NationStates Jolt Archive

It was a lovely day outside. The sun was shining and all seemed right in the world. Outside his office, Uncle Noel gazed at the formal gardens of the Palace of the People and was amazed at the beauty.
'Truly,' thought the Dictator to himself, 'There is no better place on a sunny day than this island.'
But, he realised, such thoughts were distracting him. He turned away from the window and faced the monochrome beast that sat upon his desk. Small though it was, it hummed with a malevolent intent. In short, Uncle Noel was learning to use a computer.
"Right," said the Dear Leader to himself, "I'd best try again. D-E-A-R S-I-R"
'Now,' he thought, 'that doesn't look too bad.' Except that the old man had used 'E' instead of 'R'. It thus read, Dear Sie.
"Bugger," he exclaimed, before opening the draw of his desk to find his liquid paper.
"Wait! you don't use that," he said to himself again, "You have to 'delete' it." Uncle Noel had been told this by this grand-nephew many times before, but the keyboard of his desk-top possessed letters that all seemed so complicated. He knew that the button he required had an arrow facing left, yet the thing seemed to possess two.
"Well," the Dictator said, "I assume it’s the larger one of the two." He assumed wrong though, and the symbol on the screen promptly jumped to the next line.
"Bloody computers," he cursed, before attempting to rectify the situation. Thankfully, to relieve him of the horror of the thinking machine, the intercom buzzed.
"Malinal Tepahtiani to see you sir" said Julie, his secretary.
"Send her in please," said Uncle Noel, unplugging the blasted machine from its socket in an attempt to kill it. Possessing batteries, however, it continued to whirl away to itself. Technology had once again won.
"Ahh, Malinal" said the Leader with relief, "My dear, please take a seat. How are you?"
Malinal Tepahtiani was a native Aztec through and through. She was in her early thirties, with brown shoulder-length hair and wore a brown business-suit. She had worked her way through the Foreign Ministry, from Junior Secretary to Deputy Comptroller for North Africa. She was naturally pretty, and naturally brilliant, yet was able to display the aura of someone who cared little for such things.
"Thank you Comrade Uncle," she replied, "I'm well thanks, yourself?"
"Well," The Dictator replied, "Nothing that not being over eighty couldn't solve. How is the foreign ministry?"
"Well sir," replied Malinal, "it's all fairly quiet. A couple of the nations we watch have signed treaties, other than that there's nothing to report."
Uncle Noel listened, before picking up his pipe and lighting it. The room began to smell of cherry tobacco.
"I see," he replied after building-up enough smoke to satisfy, "And what about the Emperor David?"
"There's still no sign of an emergence from his coma," replied Malinal, "Though I doubt that the Comrade Father of the Nation summoned me to his office to discuss the Excalbian succession crisis."
Uncle Noel chuckled to himself, he had indeed picked well.
"You are too sharp for me Malinal," he said with a smile, "Far too sharp. You are quite right. I would like you to look at this." The Dear Leader passed her a manila folder. She glanced through it, before looking at the Dictator with a puzzled expression.
"Sir, this is my personal file." she said eventually.
"I know my dear," replied the old man, "And it tells me a great deal. You obtained a First in French for example, and have a fair grasp of Greek as well. You are talented, capable and have worked admirably in all positions given to you."
Malinal still looked at the file again, but was still confused.
"What does this have to do with..." she began, before being cut off.
"The Holy and Most August Empire of Pantocratoria has undergone significant change in recent days. A Socialist government indeed, with terrorist abductions and the like. Our ambassador there needs to be fluent with the language, yet also possess an understanding of the culture."
"But sir," replied Malinal, "The Fiefdom doesn't have an ambassador to the Empire at this time."
Uncle Noel sat in silence; he did not speak of matters that others would eventually realise. In this case, it did not take long.
"You want me to be Ambassador?" exclaimed a startled Malinal.
"Indeed I do," replied the Dear Leader, "I can think of no one better suited to the task. The essay you submitted to the department with your job application outlined Pantocratorian change over the last twenty years. You have demonstrated a knowledge of the country and a desire to learn more."
"But Sir," Malinal shuttered, "Surely there are others who are more.....apt, to take this position."
Uncle Noel scowled for a moment; he had not expected such a response.
"Apt?" he asked, stroking his beard.
"Well, it's not that I'm ungrateful, but Pantocratoria is a fairly conservative place. A woman as ambassador, and a Mexica?" she responded.
Realisation flashed across Uncle Noel's face.
"Are you suggesting that the Holy and Most August Empire of Pantocratoria is racist?" asked the Dear Leader in tones of faint outrage.
"Well," said Malinal, "Not exactly, but maybe another might be more acceptable."
Uncle Noel rose to his feet. He was not a tall man, and thus often sat others down before standing himself in order to give the impression of height.
"My decision, Malinal, is final," he boomed, "And I have every confidence that you will represent this nation to the best of your abilities. I shall relay such sentiment to the Emperor in person."
"In person? Is the Andreus coming here?" she asked.
"Here?" asked Noel, "Of course not, I am coming with you. I shall present you in person."
Malinal had taken the wrong moment to take a sip of water from the glass before her, since she nearly choked.
"In person?" she coughed, "But Comrade Uncle, you've...."
"Yes?"
"You've never been abroad."
"That's not true, I've been to Moscow."
"Yes, but, that was in 1968. You've never been to a place like Pantocratoria. It’s very different."
Uncle Noel was now growing irritated.
"Well then it shall be an enlightening experience. I could do a tour or something. I've read reports on the Court at New Constantinople, so I should at least inspect it."
Malinal was still not sure. Noel had, after all, lived in the freezing cold of the mountains for several years while fighting during the civil war. She doubted whether he could relate to hereditary monarchs.
"But sir," she pleaded, "Who will run the Fiefdom in your absence?"
"The Fiefdom?" scoffed the Dictator, "Malinal, the Fiefdom has had enough of my influence. I'm sure that Tlacateotzin Henderson will be more than capable. Besides, it could be a family outing. I could bring Trevor, Elspeth and Mary."
"Well," said Malinal, "I suppose, but...”
"And besides," said the old man, continuing regardless, "I have received this rather interesting letter from the Reverend Father Kallistos Mervyn."
Handing the letter to Malinal, the diplomatic official was originally unimpressed. Apparently, said Father Mervyn, the Orthodox congregation of the island had grown to quite significant numbers and he wished the Premier to seek advice from the global Orthodox hierarchy. Not that Malinal particularly cared, being a loyal follower of the Aztec gods, but she didn't say so out loud. Uncle Noel's father, after all, had been an Anglican vicar.
"I'm sorry sir, but, what exactly does this have to do with Pantocratoria?"
"Tut tut tut," said the old man with a smile on his face, "Must I remind you my dear of the Act Re-establishing the Greek Rite?"
The name sounded familiar to Malinal, before reason struck home.
"You want to meet Stephanius?" she burst out.
"Well, it would be a grand tour," said the Dear Leader with mock sheepishness, "And it would be rude to ignore such a distinguished religious leader, or the desires of a religious community. I have had my staff contact the government of Pantocratoria about such a trip."
"If you don't mind me asking," said the Foreign Office official, "Why do you Christians always seem to split into different factions?"
"Ha ha ha," laughed Uncle Noel, "If I knew the answer to that question, I'd surely be the next Pope!"

OOC: While this is primarily for Pantocratoria, I also realise that I don't know other nations so feel free to RP representatives or ambassadors or anything. The Fiefdom welcomes all!

Tomoyo sat in a small room with skepticism about the Cabianates Latest Realtaions Plan. It was hard enough to get them to open up to relation ships as it was, now they we're doing stuipd methods of chosing who they do next.

Thomas Blair one of the relations chairs, explained the whole thing to the princess. Even Li was rather skeptical.

"Now." He said in his British Dialect "I will through a dart at this map. Where ever it lands, is who we will look into with relationships next."

"And if hit's the water?"

"Then no one."

He threw it was bulls eye on Uncle Noel (sorry I don't know if your nation has an alias to it)

"Well your highness it looks like your will be visiting this nation. Best part it's barley two day's sailing trip, from here."

"Providing the weather is good. Not to mention we don't even know if they want anything to do with us."

"Well Li you can send them a letter being Foreign Affairs Minister and all, and tell them our princess will visit if they accept."

"Very well."

"You do relize we have to be careful who we chose to assosiate with. The wrong nation could cost us our ally."

"Well I am aware of that your highness but we have to be independent and not a puppet to them. We are an indpendent nation after all."

"Right."

Dear Nation,
In seeking relationships with more nations, we would like to send our leader to meet with you.

Sincerly,

Li Hirihito-MOF, The Principality of Kurona


He generally avoided using the term Princess, or girl, not knowing the attitudes towards such.

Uncle Noel gazed down at the rather short letter before him. It was....to the point.
"What exactly to we know about the principality of....Kurona," asked the Dear Leader to the assembled officials in his office.
"Well," said Mycroft Parr, the intelligence chief, "...'The Principality of Kurona is a massive, environmentally stunning nation, renowned for its punitive income tax rates. Its compassionate, cynical population of 1.799 billion are ruled without fear or favor by a psychotic dictator, who outlaws just about everything and refers to the populace as "my little playthings."
It is difficult to tell where the omnipresent, corrupt, socially-minded government stops and the rest of society begins, but it juggles the competing demands of Law & Order, the Environment, and Religion & Spirituality. The average income tax rate is 100%. The private sector is almost wholly made up of enterprising fourteen-year-old boys sell.."
"Yes yes yes," replied Uncle Noel, "But other than that, what do we know?"
The Intelligence Chief fumbled through the folder before him.
"Alas, Comrade Leader, not much."
Uncle Noel sat back in his chair and lit his pipe. Smoke began to fill the room, though the heat wave outside made the atmosphere in the office all the more uncomfortable.
"Well, we have yet to receive word from Pantocratoria about that range of topics which we hoped to discuss. If they seem to busy, then we shall just have to send Ms. Tepahtiani by herself to be ambassador. In which case, I'll be more that happy to accept the 'leader' of Kurona. If I make an official visit to New Rome, though, then we'd have to postpone the meeting."
Trevor Hoogaboom, the Dear Leader's nephew, then proposed a cunning idea.
"Well," he began, "You could always visit them. I mean, If Pantocratoria say no then that would be no problem as you would be somewhere else anyway. And I they say yes, then you could visit Kurona of the way."
"Tremendous plan," boomed the Dear Leader, "Someone get that typed up and sent off."

Dear Principality of Kurona,
You would normally be more than welcome to visit the Fiefdom and meet Uncle Noel. At the current moment, however, plans are in place for another trip abroad in the near future. The Dear Leader, however, could visit your own nation if that was desirable, or your visit could take place in a month or so.
Regards,
Minister for Foreign Affairs, Ahexotl Michin
PS: Please accept this basket of fruit as a sign of our good-will.

Port Sunlight, the capital of the Fiefdom of Uncle Noel, continued to bake in a summer heat wave. Exhausted office-workers gratefully accepted cold drinks from local Sikhs celebrating the martyrdom of Guru Granth Sahib, while bars with outside terraces saw trade increase threefold. Government workers in the Uncle Noel Council of Ministers Economical Commission for Planning of State Economy might have noticed a massive increase in the sale of cold beer and chilled wine during the period, were it not for the fact that the heat made concentrating on figures and graphs all very difficult. Such was the extent of the problem that Uncle Noel himself was forced out of his normal office in the Palace of the People. He now sat at a portable desk in the gardens of the palace in the shade of a large chestnut tree, not that he felt any cooler. The exodus from inside, however, had also resulted in the end of electricity and the Dear Leader was happily reunited with his typewriter.
Uncle Noel, as a result of this relocation, was able to see Malinal Tepahtiani approach from the Palace. She was dressed, as usual, in a grey business suit and seemed (much to the Dear Leader's irritation) to be unaffected by the heat.
"Malinal," he said, rising to his feet from his ancient wicker chair, "how are you?"
Gesturing to another wicker chair, Malinal thanked the dictator and sat down.
"Fine thank you sir, though a little warm!" she said, unconvincingly.
"Yes...well," Noel began, "Are you all packed and such?"
Malinal smiled. She knew full-well that Uncle Noel had not summoned her to his "office" to discuss whether she had packed all her underwear and an adaptor for the iron. She was, after all, a seasoned diplomat and not a tourist. She had visited Pantocratoria before as a tourist so she knew what to expect. 'But,' she thought, 'I'd best just play along.'
"I have indeed Comrade Uncle," she replied off-headedly, "Though my sister can scarcely believe that I'm going."
Noel raised his eyebrows at this.
"Well," he said with a smile, "Sisters have a tendency to be incredulous by their very natures."
With that he glanced up at the palace. The entire family of Uncle Noel, including his siblings, lived in the Palace of the People. In a distant window was the figure of Emilia Macmillan, his younger sister and retired school teacher. She had not retreated outside, but was reading a novel by an open window.
"Comrade Uncle how is your sister?" asked Malinal, though she was beginning to feel desperately hot in her woollen suit. She inwardly hoped that the Dear Leader would soon progress to the point of this talk.
"Oh fine, fine. She's recently been reading 'The Michelangelo Conundrum by Chris Black'," said Noel with a perplexed look upon his face, "I hear that it has something to do with a sacred bloodline or some such rot. Not that I have brought you here to discuss my sister's choice of reading material. Have we heard any news from the Pantocratorians?"
"Only the basics really," replied the diplomat, "They've said that His Imperial Majesty is more than happy for a visit but that they'll have to get back to us."
Though he was glancing over the letter he had been writing, Malinal's choice of words made the old man look up at her.
"They'll get back to us?" he said with an air of disbelief. This was an embassy, after all, not a tourist visit.
"Well the August Empire is particularly busy," replied Malinal, "Many of the Princes and Princesses have been married off and there are ongoing problems in Marlund. And the recent crisis in Excalbia with the Emperor falling ill..."
"Yes yes yes," said the Dear Leader exasperatedly, "I have read the reports. Still, there is little that we can do about it. Have we drawn up a provisional itinerary?"
"Yes Comrade Uncle, I have it here." Malinal fumbled in the briefcase she was carrying. As is traditional with such things, the folder she desired was right at the bottom of the case.
"Er, um," she began. She cursed herself at not glancing through it in the car. Some genius at the Foreign Ministry had produced the report in Nahuatl, which wasn't the problem, but had decided to forego the Aztec symbology alphabet and instead use Roman letters. Looking at the document suggested to Malinal that the person involved seemed to lack either a working knowledge of either Nahuatl or the Roman alphabet, and produced as a result a confusing jumble of letters and words.
"Well," said the diplomat, squinting at the page while also making a mental note to find/hit the guilty party, "We assume that it will begin in New Rome with a visit to the Emperor. Then it might move on to New Constantinople, but that really depends on what Andreus is doing."
"The Emperor?" asked Noel "Isn't the Despot of New Constantinople his son?"
"The Despot is also called Andreus, Comrade General Secretary."
"How confusing," said the old man with a puzzled look, "Why does it matter what's he doing?"
"Well," said the diplomat, desperately attempting to sound neutral while also knowing full-well that she was demonstrating the level of knowledge that got her the ambassadorship in the first place, "He might be in Hofburg with his wife, the Empress of Lavenrunz."
"I see," said the Dear Leader attempting to dispel his confusion, "Where else?"
"Well that really depends on where the Pantocratorians decide to take us," replied Malinal, "You'll probably meet the Government and the Opposition."
"Indeed, though we should also visit Drakopolis and the Patriarch."
"We've already hinted at that through official channels," said Malinal, "With the Constantinople Party in government, they'll probably be over-joyed with the idea."
A short silence descended over the pair. In the distance droned the traffic beyond the Palace's walls. Uncle Noel lit his pipe and Malinal, though she would never say as much, was glad that they were outside. Smoking was not one of the things she ever indulged in or enjoyed the smell of.
"I should like to hold a press conference while I am there, to the international press." said the dictator suddenly.
Malinal involuntarily gasped. Uncle Noel was not well-known for his press statements, or for the expression of his views in public. Nothing like this had ever occurred before. She briefly considered asking if he should reconsider before dismissing the idea. It was hardly a decision he would have made on a whim.
"Of course Comrade General Secretary," she said quickly, "I'll pass that on to the Pantocratorian authorities. May I ask....er....what for?"
The old man smiled mysteriously. "I have something to say," he said cryptically, "though may I have a look at that?" as he motioned towards the list in Malinal's hand.
"Of course," she said, whincing slightly as she handed the poorly written memo to the Dear Leader.
"Oh dear," he said after a time, "Someone couldn't write, could they?"

http://members.optusnet.com.au/a_marrington/ns/achievement.gif

Mon oncle,

It is with the greatest pleasure, reflecting on the long friendship between the Fiefdom and the Empire, that We will receive your state visit. We look forward to at last meeting you in person. We have entrusted the negotiation of an itinerary for the state visit to Our Minister for Foreign Affairs, who will liase with all appropriate officials and secretaries in Pantocratoria to finalise each leg of your visit.

Given by Our hand at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, on the feast day of Saint Deodatus, in the thirty second year of Our reign,

ANDREUS
By the Grace of God, Emperor of Pantocratoria, Autocrator of the Romans, Caesar Augustus, King of France and Navarre, Equal of the Apostles, God's Vicegerent on Earth, et al

PROPOSED ITINERARY FROM THE MINISTRY OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS, NEW ROME
EARLY DRAFT ONLY

Day One
11:00 - Official reception of Fiefdom Official Party at New Rome International Airport by the Rt Hon the Imperial Chancellor Dr Thibault Drapeur MP, and the Rt Hon the Leader of the Opposition Monsieur le Prince Basil Porphyrogenitus MP
11:20 - Fiefdom Official Party and the Rt Hon the Imperial Chancellor Dr Thibault Drapeur MP and HIH the Rt Hon the Leader of the Opposition Monsieur le Prince Basil Porphyrogenitus MP embark motorcade for Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator
11:50 - Official Party arrives at Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator
12:00 - His Most Catholic and Imperial Majesty the Emperor receives Fiefdom Official Party in state in the Great Hall
12:15 - His Majesty, Fiefdom Official Party, Imperial Chancellor, those members of the Imperial Family present retire for luncheon
13:45 - Luncheon ends
13:46 - Fiefdom Official Party taken on a tour of the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator and grounds
15:30 - Tour ends
15:45 - His Majesty receives Uncle Noel in private in the French Suite
16:15 - Private meeting ends
16:30 - Fiefdom Official Party departs Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator for Palais du Parlement
17:00 - Fiefdom Official Party arrives Palais du Parlement
17:10 - Business of the Imperial Parliament suspended for addresses
17:11 - Address by the Rt Hon the Imperial Chancellor Dr Thibault Drapeur MP in the house to Uncle Noel
17:21 - Address by HIH the Rt Hon the Leader of the Opposition Monsieur le Prince Basil Porphyrogenitus in the house to Uncle Noel
17:31 - Motion of welcome proposed by the Leader of the House the Hon Demetrios Raoul MP
17:33 - Business of the Imperial Parliament resumes

Day Two
(All events at Palais du Parlement)
10:00 to 12:00 - Morning discussions with Ministers (exact order still to be determined)
12:00 - Luncheon with party leaders
13:00 to 15:00 - Afternoon discussions with Ministers (exact order still to be determined)
15:00 to 16:00 - Private meeting between Uncle Noel and the Rt Hon the Imperial Chancellor Dr Thibault Drapeur MP
16:00 to 16:30 - Joint press conference
16:30 to 17:30 - Evening discussions with Opposition (exact order still to be determined)

Day Three
10:00 - Flight from New Rome domestic airport to New Constantinople
12:00 - Fiefdom Official Party arrives in New Constantinople, official reception by HIH Princess Helen
12:15 - Fiefdom Official Party boards motorcade to Despotic Court of New Constantinople
13:30 - Fiefdom Official Party arrives at Despotic Court of New Constantinople
13:40 - Fiefdom Official Party received by HIH the Most Pious Prince Andreus Porphyrogenitus, Despot of New Constantinople, Dauphin of Viennois, Prince Consort of Lavenrunz

(All remaining day three events subject to scheduling from Despotic Court of New Constantinople)

To: His Most Catholic and Imperial Majesty, Andreus I Capet
From: The Chairman of the Council of Ministers of the Serene Democratic Fiefdom of Uncle Noel, General Secretary of the Noelist Socialist Revolutionary Party of Otiacicoh Central Committee: Uncle Noel

Your Imperial Majesty,

It would be of the highest honour to visit the Holy and Most August Empire of Pantocratoria and to attend Court. The friendship between our two nations is both long and distinguished. Only this morning, for example, archivists discovered the correspondance between Port Sunlight and New Rome regarding the state visit of the President of the Republic of Syskeyia. Though many things have changed since then, our lasting friendship endures.

His Majesty's loyal servant
Noel Hoogaboom.

OOC: Like your goodself, I shall forward any queries about the Fiefdom, its leader and its history to http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Uncle_Noel :D

IC:
From: Minister for Foreign Affairs, Ahexotl Michin
To: Minister for Foreign Affairs, Demetrios Raoul

Sir,
The proposed itinerary for the state visit meets with the vast majority of The Dear Leader's requests. A number of points, however, require clarity.
a) Uncle Noel desires to present the Fiefdom's new (and first) ambassador to the Imperial Court of the Pantocrator, Malinal Tepahtiani. To this end, therefore, the foreign ministry desires the Emperor be informed to avoid embarrassement
b) Uncle Noel, or other members of the Fiefdom's Party, would be interested in holding discussions with a representative of Peacock Motors.
c) Uncle Noel, following a request, would also like to meet with the Patriarch of New Constantinople or another Orthodox clergyman to discuss the creation of a hierarchy within the Fiefdom
d) Uncle Noel is also bringing family members and desires that they should be suitably employed while meetings are taking place.
Other than these small points, we commend you on your plan.
Kind Regards
Ahexotl Michin

OOC: If that's everything, I shall load up the plane!

OOC: Though, in fact, I have a better idea

Uncle Noel had considered the usual 'Diplomatic Flight' to New Rome. Princess Helen, after all, had travelled to Port Sunlight's aerodrome via a Peacock Airlines flight all those years ago. Right at the last moment, however, he changed his mind.
"By boat," declared the Dictator, "New Rome has a port, so why not?"
Trevor Macmillan, the Dear Leader's nephew and designated (though un-stated) heir, wrung his hands anxiously. It had taken weeks to organise and was going to complicate matters.
"But Uncle Noel," said the Deputy General Secretary of the Communist Party of Otiacicoh, "This isn't the nineteen fifties."
Uncle Noel, dressed in his usual military fatigues, scowled at this. While he felt more than happy mentioning his age, he did not like when others brought it up. Though Trevor was his nephew, this did not exclude him from this unwritten rule.
"I am well aware of that," he said icily, "But I think that it would be a bold statement of our renewed position on the world stage."
The summer weather, which a few weeks ago had been so hot and sunny, had now transmogrified into humid and overcast days. The sky seemed thick with cloud and, though it was only late afternoon, the lights in Noel's office were on.
Trevor Macmillan shook his head slightly. He was of average height, about an inch taller than his elderly uncle, and dressed in a tweed jacket and a chequered shirt. If this gave him the appearance of an academic then, for the most part, it was entirely correct. In a different world Trevor would have taught at any one of the major universities across the globe, possessing as he did a keen mind and a love for one tiny aspect of human knowledge. Trevor's particular area of expertise, of all things, was the Carolingian Empire and monastic reform. Why, he had no idea, but its study had become his life. But his world was not that of a quiet academic but as the nephew of the Communist Leader of a pacific island and thus, here he was. Despite studying at Oxford, Harvard and the Sorbonne, he was recalled to Port Sunlight and the 'heady' world of politics.
"Shall we at least run-over the final details of our party?" asked Trevor, attempting to move the subject along.
"Well," said Uncle Noel, "There shall, of course, be me. And you, because you know French..."
"Though we should probably not mention how I learnt it," said Trevor, quickly.
"Why now?" said the dictator exasperatedly. Noel swore that, the more he learnt about Pantocratoria the more surreal it got. His knowledge of monarchy had come from two sources, the old Imperial one that he had overthrown and the British monarchy that he had been taught about by his family in order to remind him of 'the old country'. Aztec royals never married beyond the island, and most recent British monarchs seemed to have been able to marry, for the most part, whoever they wanted. Pantocratoria seemed like a step back in time. Children were raised for the very purpose of cementing an international alliance. Royalty were not the distant apolitical figures of the original home nation but ran parties and interfered. Andreus seemed to be neither the incompetent autocrat of the Aztec Emperors nor the modern the modern Head of State of Elizabeth II.
"Well," replied Trevor, "Many Pantocratorians consider the French, in whose country I learnt and taught [at the Sorbonne which I mentioned before], as rebels and the fifth republic....illegitimate."
"Why?" asked the Dear Leader, "Is it because they somehow think that they have a superior claim to the French throne because sometime in the distant past a person everyone though dead appeared on the island? And since that time, THEY, and no one else, are the true kings of France?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
Thereafter followed a period of silence.
"Well, there shall also be a number of ministers and Elspeth and Mary."
"Of course," said Trevor, content that finally the list he had before him corresponded to what his uncle said, "though I am still not sure why."
"They are the future Trevor," said Noël mysteriously, "And they must become used to such things. It is a shame that Xiucaque is too young to attend. Pity, as much rests on him."
* * A few days later * *
Uncle Noel and his family were safely aboard a rather unusual board of transportation. The Uncle Noel Ship Red Comrade steamed from the harbour of Port Sunlight. She was an elderly battleship, originally set down in an American ship-yard during the 1900s, and intended for the Brazilian Navy. The Imperial Navy of Otiacicoh (as it was then) purchased it off the Brazilian government during the late 1930s, to much derision. Already antiquated, the battleship demonstrated the weakness of the Empire in that it was unable to construct a modern fleet for herself. She never sailed for the Imperial Fleet and remained in port until the revolution, whereby she was renamed. Although of no military value, she was never decommissioned and was recently up-graded on the secret orders of the Dear Leader himself (thus proving too many that he had planned such a trip for some years). Red Comrade's new turbine engines propelled the ship at some speed, and the Captain did not think that it would take more than a few weeks to reach New Rome. The journey was considerably shortened when the ship, after hours of negotiation, managed to gain permission to use the Panama Canal and soon, from the deck of the ship, could be seen the island of Pantocratoria....

OOC: Over to you.

OOC: Eep! New Rome is inland... although it has a river... it's New Constantinople which has a port. That's fine though, we can do things in a different order, so long as you're happy to do so!

OOC: I see, well I can always come up the river. If it isn't too shallow, that is.

I only decided on a ship because I thought it would be more interesting! Alas!

OOC: Sorry about the delay!

IC:
It had been a smooth sail, all things considered. The weather had produced some beautiful conditions and the good ship Red Comrade had been made good progress. A problem, however, had developed with the official plans.
"The Pantocratorians are insistent sir," said Captain Harker, "The river to New Rome is too shallow to allow the ship. We'll have to dock somewhere else."
Uncle Noel, sitting on a nearby navigation chair on the ship's bridge, sat sulkily. He didn't like being wrong, and the idea that no one had actually cheeked to see if the Red Comrade could sail to New Rome made him, and the Fiefdom as a whole, look silly.
"Okay," he said finally, still looking at the floor like a discontented eight-year old, "Adrienpole, and some manner of train to the Capital."
"Very good sir."
* * * *
The Red Comrade saw land at 04:16 the next day but powered-down her engines in order to dock at mid-morning. Aboard ship, the delegation made their final preparations. Finally, at 10:30, the ship was finally moored to the harbour and Uncle Noel, attired in his best dress uniform, emerged into the warm light of a Pantocratorian morning.
'Show time', thought the Dictator to himself.

Adrienople, Pantocratoria

The Red Comrade was greeted at the docks by a delegation of Pantocratorian dignatories led by the Emperor's second son, Prince Constantine, his wife Princess Morgan, and the Treasurer, Isabelle Folquet, who was the Member of the Imperial Parliament for the Adrienople seat of Saint Marc. Also in the delegation was the Mayor of Adrienople, and a group of other Adrienople MPs from each political party. A red carpet ran from the gantry connecting Red Comrade to the wharf, past a military brass band and troop clad in dress whites, and to a motorcade of polished black luxury sedans behind the delegation. The motorcade flew the flags of both Pantocratoria and the Fiefdom.

As Uncle Noel disembarked the ship, the band started to play and the troop snapped to attention, and the delegation waited for the Dictator's long awaited visit to Pantocratorian soil.

Adrienople, Pantocratoria

The Red Comrade was greeted at the docks by a delegation of Pantocratorian dignatories led by the Emperor's second son, Prince Constantine, his wife Princess Morgan, and the Treasurer, Isabelle Folquet, who was the Member of the Imperial Parliament for the Adrienople seat of Saint Marc. Also in the delegation was the Mayor of Adrienople, and a group of other Adrienople MPs from each political party. A red carpet ran from the gantry connecting Red Comrade to the wharf, past a military brass band and troop clad in dress whites, and to a motorcade of polished black luxury sedans behind the delegation. The motorcade flew the flags of both Pantocratoria and the Fiefdom.

As Uncle Noel disembarked the ship, the band started to play and the troop snapped to attention, and the delegation waited for the Dictator's long awaited visit to Pantocratorian soil.

Uncle Noel gazed upon the sight before him with admiration. The Red Comrade had been an unexpected change in tranportation, designed to demonstrate martial prowess and such. The planners at the Foreign Ministry back in Port Sunlight had, however, failed in two tasks. First, they had failed to tell the Pantocratorians of this change and secondly, and perhaps most importantly, they had failed to ascertain whether the river to New Rome could actually TAKE a ship. What had supposed to be a triumphant entry had thus become...less so. Standing on the deck of the old battleship, though, Uncle Noel could not help but be amazed at the hastily rearranged welcoming ceremony. Frantic phone calls between respective ministeries had produced a flawless ceremony. The old man, bedecked in a white dress uniform, descended the stairs. His nephew Trevor, dressed in a simple suit and tie, closely followed his Uncle and whispered the Intelligence briefing in the Dear Leader's ear.
"..the woman just there is Isabelle Folquet, the Treasurer, and the person behind her is..."
"Yes yes yes Trevor," whispered Uncle Noel, "Can this not wait until we are off the boat?"
The Dictator stepped off the ship as the band continued to play the national anthem "The Internationale [Fiefdom Edition]" followed by "God Save the Emperor". Uncle Noel smiled knowingly to himself when he heard the Pantocratorian anthem, though he hoped that no one had seen it. A cool sea breeze blew across the harbour as the Fiefdom delegation proceeded towards Prince Constantine and Princess Morgan.

It was, as is traditional in such circumstances, that Uncle Noel's mind when blank. What, exactly, was the protocol? Did he shake his hand? No no, you had to wait for it to be offered. Or was that just for the Emperor? Fortunately, the morning light revealed a distinct absence of crowds which was certainly a plus point. To mess up at this juncture would look silly.
'That said,' Uncle Noel thought to himself, 'I'll be irritated if there are no crowds at New Rome!'
As he approached the Pantocratorian delegation, therefore, Uncle Noel kept his hands by his side. He gave a nod to the Band Leader of the assembled troops, knowing that it wasn't his place as a foreigner to salute, and gave a slight bow to prince Constantine and Princess Morgan respectively. It could be categorised as a bow, of sorts, but certainly wasn't a formal and complete one. It could instead be classified more as nod. Uncle Noel, after all, had spent his formative years as a communist guerilla.
"Your Imperial Highnesses," said the Dictator............[over to you]

"Your Excellency, welcome to Pantocratoria." Constantine replied, returning Uncle Noel's nod and offering him his hand. "Permit me to introduce my wife, Princess Morgan."

Morgan curtsied to the Dictator as she was introduced. Close by, Isabelle Folquet took in an impatient breath. After he had introduced his wife, Prince Constantine led Uncle Noel on to the Mayor of Adrienople, a red-faced man in his late fifties with a silver chain of office around his neck wearing a rather old fashioned tuxedo and carrying an even more old fashioned top hat in his hand.

"Monsieur le Maire, Frederic Gastonbeurre." Constantine said by way of introduction.

He looked over to Isabelle Folquet, one of his chief political rivals - well, one of his chief rivals on the other side, anyway. Folquet was a short-haired woman of just above average height in her late thirties, quite attractive for a politician, and was no stranger to Adrienople's docks, having spent five years working as a union representative for the Pantocratorian Wharf and Dock Workers Union. She was, however, unused to welcoming ceremonies for foreign dictators.

"Permit me also to introduce Madame Isabelle Folquet, the Imperial Treasurer." Constantine said graciously.

"Pleased to meet Your Excellency." Folquet said, nodding politely and offering her hand. She was wearing a business-style pants suit, which didn't really lend itself to curtseying.

Constantine introduced Uncle Noel to the other MPs who were assembled on the dock, and then motioned over to the cars which awaited to take the delegation to city hall, after which they would be taken to the train station for their trip to the capital itself. Constantine and Morgan escorted Uncle Noel and Trevor in the first car, followed by the highest ranking officials from Uncle Noel's delegation and Isabelle Folquet and the Mayor of Adrienople. Subsequent cars carried the rest of the delegation. In the meantime, luggage was loaded onto trucks to be taken directly to the train station. Inside the first car, Constantine tried to make conversation.

"Your means of transportation to Pantocratoria was rather creative, monsieur. It seems like a long way to have come, from the Pacific to the North Atlantic, by boat. How long did it take?" Constantine enquired.

"A pleasure, Your Excellency." Morgan said as she was introducted to Uncle Noel. The young princess spoke French with a slight Selinian accent which subtle advertised the fact that she had not grown up in Pantocratoria. She then waited quietly as her husband introduced Uncle Noel to the other members of the party.

Morgan was a woman of average stature with light brown hair which she normally wore fairly short in a modern but distinctly feminine style which contrasted visibly with the elaborate styles often worn at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator. She had a naturally expressive face which so far seemed to perpetually wear a sort of casual, good natured smile.

Morgan's smile faded only slightly at Constantine's question to Uncle Noel and her eyes looked off briefly onto the horizon, thoughtful for the moment, before returning her gaze to her husband and the guest of honor.

"Your Excellency, welcome to Pantocratoria." Constantine replied, returning Uncle Noel's nod and offering him his hand. "Permit me to introduce my wife, Princess Morgan."

"Madam," said Uncle Noel, bowing slightly again and (if anyone noticed) slightly lower than he had done to Prince Constantine. This wasn't because he wished to offend the young Prince, but rather than his father had always told him to be polite to ladies.
"May I take this opportunity to introduce the Fiefdom's delegation, Highness. This is my nephew, Trevor Macmillan, the Deputy Chairman of the Council of Ministers of the Serene Democratic Fiefdom of Uncle Noel and Deputy General Secretary of the Communist Party of Otiacicoh Party Central Committee..."
Trevor Macmillan was, by both training and inclination, an academic and a leading expert Carolingian monasteries. Away from the sartorial influence of his wife, therefore, he had drifted into his old ways of dressing. He was thus adorned in a tweed jacket, green shirt with a garish pink tie and a pair of old corduroy trousers. He had believed himself to look smart, the diplomatic staff aboard the Red Comrade had other ideas.
"...and this is Malinal Tepahtiani, the new ambassador to the Empire..." continued the Dictator.
Assuming that handshaking was now the norm, Trevor had bowed and taken the Prince's hand. Malinal, dressed in a business suit of a type similar to Folquet if several years older in style, however, curtsied. Having studied Pantocratoria for so many years at the Foreign Ministry, the visit was something akin to meeting one's favourite band. The endless intelligence reports and diplomatic briefings, however, had not prepared her for meeting an actual member of the Imperial Family and she was rather overtaken by the whole affair, managing a barely whispered 'Highness' as she curtsied.
"...My Director of the Joint Main Political Department, Mycroft Parr..."
The intelligence chief, who also served as a manner of body guard, was a tall man with a pasty exterior and a clinical air about him. He was dressed, as most people in the Fiefdom continued to be, in a khaki jumpsuit as worn by the likes of Stalin, Mao and Kim Jung-Il.
"..And finally, my great-nieces Elspeth Macmillan and Ilancueitl "Mary" Hoogaboom."
Most girls, new to the court fashion of Pantocratoria, found the formal dresses ridiculously uncomfortable. The two grand-nieces of Uncle Noel, however, found them fascinating. They had grown-up in a nation that was, clothing-wise, influenced either by socialist ideology or Aztec tradition. They were not, therefore, ladies used to jeans and T-shirts but to itchy woollen suits and bland skirts. The chance, even in a watered-down manner for Adrienpole dock, to dress like a Princess fitted into so many childish dreams that not even the corsets were a problem. Though, in all honesty, they had yet to encounter the full rigours of New Rome's attire.
Elspeth was a woman of 21, with long blond hair and bright, almost ethereal, blue eyes. 'Mary', on the other hand, had the dark brown eyes and complexion of a native Mexica. In their individual ways, however, they were both pretty.

"A pleasure, Your Excellency." Morgan said as she was introduced to Uncle Noel. The young princess spoke French with a slight Selinian accent which subtle advertised the fact that she had not grown up in Pantocratoria.
Uncle Noel quickly glanced at his nephew when Princess Morgan spoke, a clear indication to all concerned that the Dear Leader himself spoke no French (OOC: I had assumed the original meeting was in English, but feel free to point out my error). Trevor, who had studied and taught at the Sorbonne for some years, quickly produced a translation. The Dictator smiled benevolently.


He looked over to Isabelle Folquet, one of his chief political rivals - well, one of his chief rivals on the other side, anyway. Folquet was a short-haired woman of just above average height in her late thirties, quite attractive for a politician, and was no stranger to Adrienople's docks, having spent five years working as a union representative for the Pantocratorian Wharf and Dock Workers Union. She was, however, unused to welcoming ceremonies for foreign dictators.


Uncle Noel, of course, had been well-briefed about the current political situation in Pantocratoria. Inwardly he smiled. Ideologically he could not consider him close to Folquet, she being a bourgeois socialist and him the proper vanguard of the proletariat. That, he always admired a fellow Lefty, especially in the aristocratic world of Pantocratoria.

"Permit me also to introduce Madame Isabelle Folquet, the Imperial Treasurer." Constantine said graciously.

"Pleased to meet Your Excellency." Folquet said, nodding politely and offering her hand. She was wearing a business-style pants suit, which didn't really lend itself to curtseying.
"The pleasure is mine, Ms. Folquet." said the Dictator politely, though not patronisingly.
The Dear Leader, along with the rest of the delegation, politely met the assembled group of MPs before moving off to the awaiting limousines. For many in the delegation, this would be the first time they had travelled in a car not made by the state-owned Zagreb Corporation, and not termed a 'Peoples' Car'.

"Your means of transportation to Pantocratoria was rather creative, monsieur. It seems like a long way to have come, from the Pacific to the North Atlantic, by boat. How long did it take?" Constantine enquired.
Uncle Noel detected the slight waver of Princess Morgan's smile and smiled himself. Trying to make conversation was always difficult, especially when you lacked very much in common.
"Indeed Your Highness, I had originally intended to take a plane but I decided that I really should make use of the Red Comrade. She's a recently restored piece of my country's history, so it is always nice to see her do what she was intended for."
'Sail that is,' thought the Dictator, 'Rather than warfare.'
"I hear from your diplomatic staff that you have inherited the Zagreb Peoples' Car presented to your sister," said Uncle Noel, attempting to make conversation himself, "I hope that it continues to run. The Peoples' car is not the most luxurious of automobiles but it is extremely reliable."
'And cheap to run,' he thought, but he didn't really think an imperial prince would by much interested in that sort of thing.

"His Highness is very fond of that car." Morgan added in English. "It was one of the first things he showed me when we were married. He is going to teach me how to drive it when he gets the chance."

Morgan realized it was a rather inane topic of conversation but she had no idea what else to talk about. No one outside of Uncle Noel really knew anything about the nation or about Uncle Noel himself besides its communist ideology and dictatorial form of government.

"Your Highness," said the Dictator, turning to Princess Morgan, "I must confess that I know very little about your native land. I had hoped, eventually, that I might have happened upon a Danaan Ambassador but I now see that this is not necessary.

And might provide a topic of conversation that does not involve modes of transportation."

"I hear from your diplomatic staff that you have inherited the Zagreb Peoples' Car presented to your sister," said Uncle Noel, attempting to make conversation himself, "I hope that it continues to run. The Peoples' car is not the most luxurious of automobiles but it is extremely reliable."
'And cheap to run,' he thought, but he didn't really think an imperial prince would by much interested in that sort of thing.

"Her Highness was kind enough to give it to me, not being able to drive it herself, yes. It's certainly unique in my collection... I would say it was one of the more... reliable cars, in my collection, in fact." Constantine replied.

The conversation soon moved past the odd little vehicle which certainly stuck out like a sore thumb in Constantine's garage otherwise filled with luxury sports cars, which the Prince could only regard as a good thing. He didn't want to offend the Dictator by dwelling on the car's bad points, and he couldn't think of too many good points. Instead he allowed Morgan to tell Uncle Noel a little of the Resurgent Dream.

Uncle Noel made a note to give cars away as diplomatic gifts more often, it seemed to work out very well indeed.

"That's a rather broad inquiry." Morgan protested lightly at Uncle Noel's request. "The Resurgent Dream is a nation in transition following a huge demographic shift brought about by a little understood disaster known as the Shattering. The nation was originally settled thousands of years ago by aboriginal peoples who arrived by means of the South Atlantic Passage. They are closely related to the native peoples of Polynesia and especially Hawai'i today. The first European settlers were Welsh and arrived about a thousand years ago, fleeing Saxon oppression. They joined with the natives when their king, Rhygyfarch, married Princess Maile, the daughter of the aboriginal high king, and united their dynasties. Legally speaking, we have been one people since that time, although in practice there have been great historical wrongs done to the aboriginal people which we are just now beginning to seriously rectify and atone for. About five centuries ago, a race of fairies arrived and became embroiled in a war with the nation's human populace. Following the war, Fae were the dominant ethnic group until the Shattering drove most of them back into their home in the Dreaming."

"Fascinating Madam," said the Dictator finally, "I mean...Your H- Highness."
Uncle Noel, needless to say, did not find talking to royality particularly easy considering that he had never met any. What seemed like a random stutter to anyone observing, however, was actually the Dictator's aborted attempt to place a 'High' in front of 'Highness'. He knew that Owain was a 'High King' but was unsure if Morgan was a 'High Princess.' He guessed not, though it was such a jumbled and confusing place that he was surprised it even functioned as a modern country.
"Welsh you say?" he said finally, breaking the silence, "It is curious, is it not, that all our nations were founded in the white heat of fleeing refugees. The Welsh in the case of the Dream, the Byzantines in the case of Pantocratoria and...," he paused for a moment, "I don't suppose the history of the island is much known to the outside world. Perhaps I shall explain it at some juncture."
The group thus made small-talk as the limosines rolled on....

ooc: feel free to add any interesting points of conversation, though I imagine that it will continue in a vague and similar vein for some time. That said, maybe we could roll-with-it, as they say.

Morgan continued to make small talk as the procession continued, commenting on the similarity of nations founded by refugees. Assuming that the dictator maintained his conversational interest in her homeland, Morgan was glad to oblige. As long as he seemed interested, she informed him that the Danaan Government was a liberal parliamentary democratic welfare state (which was a fairly long phrase for 'typical Western country') with a Government responsible to the elected Parliament. She mentioned that the current party in Government was the Progressive Democratic Party, the party of the moderate left and a supporter of a stronger national social safety net, a higher minimum wage, more active laws against racial and religious discrimination, greater respect for individual civil liberties, support for labor unions, liberalized marriage laws, and greater centralization. The Opposition were the Conservative Democrats who more or less believed the exact opposite, although there was a basic societal consensus within both parties willing kept themselves which Morgan had no compunction describing as "roughly Rawlsian with certain concessions to national tradition." She noted that the modern Danaan Government, while having deep roots in history, could not really be described as democratic or as a modern unified nationstate until 1990 with Agwenian Edicts and did not fully blossom into its current until the Constitution of 2006, a document which she seemed to consider groundbreaking. She also clarified that she was not a Danaan Princess but a Grand Duchess in her home country and that her title of Imperial Princess came from her marriage to Prince Constantine. Moreover, Morgan seemed quite willing to answer any specific questions Uncle Noel might have about any of this.

Uncle Noel politely listened to everything that Princess Morgan told him, and asked some astute questions about the current political regime in the Kingdom. Two points, however, raised themselves in his mind and, as the journey progressed, he became more confident in asking them.
“Two questions are foremost in my mind,” he said stroking his beard slightly, “First, it strikes me that the Danaan Kingdom must be a tremendously difficult place to govern efficiently. There are so many smaller kingdoms, duchies, baronies with a myriad of different languages and faiths. You can be the local Hindu Earl, speaking the local language, and yet still swear fealty to the High King in Tarana. Not that I am criticizing, however, more observing that there must be some manner of organisation for national governance, and some manner of loyalty that transcends both race, religion and language. Such lessons, judging by the current state of the world, that the rest of us could well learn.
The second, if I mat be so bold as to ask it, relates to the Shattering. Though, undoubtedly, many people have lost friends and neighbours that they loved and respected, the disappearance of the fae class has returned Owain and his kin to the throne and returned mankind to a position of political dominance. What do you, as an observer of these events, think of them? Is this a bright new future or a terrible bereavement? I ask, not out of spite, but out of curiosity for a place that seems so very different from my own land.”

Morgan was frankly aghast at Uncle Noel's first question, not only because of what it said about her nation but because it showed that he had apparently not been listening to what she just said after all. She breathed in deeply for a moment and counted to ten in her head to subdue the offense that she did not especially hide. Then, since she was talking to a Chief of State, she took the blame on herself. "I'm sorry, Your Excellency, I don't think I explained clearly just now. There is not a way in which we organize countless independent counts and barons and dukes with power over local communities. We don't have them. I have only heard of them in history books. In fact, Danaan aristocrats have much fewer special privileges and authorities locally and nationally than Pantocratorian ones. Crimes committed against Peers of the Resurgent Dream do not carry harsher penalties. The right to own a firearm is not reserved to the nobility. There are a number of other differences. Except as regards their title and their position at court as such, aristocrats have no special legal rights in the Resurgent Dream. And our national language is English. There are probably less than two dozen very rural and isolated municipalities, mostly Amish although I've heard of some in Selinia, where English is not the language of almost all day to day communication. And, even in those places, you'd be very hard pressed to find a native born Danaan who doesn't speak it. It is true that the Resurgent Dream has a federal monarchy with certain princes filling the role of constitutional monarchs in individual principalities with their own parliaments and constitutional authority over certain areas of life. However, government at all levels in the Resurgent Dream is democratic, either through the parliamentary constitutional monarchy of the nation and the principalities or the direct election of mayors at the municipal level. The relation among the levels of government is clearly delineated by a written constitution and consists essentially of what theorists of federalism in the United States, Switzerland, Australia, and other places refer to as vertical integration. Any statute of a principality which contradicts or attempts to prevent enforcement of any properly passed statute of the Resurgent Dream is simply and automatically null and void. While there seem to be a number of myths abroad that the Resurgent Dream is radically decentralized or even feudal in structure, there is no truth to it. Danaans often cannot even recognize their country in these accounts. As to your other question, history will be the judge of it. I lost a lot of friends in the lost two years. I have no interest in looking on the bright side of events as yet."

"Federations are the most complicated democracies..." Constantine intervened, hoping to slightly shift the conversation to be on general terms, and therefore less charged. "When you look at the modern federations, the United States of Allanea, the Confederation of Sovereign States, Menelmacari America, the Danaan High Kingdom, and others I'm sure, all of them complicated democracies to be sure, I think the Resurgent Dream stands out as the greatest of them all, combining dozens of different cultural heritages into one modern nation. Of course, it's a young democracy as well, but I believe it will prove to be a robust one."

Morgan was frankly aghast at Uncle Noel's first question, not only because of what it said about her nation but because it showed that he had apparently not been listening to what she just said after all. She breathed in deeply for a moment and counted to ten in her head to subdue the offense th...Danaans often cannot even recognize their country in these accounts. As to your other question, history will be the judge of it. I lost a lot of friends in the lost two years. I have no interest in looking on the bright side of events as yet."
"Madam," said Uncle Noel finally, after a few moments of silence, "It appears that I have blundered into areas that are still emotion, and for that I apologise. Of course, the loss of friends is a great tragedy and it was flippant to make light of it. And you must excuse my provincial knowledge of the world, but I hope that the openening-up of the Fiefdom will put such rumours to rest, with my people at the very least."
The old man, of course, had realised full-well the emotional minefield into which he had strayed. It was only by confronting difficult questions that, both dialetically and personally, progression was made.

"Federations are the most complicated democracies..." Constantine intervened, hoping to slightly shift the conversation to be on general terms, and therefore less charged. "When you look at the modern federations, the United States of Allanea, the Confederation of Sovereign States, Menelmacari America, the Danaan High Kingdom, and others I'm sure, all of them complicated democracies to be sure, I think the Resurgent Dream stands out as the greatest of them all, combining dozens of different cultural heritages into one modern nation. Of course, it's a young democracy as well, but I believe it will prove to be a robust one."

"You are quite right Your Imperial Highness," replied the Dictator, "And it is the bridging of such gaps that makes the Resurgent Dream such a remarkable example. The land in which I live was, when I was a boy, subject to terrible race riots and suspicision. I have, I hoped, put an end to such things but naturally am interested in how others deal with it."

There was a few moments of silence as the car carried the three across a morning in Adrienpole. Uncle Noel, realising that he had started the previous conversations, decided to let the young couple opposite him do the talking until they reached the Town Hall.

*Uncle Noel fell asleep in the silence of the car.*

When the cars arrived at town hall, they found the city councillors waiting for them, right arrayed in their finest suits and badges of office, with the civic cabinet all wearing fairly self-important gold chains around their necks. A curious crowd had gathered around behind the police barriers, wondering what the dictator of the country famous for how little was known of it to the outside world looked like, and of course always eager to see their own royals. The council attendants opened the car doors for each vehicle in turn, the large delegation dismounting to be presented to yet another tediously long line of political functionaries, and into the council chambers themselves for afternoon tea and a brief rest before catching the train to New Rome. There was space enough in the council chambers for five members of Uncle Noel's delegation and five members of the Pantocratorian delegation - Prince Constantine and Princess Morgan, the Mayor of Adrienople, Treasurer Isabelle Folquet, and the Archbishop of Adrienople.

Morgan had been thinking of how to respond to Uncle Noel's inquiry, which, if less offensive than his last one, was still rather complicated, when they arrived at the town hall. Morgan smiled at the crowd, gave a delicate wave and made eye contact with one or two people as she took her husband's arms, greeted the tedious dignitaries and headed inside for tea.

Uncle Noel had made no further comment to Princess Morgan. She was, he concluded, a decent person overall, though somewhat prone to over-emotion. His questions had, he had concluded to himself, been both reasonable and in no particular way offensive, and yet they had provoked a wholly disproportionate response. The Dear Leader concluded that it must be due to the fact that she was, ultimately, a class enemy. Oh decent enough, but one couldn’t deny that she was still an aristocrat and therefore no vanguard of the proletariat.
‘Though,’ thought the Dear Leader to himself, ‘Danaan nobles are by no means the worse sort, dialectically speaking’ (Not realising that thinking to yourself does not necessarily preclude the term ‘speaking’)
The worse, of course, were those nobles that attempted to wrap themselves in a sort of pseudo-socialism that sort to mask the true credentials of the aristocracy. The current ‘class enemy’ of this sort, of course, was Princess Christiana of Excalbia. The Dear Leader had nothing against the woman individually, but was enraged about her reactions on the last Rent Day in New Constantinople.
“No one denies,” he had thundered in a televised speech a few days after the event, “That Rent Day was a open sore upon the working classes of the Empire [of Pantocratoria]. A heinous and visious assault upon the dignity of the proletariat.
Yet the ointment for this wound is seems almost as bad. For a woman of wealth and power to wrap herself in sackcloth in an attempt to ‘empathise’ with the suffering of others, this is an affront to the all those struggling to fulfil the Marxist-Leninist State. At least in the Empire the nobles act like such, for then we can all see what they are like and how they act. But these new aristocrats hide themselves behind charity associations and good-sounding words, fooling the People into believing that they are one of them. Aristocrats are not part of the Body Politic, not part of the People’s Republic and only when they are smashed can true freedom emerge…[continue for several hours more}.”
Uncle Noel therefore resolved that Princess Morgan would be removed from any Christmas card list he had any intention of drawing up. Not that he did.
The limousine pulled up and Uncle Noel left the car without another word. He did the usual ‘visiting dignity’ routine. He politely made the usual greetings, exchanged pleasantries with the more important of the assembled officials. He also made the usual vacuous comments such people expected about his home country. Information about the weather, the climate, main crops, that sort of thing. He avoided politics, these were the loyal foot soldiers of an Imperial Regime and therefore not the people who wanted to discuss product-alienation and worldwide revolution, but he also realised that there is one question that they all wanted to know. ‘Was the Fiefdom really that odd?’. None of them asked it, of course (being far too polite), but the Dear Leader did realise that it probably lay on most people’s minds in Pantocratoria. It was the same when Princess Helen visited, all those years ago. Most people in the Fiefdom believed that the Empire was some sort of Disney Land-Monarchist Theme Park, all castles, nobles and equestrian statues. He assumed that the Empire probably thought the same about the Fiefdom, except with red flags and beatings.
The Dear Leader took only Trevor and Malinal into the small chamber, leaving his nieces to mingle with the local officials. Mycroft Parr made a grimace, obviously thinking that alone with the Pantocratorians made the ideal opportunity for an assassination, but the Uncle left him outside. He was far too cold and calculating a man to be involved in a social situation.

While the local officials made small talk with Uncle Noel's nieces, and tried to judge whether the Fiefdom really was as odd as they all believed it to be on the basis of the people with whom they were conversing, inside the room, some waiters offered the assembled dignitaries their choice of tea, coffee, juice, fruits, cakes and biscuits. As they moved about the room, the conversation began in earnest.

"The Chancellor is looking forward to meeting you, Your Excellency." Folquet began, taking a cup of coffee. "We've been hoping for more diplomatic engagement between Pantocratoria and the Fiefdom..."

What the Government really wanted of course was for the Fiefdom to open up to the world at large, and for a process of peaceful, gradual democratisation to begin. Sure, Uncle Noel had been and still was a dictator, but he was an old man now, an old man seemingly intent on building real diplomatic ties with other nations, chief amongst which was Pantocratoria. Thibault Drapeur had always believed that diplomatic engagement was the best way to ensure peace and prosperity. If Pantocratoria could be reformed peacefully into a modern democracy, then the Pantocratorian Socialist Alliance reasoned that so could the Fiefdom, or indeed, any country. Perhaps this old man would open up his country a little and leave it to moderates when he was gone, moderates who would soften the country's previous hard-line.

"The Chancellor is looking forward to meeting you, Your Excellency." Folquet began, taking a cup of coffee. "We've been hoping for more diplomatic engagement between Pantocratoria and the Fiefdom..."



'And other things I am sure,' thought the Dear Leader to himself. The Great Comrade suspected that the Socialist Chancellor ultimately desired a Fiefdom that was, to quote a term from the international press, a 'responsible member of the community of nations'. This, the old man realised, was a rather polite way of saying that they hoped to transform the Fiefdom into a nation similar to themselves.
The Dear Leader's succession plans were, of course, highly secretive. Beyond such talk, the Dictator hoped that medical science would keep him going for at least another decade, maybe even two. The fruit of the Revolution, after all, was the best healthcare money could buy.
It was ironic, in some senses, that the Great Comrade sat in an antechamber here. On the outside, the Fiefdom and the Empire had very little in common. They had different demographics, different traditions and, other than the traditional Mexica faith, the largest demonination on the island were the Anglicans. Even the Uncle was, himself, an Anglican. Yet, all those years ago, they had found each other across the oceans and, while they had developed in different directions, each nation had possessed a manner of friendship with the other that transcended formal treatries. Though a formal treaty would be nice.
It was also here that the Uncle hoped to shed some light on the Fiefdom of the future. It would not be nessecarily what Thibault Drapeur, or what Sarah Sacker or even Lord Halton, wanted, but it was as far as the old man could go in fitting the square peg of an open, liberal democracy into the round hole of the Marxist-Leninist theory.
"Thank you Madam," said the Dear Leader taking his own cup of tea, "It has been a key strategy of my country to establish better relations with the wider world and to play a more.....responsible role in the international community. Foremost, of course, with the Holy and Most August Empire. The International Community faces so many challenges in these recent days that it is meet and right that the Serene People's Democratic Fiefdom pulls her weight too."

Folquet noted the Dictator's answers with some satisfaction. It was the rhetoric of diplomatic engagement rather than diplomatic isolationism, and she was sure it could only indicate that the discussions between Drapeur and Uncle Noel would be fruitful and productive.

For his part, Constantine found himself paying more attention to the man himself than his words. He knew the niceties being exchanged at this point were the diplomatic equivalent of smalltalk, and fully expected Uncle Noel to be agreeable to some sort of formal and at least semi-permanent diplomatic engagement with the outside world - why else would this state visit even be taking place? Instead, then, he was more interested in assessing Uncle Noel as a man. It was a curious thing, comparing a (nominally) proletarian dictator to the sorts of nobles, princes, kings, and emperors Constantine had observed over the years. Both exercised a good deal of political power, although one had taken that power for himself and the other had been born to it, and Constantine was interested in whether there was a qualitative difference between the two sorts of men.

Despite Mycroft Parr's reservations, there were no assassinations throughout the whole time in the council chambers, and before long the delegation was at the train station, suitably decorated for the occassion of a state visit, boarding the train for New Rome.

Uncle Noel was pleased when the official train rolled out of Adrienpole. He was sure that the place was decent enough, but he had never intended to visit the city, having been assured by the Foreign Ministry that the river to New Rome was deep enough to allow large sea-going vessels. These people would soon be seeking alternative employment, the Dear Leader would see to that upon his return.
It was also nice to move away from the Empire's provinces. Small talk there would be about the weather, crops, that sort of bland conversation that people do when they have no idea what to talk about. New Rome, on the other hand, was the beating heart of the Empire. Conversation there, he was sure, would be of an altogether higher calibre, with more in the way of socio-politicial consequences on the world stage.
The Dear Leader did relatively little on the journey itself. He looked over his speech to the Imperial Parliament on more time, changing sections as required. He also glanced over a few Fiefdom newspapers that were provided to him. In particular he noted the Fiefdom Pravda's coverage of the gas attack in Deasrargle, and the amount of coverage given to the views of one Oswald Spode. The Dear Leader had met Spode only a few times, and noted that the increasingly relaxed approach to media laws had allowed any manner of nonsense to be published. Spode, despite the recent easing of tensions, had called for a two-state solution to be enacted within the Kingdom. The Uncle, being out the country, had distanced himself from the comments. Mind you, at least (being a visiting Head of State) he would not have to face that awful Virginie Merlot. She seemed to have a rather 'interesting' view of journalism, even by the Fiefdom's standards.
The Dear Leader also read through the Pantocratorian Newspapers and noted, with a pang of vainity, that his visit did not seem to be mentioned. Though, this could have been due to the general secrecy of his country/regime. Perhaps a Fiefdom Cultural Centre would be an apt addition to his nation's presence in the Empire.
The spires of New Rome soon emerged over the horizon, much to the excitement of the diplomatic mission. Uncle Noel decided to dispense with his military uniform and instead adopted a charcoal-gray Zhongshan suit (or Mao Suit, as it was commonly known in the West). Instead of the vast array of medals, the Dear Leader chose simply his ribbons for the Order of Lenin and the Order of Kim Sung-Il. As the train pulled to stop at the main station, the Great Comrade prepared himself and stepped off the carriage into the hazy light of a sunny day in Pantocratorian winter.

OOC: Is it possible to start a quick sidethread that jumps forward to the news conference? I was going to make a sweeping statement and am eager to get it out the way.

OOC: Whoa! Two sets of double posts! The only reason Uncle Noel's visit hasn't been in the newspapers from the Finara crisis is that in my mind the timing of these two threads was quite a way apart when those headlines in the Finara thread were written. As for jumping forward to the news conference, where does that slot into the overall state visit time line? It might make more sense to simply move things forward to that if we're not skipping anything of substance.

OOC: Woah, a huge double posting diaster there!
Lol, I wasn't complaining about the Finaran incident/newspaper headlines. Just thought I'd 'throw that up' in case you wanted to run with it.
Point taken on the press conference.

IC: Uncle Noel viewed the scene before him. He descended from the train and made his way to the limousine/welcoming delegation (delete as applicable).