'. She didn't seem to have too much trouble handling the chop sticks thanks to a wide cultural experience, perhaps the one advantage she got from attending alot of these functions.

Karen, on the other hand didn't seem too comfortable with the idea of chop sticks. At first she simply let the others get their food and politely waited her turn understanding that she wasn't a VIP at this meeting and instead an assistant... however it became quickly apparent after she fumbled with the rice several times without sucess and perhaps even a small amount of mess that she had never used chop sticks in her life. Iuthian's were simple people and chop sticks never really crossed over much into their culture, knifes and forks were the Iuthian way.

Blushing slightly, she turned to Major Valenkov. "I'm sorry, Major... I just can't use these things. I don't suppose it would be too rude of me to ask for a fork?" she asked as quietly as she dared, trying not to draw too much attention to herself.

Now it was Valentov's turn to blush, which he did without remorse.

"I'm so sorry" he said apologetically, without a bit of sarcasm. "How inconsiderate of me." He looked rather disheartened. In the Hogsweatian military, a failure was a failure, and for a military man, he could be quite emotional.

He said some words to a nearby waiter, who immediately fetched a small tray with a large number of knives and forks, setting them down on the table, bowing, and walking off.

Courror's stomach rumbled presciently as the waiter types brought the steaming mound that was to be their lunch to the table. "Whoa, food!" he exclaimed delightedly, slobbering slightly and tapping his chopsticks to the rhythm of one of the Nav's many jazz tunes as the repast was spread over the tabletop, leaving its legs creaking ominously by the end. "Tuck in, indeed," he said sotto voce to the Hogsweatian, and proceeded to dig around in the fish soup with the provided ladle, searching for particularly big chunks of meat to devour; seven hours' patrolling flight had made him hungry indeed.

Having poured some of the fish soup atop his rice, he proceeded to noisily and energetically slice a sizeable section of the appetising fish from its body and transfer it to his bowl, which looked in danger of overflowing in the manner of a champagne waterfall. Acting quickly, he slid the plate beneath it and then, holding the bowl above the table, he poured the rice and soup mixture towards his mouth, scraping it in that direction with his chopsticks, making satsified grunts and apparently quite unaware of his newfound colleauges, including the two ambassadors to whome he had just been introduced.

The plane had landed. The Deputy Prime Minister and his aides, despite the fact they were exhausted thanks to the time organizing the flight and the time zone issues, they felt like children in a candy shop. History was to be made, and a political beneficiary had been missed out.

OOC: Sorry for the bad post, not in the mood to write a really long and detailed one. Fluid time my dpm and his aides to the lunchroom.

“This is my aide, Emily Carstairs,” the Ambassador answered the Captain as the food was brought out.

Natasha smiled warmly as the food was dished out, and looked down at the meal with interested eyes. She helped herself to a medium sized portion, enough to stop her stomach from protesting later on, but not too much to cause herself discomfort. She was grateful that the diplomatic training included little tricks like eating with chopsticks, allowing her to eat like a native. She paused between mouthfuls to look at both Ambassador Mchail and Captain Courror, slightly amused at the latter’s interest in his food.

“The Hogsweatians are certainly making sure we are made welcome.” She smiled, before popping another mouthful of food into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

Emily looked at the food with interest and frowned, before she too picked up her chopsticks and began to pick idly at some of the fish, seeming to focus mainly on the rice and vegetables. She looked over at the Captain, finding her eyes drawn to him for all the wrong reasons. First she had watched him gaze at Natasha’s breast and now she was watching him disappear into his own world with nothing but the food to occupy him. She could not help wonder what kind of training they had in DPUO.

Jaime had helped himself to a large helping of food and begun eating it somewhat awkwardly with the chopsticks. Although technically skilled in their use from years of eating in restaurants, he still had some trouble with it, but his pride wouldn't allow him to give up and take a fork and knife.

Many conversations seemed to have sprung up around him, but he was a part of none of them, so he simply sat there and ate in silence. Many of the people around him were representing nations he had had good relations with last time he had been in office. But so much had happened since then, with the others in between his terms, that he no longer knew how relations were. So, for the time being, he just sat there and continued eaing in silence.

The Etarosi delegate, a high-ranking diplomat by the name of Caranmí Taurnor nós Fingolfin, had walked briskly to the place all the delegates had been summoned. He joined the rest as they walked in, and sat with them as they began to eat.

Caranmí was adorned in traditional Noldorin garb; a long flowing white gown of white embedded with small jewels graced his tall figure. Flowing blonde hair perfectly accented his bright eyes of blue. Caranmí usually carried an expression of austere humility, not wishing to draw attention to himself unless requested. He was the Etarosi Consulate of Foreign Affairs' top guy for the job.

Along with him came another diplomat, though this one was low-ranking and represented the Colonial Prefecture of Etarosi Haven. The only reason Petrov Norbischka had been able to come was the simple fact that Hogsweat had once bordered Etarosi Haven, before it collapsed under nuclear disaster, taking a large section of northern EH with it. The fallout and even direct damage from the disaster had rendered much of the northern areas inhabitable, and Norbischka was here with Caranmí to present full evidence of the situation to the Hogsweatians in hopes that they would provide some sort of reimbursement and aid in repairing the land and people that had been affected by it. (Casualties are still unknown, but it is expected at least 15,000 died as a direct or indirect result of the disaster in the sparsely populated region, and another 10,000 were permanently injured.)

Norbischka was dressed in the traditional Lietuv business suit -- dark blue with a yellow tie. His complexion was dark, as he was Lietuv, and his charcoal eyes fit perfectly with his jet black hair. A strong jawline and small spectacles, as well as an unattractive mole on the left cheek, provided for an interesting appearance.

The two had seated themselves before lunch had been announced, and looked at the food presented to them with interest. Though Caranmí was not experienced with chopsticks, he decided to refuse the forks and spoons and take a quick lesson from Norbischka. The two began eating happily and chatted with themselves and those around them.

The coming verbal retribution for the accident that had occurred decades ago was quite inconceivable. Their briefcases were closed and looked perfectly innocent. Their faces told two people that were having quite a good time. However, the Erasati Republc simmered hotly over what had occurred, and was not prepared to let an old rival get away with murder.

By the time Emily had found her attention drawn to him so unwillingly, Courror was already pretty much finished. He drained his bowl, wiping his mouth with his leather-sleeved arm and letting out a satisfied "waaaargh", then poured himself a glass of orange juice. "Mmm," he said, placing his thumb and forefinger into a ring and adressing Valentov, "first rate. Really first rate. I should get some of that fish for home." Oddly, however, he felt himself strongly obliged to explain his behaviour to Carstairs, Morrison and McHail.

"Do excuse me," he began, smiling bashfully. "You see, the old Bear's a very rough ride; she vibrates like nobody's business anyway, and the fact she's so old just seems to make it worse." He sipped at his orange juice with an odd gentility. "So really, eating anything heavier than a slice of toast before you go out, especially on a bumpy day like this, is not a good idea." He chuckled at Carstairs' still-disapproving glare. "Look, when you've spent seven hours in a cold, vibrating bomber with your belly sounding like a thunderstorm, you'll be that hungry. It doesn't make you look to good, of course, but believe me, when you're that hungry, you don't care." He left the challenge hanging in the air. I'm not some uncultured oaf; unlike you, I do enough work to be that hungry. So keep your presumptions to yourself.

OOC: As you can probably guess, this fellow's not the best diplomat on earth. Funzo :D

Woah. Now that's scary, Christine thought as she spent a few moments looking a little - A very little - closer at the other people present, Jaime Wolfe being the first among them - Unsurprising, seeing as he towered over all of them. Roughly a foot, in Christine's case. Wonder if I should get a ladder.

The 'guests' from DPUO were quickly overlooked - That they didn't really fit the term 'Diplomats' was rather obvious. No need to care, there. And the Etarosi, well...

Ewww. A lopear. Not that there was any kind of speciesism, of course... One could call it experience, though. Elves and diplomacy? That was unheard of, if one disregarded the gunboat-version. Well, that'll be fun. At least I'm certain he'll get all the flak.

In between rice and prawns, Christine turned towards Valentov. "So..." Rice. "I have to say... I'm fairly impressed-" Prawn. "-with what your people - Your comrades - have created here, Major. I'm really looking forward to see more. It's fascinating! I can only guess the many obstactles you had to overcome, of course - But your 'Island'... Almost reminds me of where I come from, actually."

There was something else... Oh, right.

Tea.

Major Valentov was pleasently surprised to hear that someone was already complimenting the hive. With a smile, he returned the chat, after finishing his meagre sandwich.

"Ah yes! The Hive! It is indeed fascinating, although it is unfortunate that not one person no longer knows the entire Hive. It's first construction and the original areas, long sealed off, are pretty much unknown. Over eighty million tons of metal have been used to construct just this hive alone. Its base was fashioned over a whole fleet of superdreadnoughts. In fact, I reckon if you go down there, you'd find a giant ants nest or something." he waved a hand. "Not to scare you or anything. Anyway, are you enjoying the food?" he asked, following with a sip of tea.

Listening attentively, Jennifer finished the remains of her portion before turning to the Major again to give her own reply.

"That was most refreshing, Comrade, thankyou." She stated clearly, her tone betraying a certain degree of sincerity. The Ambassador's petit smile seemed honest enough as though the young woman was pleased with everything so far, her voice resonated in apparent interest in the current subject. "Please, do go on about the Hive, Major. You're people seem to have coped with the change extraordinarily well, given the circumstances..."

Meanwhile, Jennifer's aide and bodyguard seemed very content now that she had been given a fork, her stiff vigilant attitude had calmed down to that of just another guest at the table with the occasionally slight reaction to the natural movements of the surroundings. Karen's manners at the table were a mixed story as it was clear she made a point of trying to be polite by not scoffing down her food like she would in a barracks, but at the same time she lacked the refinement of the other trained diplomats.

Currently she watched the pilot across the table with interest, in the way only an Iuthian could; occasionally looking at what she was eating only to give the man another look. Unlike the Ambassador who had simply just ignored his man and his manners as an unimportant detail, Karen watched him not for his manners but simply because he was odd. It was possible that one could simply mistake her interest for something else, but Karen never really worried about stuff like that... men who got the wrong impression often found out sooner or later.

"Mhm... Maybe I'll try to know the entirety of it - Sounds like an interesting challenge." Christine answered in between her perhaps slightly overdignified periods of food consumption, and grinned. "Giant ants? I suppose they could make interesting citizens... Or rides, depends. In any case, yet another reason to explore - cryptozoology. Hum..." She hesitated briefly. "Are there a lot of mutagens or radioactive substances down there? I suppose the reactors and engineering compartments of the dreads could be a considerably useful source for either..." Hum... Ah, yes. "Oh, and yes, the food's quite enjoyable. Now, back to the hives' cryptozoology..."

First ramp... Right...

Add a hundred metres and a minute, followed by a brief moment of clarity.

Okay. Only water here... So it was left. Ah well. Back to where I came from...

Another hundred metres in the bright sun of the south pacific - And Chalondra's uniform didn't help her comfort, either. Well, on the plus side, she was used to the temperatures, even without the refreshing breeze the nearby sea gave her, so it wasn't all that bad.

Enter the airport... Reception, no problem... Checkpoint...

Problem.

"Yes, this is my passport... No... No! Do I look Guffingfordian? ... No, no I don't. Yes, the passport is real... Look, this is the right uniform, I have the right skin-colour, I..."

Eventually, she just gave up on talking, instead giving the guard a little kiss on the cheek while passing, whispering in french (Her Hogsweatian wasn't exactly perfect, and she was vaguely certain that the guard had only understood every second word or so, which she supposed was the reason why she had had issues passing through. Or maybe she had just missunderstood his questions... Whatever. Why she supposed that the guard could speak french, well... She didn't really care either way - French just seemed appropriate when kissing someone on the cheek): "Just this one time, sil vous plaît?"

This one time it worked.

Half a minute later, she joined the crowd of already-present diplomats (Slightly embarrassed, what with being late), and nodded briefly in everyones - And Valentov's in particular - direction. "Air turbulences... I hope I'm not terribly late? Oh, and I'm Lieutenant Chalondra Beauvais, from the Christian-Socialist Republic. Pleased to meet you."

oocess: My (Remaining) french consists of roughly thirty words and three or so verb-forms. Chalondra however can be assumed to be considerably more capable, what with having it as her first language... Even when I write it in english with a french phrase or two thrown in for good measure.

"Yes!" Courror turned to Valentov enthusiastically, wiping the last dribbles of sauce from his chin with a leather-clad sleeve. "Do tell about the Hive." Having listened patiently, he frowned slightly. "Are there no plans for the Hive? Not to diminish your achievement in building these things, of course, but I'd have thought you'd be hard-pressed to just build one on an ad hoc basis and still have it float." He grabbed vaguely at the remainder of his drink, but found iot absent from his reaching hand and turned to look for it, catching the Iuthian woman's eye as he did so.

Something about her was very, very strange indeed; she was willowy, almost wraith-like, too thin even for one of her not-exactly-prodigious height. And were those ears ever so slightly pointed, or was it just his weary eyes deceiving him? He nodded very slightly, just enough for it to be seen as a greeting, but was shaking his head ever so slightly as he turned back to Valentov. Curiouser and curiouser.

[OOC: Sorry. Sort of lost my will to RP but i'm back.. hopefully]

"Ah yes.. well... mutants, I'm not sure, heh, as I said, noone's ever been down there, but we can speculate can't we? in fact the nuclear engines I believed were removed and sold to someone - not sure who - And yes, plans, plans.. I really don't know. Except for usual expansion, possibly, I'm not privy to that kind of information." he smiled. Valentov's day was getting even more busy and even more confusing as yet another representative entered the room.

"Ah, Lieutenant Beauvais.. A pleasure to meet you. I hope you have eaten on the plane - lunch has already been devoured" he glanced over to the table and made a subtle eye movement and a wink towards Courror.

"Now, if you would like to follow me, I believe we have places to visit. There is a car waiting outside, if you would like to follow me."

Defence Checkpoint Three-One-Four
"Ah - Comrade, no, I have to go.. yes.. some idiots. Level Eight, a battery of seventy-sixes. Yes, reversed firing barrels. No, I can't really - well, if - but.. Oh. Fine."

Gunnery Lieutenant Retsky sighed as he put down the phone - he was looking forward to giving those chaps up at Level Eight a bollocking, but his deployment four hundred metres in the air was delayed.. for now. Turning around, he took a last sip of coffee before taking a stroll down to the car park.

Hogsweatian International Airport

Valentov stepped back outside into the beating sun and the flat, concrete covered car park, his entourage of diplomats in tow. He gave a wave to a figure who was leaning against a large limousine, smoking a cigarette as his rifle lay against the shining black vehicle - and motioned for everyone to follow him over.

"Morning, Comrade."

Retsky frowned, standing to attention, and saluting. "Actually, it's 1:14. It's not morning."

"Whatever." Valentov muttered. "You're now the Offical Bodyguard for Foreign Affairs Personnel." He said.

Retsky blinked.

"Which means I have to.."

Valentov nodded. "Get in the car."

Retsky sighed and opened the door.

"I'm driving." Valentov said.

"No, i'm driving." Cars were a commodity in the Hives and it was considering a privelege to drive one.

"Whos the Major here?"

"Dickhead." Retsky said under his breath as he shouldered his G36C, scrunched the cigarette up, and got in the passengers seat (on the left).

Valentov opened the doors for the foreign diplomats and got in the car himself.

"In you go!"

Karen returned the slight nod to the Pilot before the Major brought the meal to a close and called everyone to follow him. The young bodyguard rose with the Ambassador, further demostating the un-even size difference between the two with Jennifer clearly a head taller then the Elf. Karen's facial features seemed more delicate then the other women in the room, despite the athletic physique she maintained with the rest of her body. Even in the black armoured suit she wore, typical with Iuthian Black Vipers, she looked thin.

At the front of the group of foreign representatives, the two Iuthians followed the Major out into the warm open air once again with the others follow closely behind. Judging by the surroundings it was easy to forget that you weren't on dry land as there were many tall buildings all around them in the close distance, it was like a city made of metal; many, if not all the buildings around them were made from some drag brown metal. In definance to this, however, at least the ground was made of a warm grey concrete. To be at home... thought Jennifer as she made her way towards the limousine.

The Ambassador was impressed with that detail. From the outside the sleek black car simply didn't fit into the harsh reality of Hogsweatia; a luxurious vehicle like that would have had to be rare in such a place, Jennifer was surprised they didn't just have some kind of military truck on standby. It was a very nice touch, she felt. Karen on the otherhand remained herself, almost expressionless and alert. The two of them politely ignored the lovers tiff that the Major had with the driver allowing them to sort themselves out before 'piling' into the car, ambassador first, bodyguard second.

Before (Dinner)

"Well, I'm sure one can organise expeditions." Christine replied, amused. "Might be fascinating."

She then spent a brief moment staring at Chalondra Beauvais - Tsk. She should've come earlier. - and sighed, eventually finishing her meal.

Later

Christine chuckled briefly (Not particularly liking Valenkov's attitude, but, well, she'd cope), watching the scene. And the car, of course.

The steering wheel's on the wrong side... Ah well.

This thought, entering it after the Iuthians didn't take longer than a moment (Though she wasn't too thrilled by the idea of entering a car - They were pretty rare in DA, so one tended to use public transport, and an unfortunate accident involving her plushy bunny and a car, back when she'd been five years old, had resulted in a mild automobile-phobia for Christine).

"Hm. Now, where is the minibar in here...?"

Jaime stepped into the limousine shortly after the Iuthians and Christine, still keeping to himself, although silently noting that in such a run-down place, a vehicle like this seemed so out of place as to be a shock to the senses. It didn't have that new car smell, though, which revealed it was not quite as out of place as Jaime may have thought from looking at it. As he entered the car, he looked around briefly for an empty seat and found one facing backwards up against the window on the left side of the car, opposite of the steering wheel. There he propped up an elbow and leaned his head on it, staring out the tinted and almost-certainly bulletproof windows at the Hogsweatian surroundings.

On hearing the mention of a minibar, his head popped up a bit more. In retrospect, it hadn't even occurred to him to look for one, but now that it was mentioned, he could use a drink. Turning to Christine, he answered "I don't know, but if you find it, please let me know."

It had certainly been embarrassing - Arriving late, missing the dinner (She wasn't hungry, but such occasions were supposed to contain considerably important conversations) but now it seemed to go rather well, and she entered the limousine right after Jaime, eventually listening to him voicing his interest in alcoholic refreshments, for which Christine was presently searching.

Searching, yes - but it was Chalondra who found them (Unsurprisingly, given the rather high incidence of alcoholics among the Christian Republic's diplomats, although Chalondra wasn't yet one of them. Still, they seemed to have a sixth sense for ethanol-containing liquids). "Here they are," she said with a soft smile as she found the (Small) cooler with the drinks inside, and looked around. "So, who wants some refreshments? Oh, and cocktails or pure?"

It was a somewhat rhetorical question, given that she was already preoccupied with mixing something that seemed to end up being about as toxic as it was going to look like (Though to be fair - They also tended to taste well).

As had been said - The diplomats of the Christian-Socialist Republic tended to be rather knowledgeable in such matters.

"Don't worry about it," Jaime replied, leaning over to the cooler and withdrawing a small bottle of whiskey and a glass. He placed himself firmly back in his seat, pouring himself a bit of whiskey in the bottom of the glass and placing the bottle back. Sipping the whiskey, he looked around the rest of the car.

Truth be told, he wasn't too interested in drinking at the moment. But it was a way to break the ice, and a way to relate to other diplomats. Although he may have alienated some - he had in the past - from alcohol-intolerant societies, he usually managed to make more friendships than he broke.

Valentov turned around to face the back of the limousine before he started the engine up and in a casual manner, said

"I'll have a vodka please."

"Oh no you don't" Retsky butted in. "Drinking and driving? Naughty naughty, comrade." Retsky relished taking potshots at his superior - especially if he could do it in front of foreign diplomats.

"Oh, uh, yeah." Valentov 'reminded' himself, scowling. "Forgot about that."

"It's okay" Retsky took the liberty of replying. "I could drive for you."

"No. You don't even have a drivers license." Valentov sniggered.

"Well, neither do y-"

"Alright folks! Let's get moving." Valentov kicked the engine into ignition and gunned the limousine forwards. Retsky grinned, still looking backwards (not wearing a seatbelt: in fact, no-one had a seatbelt) Hold on - he thought - looking back at Chalondra. He recognised her from somewhere, although short term memory loss (that's what you get for working around superhigh explosives all your life!) had allowed his brain to forget where. Looking back out of the front window, he switched his submachine gun to safety and carelessly laid it down on the floor inbetween the two front chairs in clear view of any passenger.

As the limousine went through the crowded streets of Hogsweatia it aroused a great deal of suspicion. Of course the tinted windows did not allow anyone to see into the car, but coming from the airport, it was obvious who had arrived. The streets were not exactly the sort of joyous thing one would like to see when entering a country - huge flapping soviet flags flew from every store on the street and from every house window. Along many streets banners saying "DEATH TO GUFFINGFORD" spanned from one side of the street to the other. The people were wearing dull clothes - dark brown and grey, even the civilians looked military. They did not look unhappy, however. With the bright sun shining down, almost everyone looked cheerful. People would greet each other happily, friendly handshakes and smiles. Probably a good impression on foreigners -

Unless you were pissed out of your head.

Following the others, after the meal had finished, Natasha and Emily climbed into the limousine and made themselves comfortable, taking the time to look at some of the others who were there with them. They had already managed to make the acquaintance of a couple of those attending, and from the look of things there were some old and new nations to meet or re-establish communications with. It was one of the things Natasha liked most about attending these open meetings, you got the chance to make new relations with nations that might not have opened up in other circumstances.

Settling back in the chair, Natasha listened to the conversation that was going on around her, while Emily flicked on her palm top and made a few notes and read up on a little more of the information that she had not had the time to cover while on the flight to Hogweatia.

"Vodka. Okay- Or not? Works as well..." Chalondra sighed, and spent the vodka on her growing toxic bowl of alcohol-ness, which she then eventually finished - By this time, it had changed its colour from blue, over orange, to a vaguely radioactive-looking green with a lemon on top.

"Anyone interested in trying? It may be a little sugery, but..."

Every now and then, she looked out of the window - She was oddly reminded of Nimunde, though it - Nimunde - didn't exactly have the same amount of sheer industrial capacities.

The flags or banners on the other hand wouldn't be out of place in Nimunde's more developed parts (Though the latter would likely refer to The Territory, not Guffingford), and quite fit the environment Chalondra was used to - Well, technically, she was used to a more rural environment than a city built on ship wreckages, but still.

This, and she liked the people. Of course, they could be like this everywhere in the world - but that didn't make them any less likeable.

"Incidentally, where are we driving to?"

Lhunda Mei was wearing her bright orange ceremonial robes. They were fairly plain apart from the vibrant colour, they were made from a simple smooth cotton fabric and wrapped around her in the traditional form of her people. She paced up and down the plane.
How on earth could "bad weather" have delayed my flight for so long? I'm running nearly FIVE HOURS behind schedule.
"Have you asked the pilot if he can go any faster?" she saked the flight attendant.
"He's going as fast as possible ma'am please try and relax, we'll arrive when we arrive..."

Lhunda shrank into one of the leather seats on the diplomatic plane and tried to avoid thinking of how intensely embarresing this whole affair was going to be.

About three and a half hours later Lhunda's plane landed in Hogsweatia. She wast amazed by all the ugly metal and greyness surrounded by the beautiful pacific ocean. She much prefered the greenery in Yoboland, she pitied the people who lived here, it may be magnificent but mountains and lakes were far superior to her eyes.
She then stepped out wondering what to do now as her brief had been to go with the rest of the party, and it appeared they were long gone...

"Oh, er, the Soviet Secretarial Offices." Valentov replied half absently. The car, moving rather slowly through the jammed streets of the Hive, sped up down a one way road lacking the pedestrian clutter of the main street. The car was advancing at almost 30 kilometres per hour now. The weather was turning, and it was showing signs of raining. And when it rained, it rained.

"Um, where are you going?" Retsky asked across to Valentov.

"I'm taking the quick route."

"There isn't a quick route." the Gunnery Lieutenant sighed.

"Yes, there is. I saw it on the map." Valentov replied irritably.

"Sure, whatever you say."

The Limo turned the corner and to Valentov's dismay, reached a military checkpoint.

"Eh.. I dont' remember this being here."

"That's because you went the wr-"

"Shutup, get out, and ask for directions." Valentov demanded angrily.

It began to rain.

"Bu-" Retsky notioned outside to the now pouring torrents of rain. The precipitation was light and it covered everywhere.

"Do it, Lieutenant."

Retsky let off a ring of rather violet expletives in Hogsweatian, picked up his gun and shouldering it over his shoulder, he got out of the car, hand on head, running towards the checkpoint. It was almost comical. A minute or so later after some conversation, he returned, running back, a soaking mess. He clambered in the car and slammed the door quickly.

"Alright. It's down this road.. through a bunch of little alleys, up Votischneya Street, down Solechnaya, and just left of Krushchelov."

"Mhm." Valentov replied, gunning the engine forwards as the window wipers furiously battled the pacific rain. Retsky gave a salute and a wink to the two now identifiable militia women at the checkpoint and then the limousine rolled through.

"Not long now!"

Airstrip
Crew dashed for cover as the rain broke out. The Yobbish (sp?) plane skidded to the ground as Captain Malvecha slipped on his overcoat and rather large fur hat.

"Bloody ignorant foreigners." he murmured. "Akanov, rotor up the chopper. What? What do you mean our only opreational helicopter is the Helix? Fuck it then.."

Dashing across the tarmac to meet the Yobbish delegate, he bowed and said. "If you'll follow me, Most Esteemed Yobbish Comrade -- you're slightly late, so we'll have to take the shortcut."

He pointed towards the helicopter (http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/world/russia/images/ka27.jpg), grinning. "If you'll follow me." Malcheva crossed over the tarmac, the Yobbish delegate in tow, and jumped aboard into the helicopter.

"Never rains, but it pours, eh?" Courror grinned behind a glass of vodka and lime, to which he had helped himself. "It's probably the same crap we had to come through before getting here; reckon that's what finished the old girl off for the day." He stared out into the drizzly mist before him, sandwiched between a patently ludicrous number of people for such a small vehicle.

As the jeep took off - Courror reasoned that it, like every machine, very much had a mind of its own when it came to going places - , the lime quarter he'd so carefully sliced into a perfect half-moon ejected itself from the glass in a shower of vodka and landed on his eye with a comedic splat. Courror's hand leapt to his suddenly very painful and decidedly more citrus-smelling face, though his other kept a firm hold on his drink, with a yell of "fuck me, that stings!" He peeled the lime off and dumped it back in the glass, then shook his head violently a few times, his furry collar giving him the appearance of an angry, lime-flavoured lion.

"Sorry about that."

OOC: Sorry I'm late people, forgot about this, what should I do to catch up (other than reading of course) with the other delegations?

Christine chuckled, listening to her hosts' discussions - Still, while she was amused, she'd have preferred a somewhat more professional behaviour. She'd seen so little of it at home, and she'd hoped that an actually militaristic nation would have just about as much of it as she desired...

Well, apparently not.

At least the rain was nice - She liked the sound of it as it hit the roof and the windows, and she liked to look outside - With a dose of Chalondra's drink in her hand, slowly sipping - watching the (For all intends and purposes horrifyingly ugly - Even by DA standards, which said something) buildings losing their shapes in the tropical rain, the outside turning gray, and thick drops of water splashing on the ground, creating tiny fountains in the many puddles that were forming.

When Retsky returned, she smiled ironically. "You could've asked for an umbrella..."