NationStates Jolt Archive

Vigvar State Documents Typography
and
The Shakhovskoy Fund
in conjunction with
Stanislavov-Zalesskiy Auction House

hereby present

“Mystery of Goddess”

The Vigvar State Documents Typography and the Shakhovskoy Fund proudly present the culmination of the latest project of Archduchess Vethara of Taraskovya (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Vethara_Shakhovskaya) up for the present auction. Five exemplaries of the very first edition of the “Mystery of Goddess” album shall be put up. More details on the items can be found below.

The “Mystery of Goddess” album features high quality artistic lingerie photographs of beautiful women coming from Taraskovya and the entire world. Women that shape our livelihood, appearing from screens and newspapers, whose voices and faces are loved by many and whose deeds are admired by all, now reveal themselves in a more private setting. Far from being perverse, the album allows for an artistic representation of those beautiful suns that illuminate our lives with their shine. Representatives of royal and noble families, media celebrities, political leaders – famous women from every trade came together for the album, which is aimed at aiding the victims of the Aphyr Conflict and the consequent Time of Troubles that shook the nation for eight long years. All models have volunteered for the project and are not doing it in interests of personal enrichment, but out of a desire to aid those in distress.

Taraskovya is well represented with Archduchess Vethara, the initiator of the album and the woman loved and admired by all Taraskovyans for her kindness and passion in serving her country. Dragica Liubenova, the young and charismatic leader of the Liberal Socialist Party, has also volunteered for the project, as did the popular Taraskovyan actress Elena Orlova and news anchor Neltha Tal-Nash. Vailphi Zauaphin, a fervent servant of her adoptive country and the concubine of His Royal Highness the Grand Duke, has also took part in the album.

Angelina Ormond, ambassador of the Tartarian Empire to Vigvar, managed to convince the Tartarian Foreign Office to allow her to take part in her noble quest to aid the less fortunate Taraskovyans.

Taurevanimë Nossë Nolofinwë, Taurenor’s Forest Queen, is also on the team and is featuring prominently amongst the models. Another head of state to be on the team is none else than Lady Lirella Meraia Keral (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Lirella_Keral), the Kajali Imperatrix and head of state of the Four Worlds of Kajal.

Despite the conservative sentiments in such matters of the Pantocratorian Imperial Family, the Daughter of the Pantocratorian Opposition Leader and Imperial Princess, Countess Helen of Adrienople (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Helen_Capet) volunteered to pose for the album. Another famous Pantocratorian woman to pose is Virginie Merlot (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Virginie_Merlot), known in Taraskovya as a talented reporter for Peacock Daily News.

Samara Neja (http://www.necrontyr.plus.com/sam.htm), Vicereine of the C'tan Holdings on Mars, is the person with whom the Grand Duchy maybe deals the most on the official level in the Necrontyr Empire, comes to present a side of the Empire less known to the Taraskovyans, that of openness and readiness to help.

Several Danaan celebrities answered the call, namely Olympic figure skating champion Diantha Palamas. Member of Parliament Gwynhavar Davies, supermodel Maile Obama and movie star Elizabeth Madison, fresh out of her latest block buster, also made the trip to Vigvar to take part in the album.

Princess Katherine Alderman, daughter of Empress Friedelinde of Valinon, came to represent the final burial of axes between the Grand Duchy and the United Star Empire. The two states having shared quite a period of enmity now work together and, it seems, in all imaginable fields.

Alysanndra Aliria Ellestrea, the beautiful lady-empress of Roania, graced the album with her presence. And so did Kigari Waters, former First Lady, and Sakura Akanimara, Vice President, both from Tiburon, hailing from the country which became a Taraskovyan ally recently.

All in all, it is a fine company of beautiful women that came together for the album in order to attract the attention of the Taraskovyan public to the plight of some of its own less fortunate members. Some will qualify this album of obscene, others will find it marvelous, but what we offer you is a true work of art that shall take a fine place amongst any collection.

[OOC: Just in case, the order is entirely random. :p Oh, and some of the names have links to character profile pages.]


Auction Rules

The auction shall take place at the Stanislavov-Zalesskiy Auction House, 7 Northern Bank Street, Capital City of Vigvar. Five items are for sale. The buyers or their representatives are to be present physically at the auction in order to be able to place the bids.

The starting price of each of the five items shall be of 200’000 Taraskovyan franks. All potential buyers or their representatives are to register with the Stanislavov-Zalesskiy Auction House at least six hours before the start of the auction and are to deposit a guarantee of 200’000 Taraskovyan Franks.

Each of the items shall be auctioned off separate, one by one. Minimum step between bids is 5% of the value of the previous bid. All bids are to be in Taraskovyan Franks.

All funds generated by the sale shall go to the Shakhovskoy Fund’s aid programs. The participants in the project are not in it for financial gain.

All of the five items are quasi-identical, featuring hand made silver covers. The prints are exquisite quality made of the Vigvar State Documents Typography’s trademark paper that preserves and protects the quality of the image against damage (such as water or acid). The paper eliminates light blinks in case of direct illumination to allow for the viewing of the picture under all angles vis-à-vis of the light source. Each photo print is accompanied with a personal address by the model, as well as an authentic autograph. The sole difference between the five albums is, in fact, the autographs as each naturally defers slightly from its predecessors.

Each album is accompanied with a collector’s edition book containing the history of Taraskovya during the Aphyr Conflict (known locally as the Plague) and of the Time of Troubles. Comprehensive information about the civil war, the following period of political uncertainty, the stories of those who fought and survived – all this and much, much more is in the book.

A preview of the prints included in the albums is available at the servers of the Stanislavov-Zalesskiy Auction House, of the Vigvar State Documents Typography and of the Shakhovskoy Fund.



[OOC: Thread Rules:

1) The Auction House’s hall dedicated for this auction is big, comfy and spiffy. After all, it is intended to be for the high society. Oh, and 1 Taraskovyan Frank is sort of 1,5 USD equivalent.

2) No need to RP the register, just start bidding right ahead and I’ll consider you as registered. However, I do not want lousy numbers-only bids in the likes of “I bid XXXXXXXX franks!” No. Your characters are present at the auction, so you can always RP at least two-three lines of text per post. Their feelings, their reactions… use your imagination.

3) Stemming out of 2), if you do not feel like providing at least a minimum effort to the thread, just don’t post. I have provided quite an effort for it, I don’t want to see it ruined.

4) I don’t want to see any multi-billion bids popping out of nowhere. As such, keep the steps reasonable.

5) No terrorism, assassinations, whatever. Standard Taraskovyan rules apply: no firearms. Cold weapons are peace bonded to their hilts or equivalents of thereof. The breaking of the bond shall see the hall swarm with security personnel before you have the time to say: “No wai haxx”

6) Since it is pretty much impossible to RP a normal auction, due to the very notion of the boards delayed reaction and posting, just feel free to place bids even if I am not doing the spiffy “X franks one! X franks two!” line.

7) And just when you thought this was just another text thread, well, not really. I have made some pictures for you. Yep. Now, obviously, they are hand drawn and white and black, while in the IC album they’re very coloured and very photo-quality.
So, here goes the preview:
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v77/Namellar/Drawings/VethaS.jpg (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v77/Namellar/Drawings/UndiesVetha.jpg) http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v77/Namellar/Drawings/LinaS.jpg ( http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v77/Namellar/Drawings/Lina.jpg) http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v77/Namellar/Drawings/HelenS.jpg (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v77/Namellar/Drawings/Helen.jpg)

Archduchess Vethara Shakhovskaya | Ambassador Angelina Ormond | Princess Helen Capet
Obviously, all intellectual property rights apply. And I have a SIG-550 at home and I know how to use it. Consider yerselves warned. Not that I see anyone using drawings shot with a crappy digital camera anyway.
This one is not my work, obviously, but supplied by Roania and posted none the less: Alysanndra Aliria Ellestrea (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v77/Namellar/Drawings/Alysanndra.jpg) All intellectual property rights apply, but no idea whether the artist has an army assault rifle at home.
I poked the mods in #themodcave before posting; Salusa said this warranted a PG-13. So, hence the tag in the title.

Well, I guess that is all for now. Let’s see how this all comes out. Those who thought this thread is just about panties are totally wrong. It is actually a fine intrigue by the Archduchess who is playing on her compatriots’ xenophobia and disdain for foreigners. She is hitting them hard on this one to force them to pay more attention to victims of the Plague and Time of Troubles =)

~Jester]

Representing Peacock Daily News at the auction were Sir Thierry del Moray, Chief Executive Officer of Peacock Holdings Group (the parent company of Peacock Daily News), with one of the ladies featured in the calendar, the lovely Virginie Merlot herself, as his escort. The pair were there as much to add to the publicity of the calendar (and therefore Peacock Daily News) as they were to attempt to purchase one of the first edition prints. Sir Theirry wore a splendid tuxedo decorated with his badge of the Order of the Pantocrator, but even with all that shining silver on his chest, nobody's eyes were on him, but on the beautiful woman next to him wearing an extremely chic evening gown which left her shoulders and almost all her back bare.

Virginie Merlot had first been told about the album by her manager, and was initially dubious. "Won't this compromise my image as a journalist unafraid to ask the hard questions?" she had asked, seemingly unaware that nobody really regarded her as much of a journalist anyway. Her manager had allayed her fears, however, explaining that it was for a good cause and besides, think of all the publicity!

When the bidding began, Sir Thierry was one of the first bidders, getting the ball rolling at 220,000 Francs. He hoped to see the calendars go for as much as possible - the more money, the bigger the story, after all. As a consequence he had come mainly to bid the price up, although that said, he wouldn't mind at all if he won one of the prints, already envisioning some sort of competition or charitable donation to attract even more interest in Peacock Daily News' most valuable asset.

Prince Raphael had been leafing through the newspapers when an article in an international publication caught his eye. "Interesting, a celebrity lingerie book being sold at auction. Think I'd like to pick up a copy and my finances should take a large hit, especially if our most recent album does as well as it's suppose to." He commented to himself as he made up his mind to go bid on the book.

After catching a plane and arriving at the auction hall, he took a seat and placed his initial bid of 235,000 franks. After bidding, he headed to the bar to get something to drink as he wanted something refreshing while he waited to see who'd contest him.

Diantha Palamas and both of her fellow Danaan competitors for women's individual figure skating were being escorted by bidders tonight. Hurling was the most popular spectator sport in the Resurgent Dream, a rough, rugged, manly affair. It was also the most common sport for men to participate in. Among women, the most popular sport was Association football, milder than hurling but still fairly fierce. So it was hard to explain the way that the Danaan people, used to rougher sports, were so regularly captivated by their lady representatives in any and all international figure skating competitions. The degree of that captivation was shown by the gentlemen escorting the three young women tonight.

Diantha Palamas, Olympic gold medalist, was a shy, devoutly Orthodox girl from a small town in Bilbtoria. The Danaan people, and perhaps some foreigners, knew from the television news that she had been hesitant not only about appearing in her underwear but even about initially appearing on the ice in the skimpy outfits her sport is known for and had gone to get the ok from her priest first. Tonight she was dressed in an elegant but modest verdent gown with gold lining and was escorted by no lesser personage than His Most Esteemed Highness, Paul, Prince of Bilbtoria, dressed in a Danaan Army Colonel's uniform.

Sarah Chertok, the glamorous, sophisticated girl from the gleaming metropolis of Solomon, Selinia, had been initially favored among the Danaan skaters. She had been a national icon, a status she had promptly lost with Palamas's victory. Still, her reputation was still such that she was attending tonight on the arm of Jarah Cohen, the oldest son of the Mayor of Solomon.

Bara Sahlu, the spunky gril from Carasia, was escorted by Sir Daniel Shiferaw, a prominent gentleman of the court from her home principality and a quite wealthy landowner. Sahlu wore a white gown which accented her dark skin and Shiferaw wore formal white tie attire.

Lionel Franks struggled not to yawn. Blah, blah, blah. Nobles, nobles, and more nobles. Uppity foreigners, one and all. He knew exactly what his boss wanted, and he was here to get it – no matter that he would have to tolerate the distasteful, barbarian people around him for it. For f*cksake, there’s a Pantocratorian in the crowd! Have these people no shame?

Regardless, for some strange reason, his boss wanted one of these albums, and his boss would get them – if this tie didn’t strangle faithful Lionel, first. Mr. Nivensky wants the album, and he will get the album.

At least Mr. Nivensky had the brains of not attending this house of filth himself. Franks rose up and spoke.

“On behalf of Mr. Kevin Nivensky, CEO, Allanean Arms, I place a bid of 275,000 Taraskovyan Franks.”

An agent from Stuart Enterprises, Queen Mariah I of Jeruselem's personal company, was there. Queen Mariah sent her agents all round the NS world to find auction items of interest to add to her already large personal collection. The auction in Tarasovka had her interested and she sent one of her Hebrew relatives to secure the auction item. The main interest was the image of Alysanndra Aliria Ellestrea of Roania.

Shazza Silverstein dressed in plain business suite and looked impassive as the bidding started. She placed a bid of 290,000 Taraskovyan Franks without fuss while monitoring her mobile phone for instructions from her boss. She looked around at the crowd, it was full of rivals which like herself had money on tap from their bosses.

Auction Hall

“The latest bid is at two hundred ninety thousand franks.” The auctioneer said with a grin. “Two hundred and ninety thousand fransk for this marvelous album.”

“Three hundred and ten!” Came a call from the hall, from nobody else than Iliya Strogorodskiy, a famous Taraskovyan collector of arts. He was known for his apparently unlimited lust after everything that presented artistic value. Yet he was only after paintings and, recently, photographs, so no wonder he immediately registered with the Auction House to take part in the event.

“And the latest bid becomes three hundred and ten thousand franks,” the auctioneer corrected the earlier statement, awaiting an other bid to rival the 310’000 Taraskovyan Franks offered by Strogorodskiy.



Bar

The auction house, of course, featured a restaurant and a bar; everything executed and decorated in classic style to allow for a comfortable place where to have a drink or a chat.

“Do you desire anything special…” the barman hit something behind the stand with his finger tips and in a second looked back at Prince Raphael. “… Your Highness?”

"Do you carry vidal blanc ice wine?" He asked with a slight raise of his eye at the titular address. He wondered if the man knew of him from his musical career or from some other source. He heard the bidding rise and made a note to head over to raise the stakes to a respectable 330,000 Franks after he'd gotten his drink. "If not, a ginger ale would be appreciated."

Georges Poincaré, bookstore and café owner, lobbyist, businessmen, failed writer, Radical Bas-Poitou politician, international arms dealer, illegal dualist, and former Mayor of the city of Challans (Ancien Maire de Challans), sat at his table, quietly observing the proceedings and waiting for the right time to jump in. Poincaré was a 38 year old solidly built five foot eleven inch mustachioed man with broad shoulders, dark brown hair, and curiously slanted brown eyes. He wore a simple black three piece suit with matching ascot tie.

Now…

Georges raised his hand. “I bid 350,000 Taraskovyan Franks.”

Poincaré did not expect to win anything for two reasons. First, although he had attended countless auctions, he had never bought anything at them, ever! Second, he was between ventures and simply did not have any money to spare. However, none of that mattered to the South Amestrian.

What obsessively drew Georges to auctions was not what was offered but simply the event itself. In Amestria he had become particularly well known for attending events, exorbitantly bidding up items, picking fights, challenging fellow participants to “affairs of honor,” and ultimately purchasing nothing. The Amestrian Auction House Association (the AAHA) in fact had banned the former Mayor several years ago from all Amestrian auctions “for life.” Fortunately for him, word of that unpleasant fact had not reached the Stanislavov-Zalesskiy Auction House to spoil his evening.

He was accompanied by his lovely 32 year old sister, Sophie Poincaré. Sophie sat across from her brother wearing a simple, elegant little black dress. She shared her brother’s dark brunette hair (which she had up), but not his fierce demeanor or his eyes, hers being a light green.

"What do you think, 350,000 Franks sounds like a price likely to attract a good deal of publicity, don't you think, Virginie?" Sir Thierry remarked quietly to his companion.

"How much is that in ducats?" Virginie Merlot asked. "?380,000?"

"About that, yes, a little more I think." Sir Thierry nodded. "Quite a price."

Vladimir Borisovitch Kalininov, the Chief Financial Officer of Samizdat Corporation (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Samizdat_Corporation) of Kahanistan, entered the auction. He was an older man, probably in his 70's, but still strong, possibly he took care of himself, even if he was starting to gain weight.

Kalininov was not the typical Kahanistanian socialist; while he did give heavily to the poor, he still liked to live high on the hog, and avoided fatherhood and the accompanying responsibilities. The businessman sat down and placed his bid.

"425,000 francs."

Franks raised his eyebrows, and then thought for a second of his boss, Mr. Nivensky. He thought of last seeing the man, standing without a shirt, working next to the common workers of Allanean Arms, shovel in hand, on the building of the immense Allanean Canal.

He thought of Mr. Nivensky’s wedding, in a freshly conquered Edolian city – why, the bodies of Red Guard were not even yet collected from the streets when Nivensky took Julia Van Gent before an Army Chaplain standing across the street from the burning Axackal Communist Party headquarters.

He thought of Mr. Nivensky as a child, studying Latin, Edoliani, and Quenya under his direction, learning to waltz and shoot a rifle, becoming an adult.

And now some communist sod would outbid Mr. Nivensky!


No.

“460,000 francs.”

Poincaré smiled knowingly. “I reckon things are about to get very interesting. Look around, more then a few Leviathans a-fixin to take home a prize.”

Sophie nodded. “The price has more then doubled rather quickly…a lot of money being freely chucked around.”

Georges began to get up. “I’m going over to the bar, want me to get you anything?”

Sophie shook her head. “Not at the moment.”

“Suit yourself.”

Poincaré leisurely walked over to the bar, signaled the barman, and pronounced his order in heavily accented English.

“I’ll have a De Calais Amestrian Chocolate Crème Liqueur* on ze rocks.”


*OOC: De Calais Amestrian Chocolate Cream Liqueur is a sweet-tasting liqueur made of Amestrian chocolate, cream and vodka.

De Calais can be consumed with ice (on the rocks), or it can be mixed in a chocolate martini cocktail or added to coffee/hot chocolate.


De Calais Cocktail Recipes (for future reference):

Chocolate Dream Martini: Shake 2 oz of Chocolate Cream Liqueur and 1 oz of vodka with shaved chocolate. Garnish with cocoa bean or stemmed cherry. Add half-and-half or milk for a Chocolate Dream Martini.

Chocolate Hazelnut: Combine 2 oz of Chocolate Cream Liqueur with 1 oz of Frangél. Serve on the rocks, garnish with an Orange wedge.

Café Cream: Add 1.5 oz of Chocolate Cream Liqueur to 1 cup fresh, hot coffee or ice coffee. Top with whipped cream and shaved chocolate.

Frozen Mudslide: Combine 1 oz of Chocolate Cream Liqueur with 1 oz of vodka and 1 oz of Kàhlúa. Blend with ice until smooth and serve in a tall, chilled glass.

The next Danaan couple to arrive had no direct connection to the models but every connection to riches. Laban Liberman, in all his balding, muscular, finely dressed glory, was without a question the wealthiest private individual in the Resurgent Dream. His fortune easily dwarfed that of Prince Paul, the other most prominent Danaan in the room. It even dwarfed the private wealth of the High King. On his arm was a woman who, next to any other man, would have been considered a brilliant scientist and wealthy businesswoman in her own right, Valentine Cabal. Her fortune didn’t even compare with her escort’s. Still, she moved with the confidence of an Empress, her icy blue eyes quietly seeking out familiar faces and memorizing strange ones. As the two settled into their chair, Liberman raised his placard. “500,000 Franks.”

Valéria Arquenís watched with some detached interest as her recently drained goblet was slowly refilled via the bottle of a splendid vintage cabernet sauvignon; the dark, blood-red wine swirling around the edges of her sparkling glass as it was carefully poured out of a bottle by an immaculately attired attendant. Wearing an elegant and highly fashionable, full length, cerulean-coloured gown of lavish silk taffeta fabric and with stylishly-tailored décolleté neckline, Ms Arquenís seemed to be a lady entirely in her element. Though she maintained a reservedly dignified demeanour, the Xirniumite was, in fact, quite enjoying herself.

The chief financial officer, and a senior member of the board of directors, of a large and well known Xirniumite transnational finance corporation called the Celanil Mercantile Futures Group, Valéria’s current presence at the Stanislavov-Zalesskiy Auction House was but the latest manifestation of her company’s highly progressive, and (for strategic public relations reasons) widely publicised, corporate social responsibility ethic. In addition to being the Celanil Group’s finance director, Ms Arquenís was also a chartered professional accountant with a master’s degree in business administration from the prestigious University of Naèräth. Valéria’s business was a multinational conglomerate of what had once been a number of diverse speculating and hedging firms (the largest of which could trace its distant origins to a spin-off of the historically famed Xirniumite West India Trading Company). Many years of successful involvement in the exchange of both futures and options contracts concerning a great variety of different assets, including tangible commodities, currency, bonds and equity, had resulted in a most prosperous and affluent financial institution. For her own part, Valéria had personally benefited quite considerably from her executive position - and several priceless items of gold jewellery that she wore, in addition to her obscenely expensive haute couture high heeled shoes, all hinted at the chief financial officer’s considerable private wealth.

After a few moments of quiet conversation with several other Celanil executives (all of whom, like Valéria, were dressed in their most luxurious finery), the Xirniumite decided to seek out her escort.

‘So has anything interesting happened yet, darling?’ asked Ms Arquenís, whispering to her husband, Fabien Nämbanórn, as she returned to her seat and crossed her slim legs at the knee.

‘Not particularly. The current bid is at half a million Tarasovkan francs, though,’ explained Fabien with a smile.

‘My word, so high already,’ exclaimed the finance director. She took a small sip from her wineglass. ‘But most here are obviously just bidding for the sole purpose of raising the price.’

‘And is that not what you are here to do, as well?’ asked Mr Nämbanórn, raising a curious eyebrow.

‘Certainly more publicity would be generated for Celanil if it purchased the prints for an extravagant charitable donation rather than for a modest one,’ replied Valéria thoughtfully. ‘But mostly I’m just here to enjoy the atmosphere with you,’ indicated the Xirniumite with an amused grin.

Fabien returned his partner’s smile. ‘My dear, your mere tender company is enjoyment enough for me,’ he assured her.

When the auctioneer asked if there were any other bids, Valéria raised a slender, braceleted arm.

‘Five hundred and twenty-five thousand,’ spoke Ms Arquenís nonchalantly.

Raphael had waited while the bartender had searched for his requested potable. After getting the bottle of ice wine and and passing over the money as well as tip, he headed back to the table he'd been sitting at.

Pouring a glass of the pale amber beverage, he looked around to see what the others bidders were involved with. Finding them mostly tied up with internal conversations, he upped the bid, "Five hundred and seventy-five thousand."

He wondered how the other bidders would react to the jump. He wondered if any would drop out and how far the rest would want to go. The aging musician and prince had a bank account that was growing cobwebs and it was for charity afterall.

Auction Hall

“The latest bid for the first out of the five albums is currently at five hundred and seventy five thousand Taraskovyan franks,” the auctioneer resumed the situation.

“Six hundred and five thousand franks,” came a call from Iliya Strogorodskiy. His pockets were wide, his lust was strong and he was determined to get the very first of the albums for himself. He knew he had a totally of five tries to fetch one of the albums, but nothing could ever equal getting the very first piece.


Bar

“One moment, Your Highness,” the bartender said as he hit a couple buttons and then turned around. A portion of the wall behind him slid open, revealing a rather large room with a collection of bottles containing all possible beverages. A servant droid fetched the required bottle and brought it over to the opening and handed it to the bartender.

The bartender himself then nodded, the wall closing as the man turned around and handed the bottle and a glass to Raphael. “No payment needed, Sir. Drinks are on the house.”

“Très certainement, Monsieur,” another bartender was already busy with the Amestrian customer. He arched an eyebrow slightly as he hit something on a screen behind the stand, his face pensive, and then smiled as if he had just remembered something. He then proceeded to prepare the drink and, upon completion, handed the beverage to Poincaré.

However, the Amestrian would not be left alone for now at least as a rather attractive young woman in a dress that highlighted her gorgeous forms, yet hid her entire body, leaving only her shoulders and arms open to view. “Do I have the honour of speaking with Georges Poincaré himself?”

Her tone was friendly and pleasant, yet there was a mischievous spark in her green eyes as she looked at the Amestrian. Waiting for him to reply, she turned to the bartender, her long and voluminous red hair waving a little, and ordered a White Russian.

Poincaré gave the strange woman a friendly smile. "Yes Madame, I am Monsieur Poincaré, L'Ancien Maire de Challans..."

“Six hundred and five thousand franks,” came a call from Iliya Strogorodskiy.

"Excuse me for a momenz."

The South Amestrian turned, raised his right arm, and shouted, in a voice loud enough for the auctioneer to hear, "six hundred and thirty thousand Franks."

Georges then nonchalantly addressed the bartender. "Barman, pen and paper please. Good paper, creamy silk paper."

Poincaré then turned back to the attractive young woman.

"Sorry abouz zhaz," he apologized. "Now, do I have ze pleasure of speaking zo a member of ze press or zo one of zhis fine establishments security operatives?"

Kalininov looked around at the Amestrians. From what he knew of them, he and his corporation were not well liked in Amestria. That was fine, he was no fan of the wealthy noble classes himself. The nobles are all snobs. They think they're superior because of their families.

Eager to deny this rich Amestrian his prize, the older corporate executive raised the ante against the man he thought was a noble snob.

"670,000 francs."

Gwynhavar Davies slipped into the auction hall arm in arm with Lieutenant Peter Arnold of the Danaan Air Force. Miss Davies, a slender redhead in her late twenties, was wearing a ballet gown of light green and a mink stole. A slight smile touched her ruby lips as Arnold helped her to her seat and then took the one beside her. Arnold himself, a rather strapping young blond in full military dress uniform, wore a boyish grin. He was only here as the escort to a bidder and model. He couldn’t believe all the people in the same room with him: Several royals from a variety of nations, Virginie Merlot (she might be a bad reporter but she was quite famous), Olympic gold medalists, and several powerful captains of industry. There was even someone from a place called Kahanistan. Arnold hadn’t heard of it before so he figured it had to be both exotic and beautiful. Unfortunately, there was also some Allanean barbarian, which made any event less pleasant.

“I think we’re late.” Davies said quietly as she tried to catch where the bidding was. “Four prominent patriots from back home and we’re too late to sit next to any of them. I just hope no one gets me mixed up with the other Davies.”

“I doubt anyone will confuse a lovely and intelligent lady with that racist bumpkin.” Arnold said reassuringly. “Besides, we’re not the last ones here. You said all the Danaan participants were coming either as escorts or bidders or just guests. Obama and Madison aren’t even here yet.”

“Too late to have a chance. Liberman’s the only one of our countrymen in the room equal to these odds..” Davies said, turning to glance briefly at the bald business giant.

As if to belie her words, although he was much too far away to hear them, Prince Paul raised his placard. “680,000 franks.”

Liberman followed suit seconds later. “690,000.”

“695,000.” Paul answered.

“696.” Cabal said for herself, not her date. She smiled slightly up at Liberman before moving her gaze around to Paul. There was something in those deep blue eyes that bore watching.

Prince Paul frowned delicately, speaking quietly to Palamas. “I’m glad that this calendar seems to be so desired. You’re the pride of the Resurgent Dream and of Bilbtoria especially.”

Palamas’s olive cheeks turned a slight cherry as shifted in her chair. “That means a lot, Your Highness. I just … I’m not sure I’m worthy of that but it means a lot.”

The Prince nodded before raising his placard one more time. “697,000 francs.”

“700,000!” Liberman called out boisterously, his normally reserved face getting slightly flush with the excitement of the high stakes bidding war, even though, in truth, the stakes were not especially high for him.

“This will go very well for the victims of the tragedy. I’m going to go grab a drink.” Davies said. “I’ll be back in a moment.” Rising casually, she made her way over to the bar, ordering a rum and coke. She leaned slightly, elbow resting on the counter, still standing, as she turned her head to watch events unfold.

Liberman, meanwhile, placed a strong hand gently over Cabal’s softer one. “I really do mean to win this, Valentine. I like … it’s hard to explain … but I like the idea here.”

Lirella was hiding amongst the crowd - or she would, had she not been in the album herself. With her was the current prime minister of Kajal, still the desirable and attractive Derin Kavar. Other Kajali present included holostars, both reknowned and not. Saarel Moyaal, a prominant Kajali actor, was present with his girlfriend of the week, as well as Ilosse Zherka, a rather prominent (If somewhat unknown in Sol) businessman.

Lirella listened as the price for the first album spiralled out of control, and allowed herself a small smile as her countrymen started bickering amongst themselves over bidding.

Abruptly, Zherka raised his placard.

"750,000 francs!"

Ilunaia Keral watched the bidding war with a sort of detached interest from the bar. She hadn't the greatest desire to see her mother in racy lingerie, especially considering that what they had chosen was defined as racy by the Kajali.

Raphael smiled as he watched the two appearent countrymen run through a short little bid war. He also eyeballed the newly arrived and attractive young lady. She kind of reminded him of his older sister, when she'd been younger of course, not in looks but the more undefinable portions that made up who someone was.

As the two finished the bid at seven hundred thousand, he called out, "Seven hundred and fifty thousand." With a mental smirk he took a sip of his wine and cricked his neck. He didn't think he knew any of the bidders, but knew of some of them. He may have been an aging rock star, but he was still a prince afterall and it paid to keep up with world affairs.

Shazza Silverstein looked as the auction bids flew in thick and fast. This was going to be hell of dog-fight but that's what she was here for - the fight and the thrill of the auction bid. No room for wimpy bargain hunters here today, only the richest and most determined would prevail.

She raised the stakes "790,000" without looking even flustered at the ever increasing amount money being thrown around. She would not lose without making an effort.

‘Well, well… this bidding war certainly has become rather heated, hasn’t it?’ remarked Fabien to his lovely wife, a little taken aback by Ms Silverstein’s latest dramatic raise of the ante.

‘It seems to me that there are more than mere album prints at stake here,’ observed Valéria offhandedly, her remarkably intelligent, hazel-eyed gaze drifting from the Danaan Prince to an imposingly built, balding man whom she recognised after a moment’s pensive thought as being the fabulously wealthy Laban Liberman. ‘Both egos and reputations appear to be on the line, as well.’

‘Does such make your objective of bidding for the prize a more difficult one?’ inquired Mr Nämbanórn with interest.

The chief financial officer of the Celanil Mercantile Futures Group frowned slighly as she considered her partner’s question for a moment, taking a thoughtful sip from her wineglass.

‘Not especially, no,’ replied Ms Arquenís eventually. ‘The trick in any auction, of course, is always to estimate the true value of the item accurately, and not to get carried away by mere emotive concerns.’

‘Ah... so even corporate philanthropy is dictated by matters of economics,’ noted Fabien with a mischievous smile.

‘Darling, everything in this world is determined by economics,’ declared Valéria, her scarlet lips curling into a broad grin, before she returned her attention to the auctioneer.

Once more, the refined Xirniumite businesswoman elegantly lifted a slender hand. ‘Eight hundred and fifty-five thousand,’ Valéria announced softly, yet clearly; the lady’s self-assured voice deliberately adopting an almost jaded undertone. Ms Arquenís hoped that such a strong offer might perhaps drive away several of the other less confident bidders. Certainly the Danaans, at least, had lately been raising the price in only minor increments.

‘Will you accompany me to the bar for a drink, Fabien?’ asked Valéria as she delicately smoothed her long skirts and prepared to stand.

‘It would be my distinct pleasure,’ replied the finance director’s husband with a smile. Arms linked, the two left their seats and walked across the floor towards the end of the hall.

The Allanean eyed the Xirnians with utter contempe, mouthing one single word:

Wrong.

‘It is the nature of the Xirnian culture,’ – thought Franks – ‘to dismiss emotional concerns as unimportant. This is one of the reasons their government runs an idiotic, pointless war against religion, commanding a perverted, barbarian cult of their own which they call ‘secularism’.

‘In their quest against the ‘illogical’ they fail to see the emotional half of our brain is rather… important in out decisions. Even the historians and economists, the philosophers and moralists all fall back on at least some emotional assumption - and yet, despite the whining of some of them, we still manage to arrive at a variety of objective truths.’

‘And of course, emotions are at least as important then economic concerns. It is, after all, emotions that are the formative influence on price.’ – even as he was thinking it, Franks raised his hand and spoke.

‘Nine hundred thousand franks.’

Cesspit of nobility... these people are willing to spend whatever for these photographs of women... just to show off the size of their family's coffers.

The Kahanistanian executive had nothing but contempt for the morons who were willing to spend huge sums of money. He had decided early on that he would not spend more than three million shekels at this auction.

However, a fool and his money are soon parted, and anyone willing to outbid him would be out a lot of money in the process.

"One million francs."

Ilunaia watched from the bar as the bidding war cracked a million. She wondered idly what the target amount the charity wanted to see was, before sipping at her wine. Zherka and Moyaal were bickering again, and Kavar placidly raised his placard.

"One million and one hundred thousand francs."

The sum was, of course, extravagant, working out to a little over one million and sixty-five thousand galacs. Ilunaia wasn't even sure that Zherka would normally spend that much on a ground vehicle, never mind an album.

Quiet until now has been C. Davis Wilterberner IV, somewhat of a representative of the high upper class in Tiburon. The Tiburonese high upper class hasn't changed from its pre-Tiburon nature. Perfect examples of the Tiburonese high upper class could be found in the high upper classes of India, Japan, and United North America. A Pythonesque twit of obscene wealth and an equally obscene superiority complex, manifested most directly in his refusal to use his first name in any form other than an initial. He looked around, seeing members of nations from all over the world. Most of these nations are unknown. A Danaan is spotted- nice chaps, generally, although a bit too religious for Tiburonese tastes. A Kajali among them- they had a tendency to show up unexpectedly, but they were valued allies, as were the Tarasovkyans (who were much too arrogant, even for Davis). An Allanean. Davis shuddered- the Allaneans were collectively some of the most insane people on earth, respectful of no bounds of humanity or rationality. He checks his surroundings to make sure personal guards have shielded him.

He plans to bid, of course- a chance to see world leaders (including fmr. First Lady Waters and Vice President Akanimara!) as unrobed as possible is a chance worth taking. "One million, one hundred and fifty thousand francs."

It had been a bit of a surprize at the speed the million mark had been breached. He'd sort of expected it to have happened earlier. He decided to see about getting some nourishment to got with the delicious ice wine but not before upping the bid, "One and a half million." He called out and headed to get some food.

He was trying to figure if his purse could stand bidding for two or even three of the albums, one for himself, another a birthday present for his older brother, and a third for the the museum. He didn't think he'd be able to get all three, at least not without a little creative recording but you never know how things would work out.

[OOC: Okay! The forums died on me today and I need time to catch up with your posts. Never expected it to become so detailed, so very pleasantly surprised. Thanks to all for their participation so far, hope it'll be just as nice for the next four albums. ;)

As such, a little pause for me to resume and reply!]

Auction Hall

The first album was nearing the price paid for some valued works of art, something that was not really expected. The whole point of the project was not to gain as much money as possible, but to subtly poke the Taraskovyans to do more for their less fortunate countrymen by making it seem that foreigners were doing more. Using the Taraskovyan haughtiness and arrogance to make them altruist and achieve common prosperity – such an idea could only be born in the head of Archduchess Vethara. And it appeared it was working, since the Taraskovyan bidders, that were quite inactive earlier, woke up.

“One million and six hundred thousand franks!” came a call from Stanislav Lesov, none else than the CEO of the Vigvar Media Group, the leading Taraskovyan media corporation that owned by itself approximately a half of the domestic media market, only rivaled by such mastodons as the Union of Taraskovyan Broadcasters and Next Generation Media Inc.

“One million and seven hundred thousand franks!” Aorin Khedrith, a wealthy Taraskovyan businessman of Taraskath origins also placed his bid.

And as could be expected, Iliya Strogorodskiy did not remain passive. After all, he had bought paintings for much, much more than a mere two million franks and was not ready to give up just now.

“Two million franks!” he said as he placed own bid, glancing at his countrymen and then at some foreign bidders.

“Two million franks it is for the first album,” the auctioneer resumed. “Anyone for two million and a hundred thousand franks?”


Bar

“Press? Auction security? You underestimate me!” The young woman erupted into a joyful laughter before she looked curiously at Georges and leant in a little, whispering with a touch of conspiracy. “In fact, I am an undercover EIVD* operative.”

Her face became naturally serious as if she was telling the truth and gauging her interlocutor’s reaction to the news. But then she erupted into a melodious laughter again, pausing to take her now prepared drink and take a sip.

“To be serious, I am not from the EIVD, but I am from Knootoss. Marijke van Dijk is my name, honoured to meet you, Monsieur,” she said as she extended her hand to him. “I am a rarities hunter, if you wish. I buy rare stuff; resell it tenfold to willing customers later on. Auctions are perfect for this, since there are always a couple losers obsessed with laying their hands on an object. And then they will pay any money to get it.”

She grinned with mischief before giving a glance at the other patrons of the bar. “But I am not here for the albums. You see, I figured the Archduchess herself might come around and could be persuaded to part with the set she used for the album… and then I could push it to some silly buyer obsessed with the Archduchess, and I can guarantee there are quite a few around…” she paused pensively, as if contemplating the money she’d get out of the deal. “But it seems she is not around, unfortunately. I’m sure she’d give it away for free for some good cause. The Shakhovskoy are insanely rich, so she can allow herself to be generous.”

Marijke paused again and sighed. “Luck doesn’t always follow me, it seems. Neither does it follow you, Georges… if I may call you Georges? I have heard of your reputation back in your homeland, quite a reputation it is. This is why I am very surprised to see you at this auction.” She stressed the end of the phrase on purpose, raising an eyebrow as if wondering whether her interlocutor knew what she was coming to or not and in the latter case, she was already ready to explain what she was coming to.

[OOC: *EIVD - Economische Inlichtingen en Veiligheids Dienst, Knootian economic intel.]

"Two ten." Raphael commented with a mental whistle at the speed it had gone from one and a half million to a little over two. "Hope the Dragon doesn't need repairs anytime soon." His close to completely custom-built car was a financial black hole, but he wouldn't sell it for anything.

"Two and a quarter million." He bid as he returned to his table with a plate of delicious little finger foods. Taking a seat, he wondered if anyone would meet his challenge.

Maile Obama deserved her reputation. Full lips, rich coffee skin, legs for miles, hair like the night sky, and a bright, loving smile that seemed to light up a room, a smile like she was really overjoyed to see everyone in sight. It also didn’t hurt that she had a totally fine bod. Her escort for the evening was Tore Christensen, named, ironically, after both Jesus and a pagan thunder god, although the irony had never occurred to him. Christensen was a hurling star and he looked like it, rippling muscles, a stern face, wild blond hair, and a not especially intelligent expression. Obama wore a strapless, low cut dress of deep red, slit up to the left thigh, and matching heels. Christensen was dressed in a semi-formal suit.

The two late arrivals found their way to a couple of seats near the back. Obama took a moment to look around the room. She couldn’t deny there were big names here tonight. Virginie Merlot, Diantha Palamas, Iliya Strogorodskiy, Laban Liberman, and even Valéria Arquenís. There were also dozens of people she’d never heard of before, from friendly, neutral, and even hostile nations.

Obama found her gaze drawn to an aloof looking man over at the bar. She didn’t rise immediately. It would have been in poor taste to get back up immediately after sitting down. At least, it would have looked rather silly. So she waited about ten minutes during which she made small talk with her date, as pleasant to look at as he was tedious to speak to. Ten minutes having passed, she rose without having yet made a bid and walked over to the bar, ordering herself a mimosa. She smiled to the other guests as she sat down but didn’t initiate a conversation. Davies gave a slight smile to her countrywoman and raised one hand before looking back to the bidding.

Liberman shifted a little in his seat. It wasn’t getting higher than he could afford, of course, but it was getting higher than he wanted to spend. Nonetheless, he raised his placard one more time. “Two and one half million.”

“You could fund one of those special projects of yours with that much.” Cabal chided him lightly with a knowing smirk.

Liberman shook his head. “Maybe one of those special projects of yours.”

Franks growled. He was getting beaten! Getting beaten by these godless, communist, nobilite Xirniumites and Danaans! God damn them all thrice to hell! He decided that there was only one way to shorten his own suffering as well as to increase the chances of buying an album – even as it would get his boss extremely angry. But oh well. At least Master Nivensky would not send him on a mission like that next time.

“Three million, five hundred thousand Taraskovyan franks, God willing.”


OOC: That's it. Franks isn't authorized to bid above that sum - not that anybody would know...

Lord Laurence Carstairs, Duke of Claven, shook his head as the bidding rose by another million. He knew the sale was for a good cause, but he had to wonder if these people really did have more money than sense. He had been to many auctions before and this one appeared to be the kind where people really did not want the merchandise, they just wanted to show the next person that they had more money than their neighbour.

Walking up to the bar, his piercing blue eyes scanned the area, looking for his companion. He knew it would be a bad idea to bring Katrina with him, nothing like a woman to loose herself between the auction room and the powder room. Of course, there could merely be a queue, but he had found from experience that when women went to powder their nose, they seemed to find themselves in a completely unique society, and it would be hours before she emerged.

As he reached the bar, he saw the familiar face of his escort and managed to catch her eye over the other side of the room. She cast him a bright smile then turned back to her companion – obviously some new friend she made while powdering her nose – and continued her conversation, hardly noticing the look of mild annoyance that had creased His Grace’s face.

Ordering a drink of whiskey on the rocks for himself and a glass of white for Katrina, he gazed around the bar. His mind was wondering to the auction and his best course of action. He was not the kind of man that normally spent millions of Acherons on pictures of scantily clad women, but there was a possibility that these particular pictures could increase in value over time. It was not every day that Heads of States and other high ranking females stripped down and willingly posed for such shots that would be seen by the outside world.

Catching Katrina’s eye again, he indicated that he was returning to the auction room. He picked up their drinks and made his way back to his seat, hoping that the bidding had not skyrocketed in his absence. Finding that it had not, he made himself comfortable.

Finally reaching a decision, he called out, “Three million, seven hundred and fifty thousand Franks.”

"Man, it raised almost two million in as many bids." Raphael commented with a shake of his head. The bidding had finally started to get serious and he'd have to be careful to avoid getting shafted by someone who simply wanted to jack up the price. He wasn't adverse to paying a decently high price as it was for charity, but didn't want to get stuck having to shell out an indecent amount.

Picking up a small piece of food, he called out, "Four million Franks," Before popping it into his mouth and falled it down by a sip of his wine.

Elizabeth Madison entered just as the bidding topped four million. The blond actress, who had just flown in from Caer Gawen itself, was escorted by Charles Abel, a distinguished actor several years her senior. Madison was wearing a stylish silver dress with a shockingly low back while Abel was wearing a tuxedo. The couple smiled and waved to people they recognized as they found a seat.

Liberman, apparently not willing to go higher, got up and walked over to the bar without a word to his date. He ordered a Scotch which he sipped reservedly as he watched the bidding continue to climb. He had no way to be sure of the exact financial situation of everyone present but he had a feeling some of them didn’t even have the money they were bidding and, if they were going to use it like this, maybe they shouldn’t have it.

Obama, meanwhile, couldn’t help feeling a little surprised at being ignored by Prince Rahael as she had been. She settled down onto the barstool, crossed her legs, and sipped her drink, pretending not to notice the man. She glanced up and smiled very briefly at Liberman. “It really would make more sense just to donate the money to charity.” She commented offhandedly.

“Perhaps.” Liberman conceded. “But it would not be nearly so interesting.”

Auction Hall

"Four million franks for the first album. Anyone for four million and two hundred thousand franks?" The Auctioneer inquired. It was apparent that as the bids got higher and higher, fewer people were going to bid. It was to be foreseen, of course. After the first lot, the minimum step rules would be changed to liven up the bidding again. After all, there were still four albums to go.

But for now...

"Anyone ready to give four million and two hundred thousand franks for the first album? Latest bid is at four million."

‘Good heavens, three and a half million francs…’ murmured Valéria softly to her husband, craning her slender neck slightly in an attempt to catch a brief glimpse of the individual whom had just made the extravagantly high bid. Of course, Mr Franks’ crude, uncultured drawl had instantly betrayed his illiterate Allanean origins to the elegantly refined Xirniumite couple - his unsophisticated accent sounding rather unpleasant when compared with the perfectly precise elocution of Valéria and Fabien.

‘He does seem to be dressed in quite an unusually… rational manner for an Allanean savage, don’t you think?’ observed Fabien, speaking with that sense of disparaging arrogance apparently not uncommon amongst the Xirniumite people (particularly those of the upper-middle class) as he dutifully followed his partner’s gaze. From the evident look of uncomfortableness on Mr Franks’ face, it seemed to Mr Nämbanórn that the uncouth barbarian was obviously not overly familiar with the civilised practice of wearing a tire. For his own part, Fabien of course wore formal evening dress attire - consisting of silk bowtie, highly fashionable black dinner jacket and well-tailored waistcoat, and expensively-made leather patent shoes.

‘Very strange, isn’t it Fabien?’ remarked Ms Arquenís in an offhanded manner, as she absentmindedly brushed out of the way a few wayward strands of long, dark brown hair from her lovely eyes. ‘Normally Allaneans wear such dreadfully garish, kitschy clothing.’

It was not very long, however, before bidding continued anew. Indeed, no sooner had the Tarasovkan bartender promptly returned with the couple’s drinks (both glasses of vintage red varietal wine) than had the latest offer for the item already risen to four million francs. Needles to say, the album’s current price was somewhat higher than what the Celanil Group’s chief financial officer personally considered it to be worth - and Valéria certainly had no intention of loosening her company’s purse strings any further.

‘Never mind, Valéria, I’m sure you will find another, equally public and widely reported, way to spend Celanil’s hefty annual charitable donations budget,’ Fabien reassured his wife with an amused smile, reading the rather disappointed expression momentarily visible on her face.

‘Oh, yes... I do suppose so,’ replied Ms Arquenís with a distracted shrug of her delicate shoulders, entirely missing the cynical humour behind Fabien’s words. The finance director’s attention was somewhat diverted as she watched a stunningly beautiful woman, whom the corporate executive recognised (from photographs that she had seen in glossy Xirniumite fashion magazines) as a well-known supermodel named Maile Obama, in conversation with Mr Liberman. Though undoubtedly very attractive in her own right, the sylphlike Xirniumite lady could not help but experience a small swell of self-conscious envy at the extreme gorgeousness of the pretty Danaan.

Valéria, of course, expertly hid such minor negative feelings behind the fleetingly casual flashing of friendly smile toward Miss Obama, before elegantly touching the edge of her wineglass’ rim to her lips and drinking deeply.

[OOC: Alright, will be away for two days because of a Bling Guardian concert over in Basel. Cheers! ;) ]

(OOC: What Lirella's photo would look like. (http://palara.sularan.net/gallery/albums/album11/lirellacalendar.jpg))

Wasn't there a topic that involved female NS Politicians in lingerie? I had a pic lined up and then it seemingly vanished.

Obama returned Valéria’s faint smile. She vaguely recognized the Xirniumite woman. She had been to more than one shoot in that country and considered the high fashion scene there one of the best in the world, ranking with Amestria and the Dominion and well above Pantocratoria or Knootoss. She smiled again as her mimosa arrived and began to sip it delicately. “This is one of my favorite drinks.” she commented off-hand to Liberman.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” the tycoon answered in a tone showing growing annoyance at the young woman’s conversation. “I think my escort will be missing me, however.” With that, he was headed back towards his seat, leaving what was left of his drink at the bar.

Obama frown ever so slightly. The Aboriginal Danaan beauty was not used to being brushed off so casually. She was starting to find her big night somewhat disappointing. Nonetheless, she shrugged her bare shoulders and turned back to the bar, crossing one coffee leg across the other and savoring her drink. She did, after all, have her hurling star.

Raphael was pleased that no one seemed interesting to contest his bid of four million franks. If bidding dropped off around the same price for the other four albums, he might be able to get a clean sweep, or at least pick up three of them. Looking at the bottle of wine, he decided to get some tea.

Walking up to the bar, he noticed what appeared to be a slight tiff between an attractive woman and a curt man who had the look of a buisnessman. Catching the bartender's attention he asked, "Do you by any chance have any rose or lotus teas? If not might I trouble you for some green tea?" He then turned to the lady and asked, "What do you think of the auction so far?"

Auction Hall

“Anyone ready to bid four million and two hundred thousand franks for the first album?” The auctioneer looked over the hall for one last time before smashing his hammer against his tribune.

“The first album is sold to Prince Raphael for a sum of four million Taraskovyan franks. The buyer shall receive custody of the item upon payment of the sum.”

With that, the auctioneer paused for a moment before proceeding. “The second album of the series is hereby put up at the auction at a starting price of two hundred thousand franks. However, the minimum step between two bids now changes to twenty thousand franks.”

Indeed, the 5% rule was put aside in favour of a fixed minimum step, which would, hopefully, provide for some increased bidding from the potential buyers.

Bar

One of the bartenders nodded to Raphael and prepared him a cup of lotus tea.

"Congratulations on your acquisition, Sir," he said as he handed the cup to the customer.

[OOC: Post #2600! Yay!]

Raphael smiled as the auctioneer called out his victory on the first album. It was time to start on winning the second one. "Thank you." He replied with as he took the cup of tea and breathed in its delicious aroma.

As the bidding for the second album began, he called out, "Two hundred and twenty thousand."

"Two hundred fifty thousand!" Zherka called out.

"Three hundred thousand!" Moyaal shouted. Zherka glared at him, before bidding again.


Three hundred fifty thousand."

Lirella strode off to the bar, joining Ilunaia and glancing at the winner of the first album. "Enjoying the show?" She said, before wandering down the length of the bar.

"Which white wines would you recommend?" She asked the bartender.

Maile smiled over at Prince Rapael. “It’s certainly vigorous. The bids just keep climbing. It is odd, though, that there aren’t really all that many people here. If you actually stop to look, there’s no more than two dozen at most. A few Pantocratorians, a few Xirniumites, a few Amestrians. I mist say, sir, that I can’t quite place your accent. Are you from Laneria, by any chance?”

The beautiful woman gave Raphael a faint smile, a tiny upturn of her lips, and glanced to the seat next to her. She placed one soft hand on the surface of the bar, leaning back and taking in the auction. “Congratulations on your win. You must care a lot about the victims of the Plague.”

Charles Abel raised his placard. “Three hundred and seventy-five thousand francs!”

Liberman smiled slightly as he glanced from one man to the next, watching the price rise. He hadn’t started bidding on the second album yet. He had gone oddly quiet. He glanced once at Prince Raphael who was speaking, perhaps flirting, most men did, with Obama. He took another, longer, look at the woman beside him, Cabal. Still silent, he folded his hands in his lap, keeping his thoughts completely to himself for the moment.

"That they do." He commented as he contemplated raising the bid again but decided to hold off for now. "I'll differ to you on national identies, I've never had much of an eye for that and as to my accent, I am from Theao."

He returned her light smile, as he took a sip of tea. Many beautiful women had and still sought his company even as he was in his early forties, and she was interesting as well as beautiful and a combination he was less use to.

"Thank you, and truth be told, I know very little about the Plague. Right now I am trying to decide whether I'm doing this for myself, or shopping for my older brother's birthday. Since it's also going to charity it works out either way."

Looking at her for a second he asked, "Would you like to join me at my table, or am I keeping you from someone?"

Shazza Silverstein knew she had lost the first album but it wasn't really the one wanted. The new auction rules removing the 5% increase was most welcome. Now, increases should be far more reasonable and maybe the bidding should be a little more logical.

She put up her hand "four hundred thousand" and sat down again to watch the fun.

Now do the pictures have to be drawn, or can they be a normal picture? If I can use normal pictures I have some of California's leadership from Devnostraeva to Jourgensen.

Now do the pictures have to be drawn, or can they be a normal picture? If I can use normal pictures I have some of California's leadership from Devnostraeva to Jourgensen.
OOC:
Did you read the first post of the thread at all? The pictures were drawn by Tarasovka. This thread isn't asking people to participate in the calendar itself. That ship has sailed - there was a thread about it months ago. This is an auction for the first five prints of the calendar. If you want to post pictures of participants in the auction (not the calendar), then I'm sure you could in whatever format you desire. The nice sketches Tarasovka did for the first post are pictures of the ladies in the calendar itself.

Gotcha. However wasn't there a thread that was just "NationStates Celebrities In Lingerie"?

[OOC: Cali, with all my positive attitude towards you, could you please stop doing OOC posts with no OOC tags AND that are completely irrelevant to the subject at hand? This is not "NationStates Celebrities In Lingerie", I do not know of any such thread and if there ever was one, I really do not care. This thread is not a discussion area or a means to satisfy your curiousity. This thread is a roleplay one, with IC posts.

If you want to contribute, just send some buyers over and write IC posts. If you do not wish to get involved, just stop.]

“I came here with the gentleman over there.” Obama said, glancing towards Christensen. “He’s just a friend of mine, though. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me socializing some while he bids.”

Christensen, in the meantime, had been looking forward intently, meaty hands planted flat on his knees. He noted the numbers being bid by the various delegates and then removed his handkerchief and briefly wiped his brow before putting it away once more. He was a wealthy man but not one known for his financial or social skills and he was trying to remember the advice his accountant had given him. Finally, he raised his placard. “Four hundred and twenty thousand!”

Obama smiled and turned back towards the prince, although she had no idea that he was such. “I wasn’t sure he’d be interested in this kind of thing. He seems to like it though. Do you follow hurling at all?”

After a few moments of small talk, she slipped from her stool and offered her small hand to Raphael, palm down. “By the way, I’m Maile Obama, from the Resurgent Dream.”

Liberman, with an air almost of boredom, rose from his seat and offered his hand to Cabal, who took it gratefully and rose with him. “Perhaps we should go socialize for a moment while the bidding gets going.” he suggested as he offered her his arm.

“An excellent notion.” Cabal conceded as she linked her arm with his. The two of them headed back towards the bar area. Liberman’s ordinarily dour face broke into a small, polite smile as he glanced at the Kajali and Xirniumites already seated by the bar itself.

"Hurling? I'm afraid I've never heard of that." He commented as he looked briefly over to her friend, before returning his gaze to her.

As she slipped off the stool and offered him her hand, he did likewise and took a step back. As he lightly took her hand, he bowed down and placed a light kiss upon her knuckles. Straightening, he replied, "And I am Raphael Theao of Theao, it is a pleasure to meet you."

“Really?” Obama asked in some surprise. “Well, it’s … it’s sort of a game where players bat a ball around a field with sticks and try to score goals. It’s sort of like … I’m not sure what it’s sort of like. It’s almost synonymous with sport back home in a lot of places. What do they play in Theao?”

Prince Paul raised his placard. “Four hundred and fifty thousand.”

Sir Daniel Shiferaw raised his placard for the first time. “Four hundred and seventy thousand.” The rather stiff gentleman gave only a small smile to Sahlu as he lowered his placard once more. “I do think we might have a chance this time.” he said in his rich Carasian accent.

Sahlu shook her head. “It’s just pretty nice here. I can’t think of any other circumstances where this crowd would be in the same room?”

“I suppose I cannot either.” Shiferaw answered, giving his companion for the evening another small, amused smile.

"Ah, it sounds somewhat similar to one of the favoured sports in Theao, bat-ball. Many of the basics are played soccer, baseball, basketball, hockey, football, and bat-ball." He replied as he took a sip of his tea.

Shazza decided to disappear to ladies room as sometimes sitting around a room all day did funny things to your biology. She looked at the time and decided go now before the bidding for the next item started. She noted the current bid was 475. She raised her placard to send in a bid of half a million before disappearing.

Obama listened curiously as Raphael expounded on sport in his homeland. “There’s so many different kinds of football that the word barely has any meaning on its own anymore.” she answered. “And I haven’t heard of baseball before. Is it similar to dodgeball?”

Auction Hall

“Half a million franks for the second album,” the auctioneer resumed. “Anyone for five hundred and twenty thousand franks?”

“Five hundred and twenty thousand,” Aorin Khedrith nodded.

“Five hundred and fourty thousand,” said Stanislav Lesov, giving a glance at his compatriot.

Strogorodskiy, surprisingly, remained silent. He was rather disappointed at not having been able to get the first album, but at four million it was just over the top for him. He loved art, but he was not crazy, yet. And so the Taraskovyan gave a glance in the direction of where Raphael of Theao was chatting with a Danaan guest and then, sighing a bit as he gave a glance at the row of albums.

“Five hundred and fourty thousand. Anyone for sixty thousand? Five hundred and sixty thousand?” The auctioneer gave a look around the hall.

“Five and sixty,” Strogorodskiy finally said, making the stakes climb higher.

"Provided that dodgeball has the meaning for each of us, then no, nothing like dodgeball. The sport we call dodgeball has two teams one on each side of the court, which is usually a gymnasium with the basketball half-court as the dividing line, and each team tries to pelt the other with rubber balls." He said to make sure that they were talking about the same game when they used the term.

Taking a sip of wine he continued, "Baseball is, in essence, the same as softball. Have you heard of it? Will you excuse me for a second."

He raised his placard and called out "Six hundred thousand."

“Interesting.” Obama commented. “I’d never heard of it played that way before. In the Resurgent Dream, dodgeball is a game played almost exclusively by school children under the age of twelve. At least where I come from, boys and girls play together. A class of children is divided into two teams, one of which forms a circle and the other one of which gets in the middle of the circle. One of the children on the first team then starts the game by throwing the ball in an attempt to hit one of the children in the circle. Whoever on the outside catches the ball then throws it in a similar attempt. Whenever a child on the second team is hit, he or she has to go join the first team. The last one in the middle wins for that team. Then the game is repeated once with the teams switched. I used to love it when I was a little girl. It was my favorite physical fitness game.”

She shook her head. “Unfortunately, I haven’t heard of softball either. Is it a Midlonian game?”

"And I must confess that I have never heard of dodgeball being played you describe. It's akin to the difference between the two types of football, the soccer type and the rugby type." He commented with a slight smile.

"I'm pretty sure it isn't, thought it may be played by the Midlonains."

“If only there were just two kinds of football.” Obama said a little wistfully before changing the topic from sport, in which she had no actual interest whatsoever. “So what do you do in Theao? I suppose you represent some great financial concern like most of the men here?”

‘Well, my dear?’ enquired Mr Nämbanórn with an expectant gesture, turning back to his partner after briefly witnessing a Tarasovkan art collector raise the current offer to five hundred and sixty thousand francs.

‘Hmm? Well what?’ murmured Valéria (who had been rather uninterestedly running the tip of a slender index finger along the rim off her wineglass), a mildly puzzled smile slowly spreading across her lovely scarlet lips.

In the background, bidding for the second album continued unabated, with Prince Raphael (who, the Xirniumite lady noted sourly, had already purchased one of the five prints at profligate cost, and was now competing for yet another) raising the price to six hundred thousand.

‘Are you not going to try and bid for this album print, then?’ asked Fabien with a confused frown.

‘Ah, that. Well... I suppose that we shall have to wait and see,’ grinned the finance director as she absentmindedly swirled her wine. ‘Maybe later on, depending of course on how the auction progresses. If this one is anything like the last one, however… then I shan’t even bother, I think.’

‘I expect that there are, perhaps, too many people present here with excessively deep pockets… or perchance instead with ready access to overly large coffers,’ offered Valéria’s husband musingly.

Ms Arquenís scoffed at the notion, though with an air of mild amusement. Even her own annual income (consisting of a most substantial contractual salary, in addition to vast performance-based cash bonuses and extensive vested stock grants and securities options) would easily have sufficed to allow the corporate executive to purchase all five of the items, at the same extravagant price that the Prince of Theao had, if only she had so desired. Of course, the size of the Celanil Group’s enormous operating profits was such that it caused Valéria’s own considerable private fortune to pale in comparison. The finance director presumed, as a matter of course, that her own position of affluence was likely reflected by most of the others who were in attendance at the Stanislavov-Zalesskiy House.

Not so well reflected, apparently, was the eager willingness of some to squander away their own money.

‘I don’t think that it is necessarily like that at all, Fabien,’ explained the chief financial officer slowly, after a moment. ‘Unlike that gentleman who purchased the last print, I have the unfortunate need to justify the worthiness of Celanil’s expenditures before the rest of the Board of Directors. Market forces constrain my corporation’s charity disbursements, we answer to the shareholder afterall,’ Valéria declared, playing idly with a priceless diamond earring.

‘Oh, of course,’ agreed Mr Nämbanórn. ‘So what, then, I wonder, might have been Mr Liberman’s reason for not bidding any further?’ wondered Fabien quietly as he noticed the Danaan magnate amble into the bar, an elegantly poised lady (whose name was familiar, to Valéria in any case, as “Valentine Cabal”) leaning casually on his arm.

The Xirniumites both friendlily returned Laban’s courteous smile.

‘I’ve no idea,’ admitted Ms Arquenís finally, with a shrug of her slight shoulders. Thoughtfully, she turned and glanced over at Prince Raphael as he conversed privately with the (quite breathtakingly stunning) Danaan supermodel. ‘Perhaps it was because he simply had more common sense than that person obviously did,’ whispered Valéria conspiratorially into the ear of her husband.

The smiling couple briefly erupted with cruel laughter at Prince Raphael’s expense, before once again regaining their reserved composure and politely asking the bartender for a new bottle of wine.

"Actually no. I'm a musician. While I do have a controlling interest in a number of buisnesses, they run themselves." He replied with a grin as he wondered how she'd react to that relevation, considering he didn't look like a musician.

ooc: Xirnium, Theao doesn't get modified even when the rules for english say it is suppose to.

Shazza raised her placard for a bid of 700,000 as if doing it was like stretching her arms for a yawn. The people in this room were definitely not your average budget bidders, but the stakes were high. She looked around, lots of rich couples and potential couples but all had money. This was the place to be to meet the rich and powerful.

Moyaal raised his placard, and called out "Eight hundred thousand".

Zherka didn't raise his placard just yet - he was planning on swooping in nearer to the amount of the last album, as his pockets were considerably deeper than Moyaal's, at the least.


Lirella, meanwhile, returned Liberman's glance, before tapping Ilunaia on the shoulder. "Come," She said, in Riikan. "It would appear to be time for a little international conversation."

Lirella glided down the length of the bar, Ilunaia following, but not too closely, sipping a glass of white wine. Lirella had, it appeared, acquired a similar drink, though it was an ice wine of some sort - she was unfamiliar with it, to be honest. Of course, it was patently obvious to most why Lirella had deigned to appear in the album - like the Danaan supermodel, she was of similar complexion and color, though she cut perhaps a more elegant figure, her body sculpted, though not excessively so. Lirella's flowing, deep brown hair bore within it sparkling gems, entwined within one of her trademark headpieces (though this one was small enough as to not put out the eyes of those within a meter of her). A quick glance between herself and Ilunaia all but confirmed the relationship.

"Greetings. It would seem that, for such a small crowd, the bidding is quite... voracious. Not, however, that it seems that all present share the same common sense," Lirella said, referring somewhat bluntly to Prince Raphael.

Lady Katrina Longsworth spoke a few words to her companion, before the two women parted company. Making her way through the bar, she could not help wondering if the bidding on the second album would be as aggressive as the first had been. From early impressions, it would seem that everyone had settled down and had finally decided to make an evening out of the event.

As she wandered, her eyes flicked towards the auction room, where she knew the Duke of Claven was waiting for her. She was surprised that Laurence had dragged her along to the auction. Whenever he was flashing his wealth around, he normally liked to keep his options open. Picking up a something other than an album would normally have been top of his agenda.

“Katrina! What a surprise!”

The young woman turned slightly, surprised to see a familiar woman walking towards her. She greeted the new arrival with a smile. “Lina.” She air kissed either side of Angelina’s face. “I don’t suppose I need to ask what you are doing here?”

The Tartarian Ambassador to Tarasovka shook her head and smiled. “I thought I would attend, it looks good to have an official representation of Tartarus at a charity event. Also proves that The Empire is backing my involvement in the project if I show myself.” She paused and raised her eyebrow questioningly. “Are you here with Lord Claven?”

“Don’t you go getting any ideas,” Katrina laughed.

“As if I would,” Lina replied, her face revealing that she had indeed jumped to the wrong conclusion. “I suppose I should say hello. Is he here for someone?”

Katrina looked confused. “Like who?”

“I know he has connections in very high places, just thought he might be buying for someone else.” Angelina fell silent, as if in thought.

* * * * *

Lord Carstairs was feeling a little easier as the second lot began. The rise in each bid was a lot more to his liking. Not that he was adverse to charity making lots of money, he just liked to see it done at a more leisurely pace. He had listened intently to the bidding for a moment, and now, thinking the time was right, he raised his voice and called out, “Nine hundred thousand Franks.”

Auction Hall

“And a bid of nine hundred thousand franks for the second album. Anyone for nine and twenty thousand? Nine and twenty?”

“Nine and thirty,” Strogorodskiy said.

“Nine and sixty,” Lesov immediately retorted.

“A million,” Strogorodskiy said with a glance at his compatriot before running his gaze around the hall. He then gave a glance at the auctioneer before standing up from his table and walking up to the Pantocratorians.

“Greetings,” he said with a smile and a little nod of the head, in turn to Virginie and then Thierry. “I do not believe you would know me, so allow me to present myself. Iliya Stepanovich Strogorodskiy, arts collector and businessman. Unfortunately, from your company I only know Mademoiselle’s, but Monsieur’s name escapes me.”

The man was speaking in French; with a slight Russian accent as he rolled the r’s and pronounced some vowels heavier than they were. His French was not suffering from anything else and, as such, was quite presentable indeed to francophonic ears.

And over at the bar, just as Katrina and Angelina were heading back into the auction hall, a rather strict male voice called on them from behind. “Halt, Angelina Ormond,” the voice said before Angelina and Katrina could turn around. “In the name of the Grand Duchy, you are hereby…” And just as Angelina looked around, she saw none else than the Grand Ducal Minister of Foreign Affairs, High Count Ithun Khat, who was smiling cunningly at the young woman. And he continued, this time in a soft and humorous tone. “… declared as absolutely cute. The verdict is final and cannot be appealed against.”

* * *

"One million franks for the second album," the auctioneer nodded. "Anyone for one million twenty thousand franks?"

Liberman smiled warmly at the Imperatrix of Kajal, even as he bowed appropriately. It was the sort of effortless bow that one might expect from a lifelong courtier, only, despite its technical perfection, it seemed to be lacking somehow, as though Mr. Liberman were not capable of genuine humility before the character or rank of anyone other than himself. For all that, his expression was pleasant enough. “Your Majesty, forgive me for taking so long to pay my compliments to the most beautiful as well as the noblest lady in the room. I was merely somewhat unsure of the Kajali protocol and I did not wish to offend.”

There was an element of truth behind the comment. Lirella, unlike some of the women in the calendar who, while certainly attractive, were not the sort who would attract widespread attention on looks alone, Lirella was an incredible beauty. Liberman would have been inclined to agree that she was more elegant than Obama although a proponent of Obama might prefer to say Lirella was less voluptuous. In any event, Lirella had a more slender form to her legs and belly than Obama did and, despite a similar complexion, she Lirella also had a somewhat lighter tone to her skin. Obama would not have found any of this distressing. It all followed naturally from the image she sought as as luxurious, tropical, and ripe rather than refined, trim, and aristocratic. Still, Lirella was more in accord with Liberman’s ideal of feminine beauty.

Without turning his face from the Imperatrix, which would have struck him as impossibly rude, Liberman raised his placard over his shoulder to signal a bid for one million and twenty thousand francs.

Shazza Silverstein watched as the bids hit 7 digits. She looked bored but then auctions weren't the same thing as watching a soccer game like other people would do back home. At least it wasn't rising like the last auction.

She raised the bid to one million and one hundred thousand francs with a wave of her placard.

Angelina smiled in greeting as she turned to face Ithun, leaning forward to place a polite kiss to his cheek. She spun back around to face her companion. “Lady Katrina, may I introduce His Lordship, High Count Ithun Khat, the Grand Ducal Minister of Foreign Affairs.” Her eyes twinkled as she introduced him. “Ithun, may I present Lady Katrina Longsworth, an old friend from Tartarus.”

Katrina smiled at Ithun as she presented her hand, her eyes briefly flicking to Angelina with a wicked smile. “It is a pleasure you meet you, Your Lordship.” She did not go on to say that she had heard a lot about him, but the glint in her eye might make Ithun believe she was more aware of things than she was letting on.

“Are you here to bid on an album, Ithun?” Angelina asked, smiling brightly as she stood beside her two companions.

* * * * *

Lord Carstairs followed the bidding for a while longer, and as it reached a slight lull, he raised his card and called out. “One million, two hundred thousand Franks.” As he lowered his card, his raised his other hand, bringing his glass to his lips.

"I assure you, some Imperial protocols are far more readily offensive," Lirella said, glancing back at her countrymen, as they continued to bicker amongst themselves. "I do regret, however, that it seems my compatriots are so... determined to outdo each other, disregarding the rest of the bidding parties."

Kavar raised his placard for One Million and Three Hundred Thousand francs.

"I do believe," Lirella started. "That the next winner will surely demonstrate a lack of common sense equal to or greater than that of our Prince Theao. In the meantime, allow me to introduce my daughter, Ilunaia."

Ilunaia bowed her head to Liberman, her attire making such a maneuver as a curtsy somewhat difficult. She was herself dressed in a luminous white gown (http://palara.sularan.net/gallery/albums/album22/ilunaia2.sized.jpg), which left little to the imagination in how closely it followed Ilunaia's form. Her features were similar to Lirella's of course, though if one looked carefully, a resemblance to Mr. Kavar would become apparent. She was, of course, closer in form to Obama than Lirella, by virtue of relative youth.

"Greetings, sir. While the proceeds of this auction are to go to charity, I find that I am not particularly entertained by excessive displays of wealth, however charitable. Still, the company is fascinating... when it isn't bickering over who gets an album."

Lirella forced a laugh, seeming taken off-guard slightly by Ilunaia's comment.

"Ilunaia serves as a sora, that is, to say, a 'judge' in english, in the Central Justice Authority in Kajurmani. I have found that it has had a... humbling... effect on others."

(OOC: For reference, Lirella is, of course, between a thousand and a thousand and a hundred years old. Ilunaia's somewhere around 70.)

“And it is an honour for me to meet you, Milady,” Ithun said as he kissed politely the presented hand. “After all, it is always a pleasure to meet Angelina’s friends.”

With that, he looked at his beloved and smiled, shaking his head. “No, unfortunately, I cannot allow myself to throw out millions of franks on lingerie albums. Not now, anyway.” He paused as his eyes looked upon Kevar, who had just risen the bid, before the Foreign Minister spoke again.

“I was en route to the Ministry from Knootcap. Had some talks there with representatives of Valinon on free trade between them and Dreamreach. In the process, they tried to make me sign a free trade agreement between Valinon and Taraskovya proper, but unfortunately for them I read small print. I also tried to make them sign an offer of vassalization, but unfortunately for me, they also read small print.”

With that, he chuckled and laughed. “Just joking, of course,” he said looking at Katrina. “Do not want Tartarians to think badly of Taraskovyan diplomacy. I made a detour by the auction house out of curiousity, curious whether you’d be here, Lina. And you are here! So my curiousity is satisfied.”

* * *

“Anyone three and twenty?”

“One million, four hundred and fifty,” Lesov followed suite.

“One million, four hundred and fifty thousand franks for the second album,” the auctioneer resumed the situation.

Shazza Silverstein was feeling the little dry, but sitting at the bar all day wasn't good for her business at well. She once again raised her placard to hit the 1.5 million mark and then disappeared into the bar. She returned with a glass of red wine.

Lord Carstairs watched as one of the major bidders rose from her seat and headed for the bar. He was grateful that the auction was moving slow enough to allow refreshments to be retrieved. Spending huge amounts of money was thirsty work. He grinned to himself, then took another long sip of his drink before once more raising his own plaque.

“One million, six hundred thousand Franks,” he called out, his head turning towards the woman, wondering if she would take the next bid or would let it go to another first.

* * * * *

Katrina laughed lightly. “My lord, it is not my place to assume whether Taraskovyan diplomacy is good or bad. People like Lina are more equipped for assessing that than I.” She looked at Angelina and then back at Ithun. “I am merely here to enjoy the show.”

Once Katrina had fallen silent, Angelina took over the conversation. “Now that your curiosity is satisfied, are you going to run off or stay around for a while and watch proceedings?” Angelina asked, as she looked at Ithun, a very pleased expression on her face. “You already missed the first album sale that went through the roof. The second is going at a more sedate rate.”

Valéria’s warm smile quickly evaporated from her ruby-red lips as she spied an (unfortunately, all too familiar) acquaintance entering the Stanislavov-Zalesskiy auction hall. Like Ms Arquenís, this newly-arrived individual was also fashionably and luxuriously attired - clothed in a thin, diaphanous, and body-clinging evening gown expensively cut from a sumptuous, pale gold fabric. Her flaxen hair was dressed classical fashion, in a highly chic chignon bound with bright, decorative ribbons.

The finance director ceased making small talk abruptly.

‘Don’t look around, Fabien - that annoying Esmerálda woman is here,’ whispered Valéria furtively as she attempted (as best she could) to appear inconspicuous, quickly averting her gaze from the lady. Naturally, Ms Arquenís’ mysterious instructions only served to ensure that her husband glanced around the room reflexively.

‘Where? Do you mean Ms Dülinn?’ asked a puzzled Fabien, spotting the lady by the entrance. Esmerálda possessed a classically archetypical Xirniumite feminine form - being of slightly above average height, slender, sylphlike build, and with fair skin.

‘Ah, just wonderful. Now she’s spotted us!’ hissed the chief financial officer, her heart sinking. Already, the exuberant woman, lithe arms linked with those of her husband, had noticed Valéria and was now inexorably making her way towards the seated couple.

‘I always thought that you liked Esmerálda…’ remarked Mr Nämbanórn curiously.

‘Hah!’

Esmerálda, a prominent socialite, well-known philanthropist, and prolific (though not commercially successful) writer, was extremely popular within the Eternal Republic’s fashionable society. Valéria, however, had never been especially fond of her - privately considering the lady to be excessively frivolous, although more likely she felt envious of a woman whom she considered something of a rival. The finance director kept such personal perceptions to herself, however - after all, they seemed not to be shared by her peers.

‘Well… she has always seemed a rather pleasant lady to me,’ indicated Ms Arquenís’ partner.

‘No doubt…’ replied Valéria darkly, even as she simultaneously affected a somewhat wooden smile with which to greet the newcomers.

‘Really, I had not even the slightest inkling that you didn’t like her. How come you’ve never mentioned anything before?’ whispered Fabien, although there was no time for his wife to reply.

Standing graciously, the four Xirniumites warmly greeted one another with an exchange of friendly cheek-kisses. The finance director was acquainted with Ms Dülinn mainly through the latter’s marriage with Damián Baëhue-Eàheûr (a colleague of Valéria’s and the chief operating officer of the Celanil Mercantile Futures Group). Of course, Ms Arquenís had never shown anything less than the most cordial friendliness towards Esmerálda, though such did not prevent her from occasionally going to quite extraordinary lengths merely to avoid her.

‘I absolutely love your gown, Valéria!’ exclaimed the socialite brightly, adjusting her long skirts and crossing her legs at the knee after being courteously helped to her seat by Damián.

‘Oh, thank you very much. It’s the latest design from Tilnûtirö,’ replied Ms Arquenís cheerily, referring to one of the most famous (and easily the most exclusive) of the Naèräthian haute couture houses.

‘Well I think it’s adorable,’ Esmerálda assured her friend emphatically, touching her arm.

‘Those earrings of yours are really nice,’ replied Valéria after a moment, returning a compliment almost as an afterthought. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Fabien?’

‘Yes, certainly,’ concurred the finance director’s husband quickly. ‘Absolutely beautiful. They look lovely on you.’

Esmerálda giggled coyly, toying with the diamond earrings. ‘Oh yes? Do you think so?’

Valéria had noticed on previous occasions that Esmerálda seemed to delight in openly flirting with her husband whilst in her presence, which elicited no end of possessive jealousy in the corporate executive. If Mr Baëhue-Eàheûr noticed (and the finance director suspected that he might) he certainly did not show it.

‘Are you okay, Valéria?’ asked a genuinely inquisitive Esmerálda, nonchalantly snapping open an intricately decorated fan. The socialite looked meaningfully at Fabien before fanning herself allusively.

‘Yes... fine. Thank you,’ smiled the finance director, taking a tiny sip from her wineglass.

The Xirniumites continued to converse animatedly for a few moments, Ms Dülinn in particular speaking rather boisterously. Valéria shifted in her seat uncomfortably, a little concerned that Esmerálda’s loud talking might disturb the others at the bar.

‘Are you quite certain that you are alright?’ inquired the insistent socialite after a while.

‘Oh yes, Esmerálda. Splendid, in fact,’ the corporate executive assured Ms Dülinn with a smile.

‘I must say, you do seem unusually quiet…’

‘Perhaps I’ve had too much wine?’ suggested Valéria, pushing her half-empty glass away.

Esmerálda frowned as she considered this for a moment.

‘We were not expecting you two to be attending the auction,’ remarked Fabien, quickly changing the subject. ‘I’m delighted to see that you could both make it, after all. Better late, than never.’

Esmerálda fluttered her long, perfectly-mascaraed eyelashes. ‘I do believe that they also say that it is fashionable to be late.’

‘Excuse me,’ apologised Valéria. ‘I think that I should probably go and place a bid for the album.’ Automatically, Fabien started to stand.

‘It’s okay, darling, why don’t you stay here with our friends?’ said the corporate executive with a forced smile.

‘The current offer seems now a little too high for Celanil’s charitable donation, would you not say?’ asked Esmerálda with an uncertain grin, noticing that the item’s price was about one and a half million Tarasovkan francs.

‘Not at all,’ lied Valéria, eager to get away. This caused Damián to raise an eyebrow – the director seemed to recall the chief financial officer making quite different remarks at their last executive board meeting.

‘Please excuse me for just one moment. I shan’t be very long.’

Ms Arquenís strode across to the auction hall and quickly chose a random chair. Looking back from her seat, she could see Esmerálda wave at her with infuriating cheerfulness.

‘One million, seven hundred and fifty thousand,’ announced Valéria reluctantly, hoping that someone else would make a bid after her.

It was only at this point that the Xirniumite finally noticed the individuals whom she had sat next to - a distinguished-looking (perhaps Carasian? Valéria conjectured) gentleman clothed formally in full evening dress attire, and an attractive lady wearing a white dress that contrasted gorgeously with her tanned skin.

‘Hello,’ spoke Valéria politely, smiling weakly at Daniel Shiferaw and Bara Sahlu. ‘Isn’t this a most lovely affair?’

Bara, who was black not tanned, smiled back at Valéria. "It is. Although I'm worried a few overzealous persons are going to ruin the fun for everyone else." There was a bit of a pause. "I'm Bara Sahlu by the way. The gentleman is Daniel Shiferaw."

"Good evening." Daniel said with a small smile.

"Prince?" Liberman said, looking briefly from Lirella to Raphael. "I never would have supposed it, Your Majesty."

"Highness actually. I'd have to organise six funerals and a wedding to be properly called Majesty, and while the latter might be interesting I have no interest in the former." Raphael replied as according to Theao law and custom only an married, childless sovereign gained the title of king or queen and the respective Majesty. For the title to devolve to him, his neices, nephews, and brother and sister would have to die as well as finding a wife.

“The first album went through the roof? Well, judging by the quality of the models involved, it does not surprise me,” Ithun said offering a wink to Angelina.

“Now, ladies, since I am not in that much of a rush, I believe I shall remain for a bit and watch the proceedings,” he said giving a glance at Angelina, then at Katrina. “As such, and if you do not mind, I shall most arrogantly steal a seat by your table.”

He then offered each of the ladies an arm. He actually wanted to wrap an army around Angelina’s waist, but then it would’ve meant no offering the army to Katrina due to asymmetry reasons. And he didn’t really think Katrina and, most importantly, Lina would appreciate if he also wrapped an arm around the former’s waist. And so, the old trick of having a lady at each arm was used.



* * *

“One million and eight hundred thousand franks,” Lesov raised the bids as the auctioneer nodded.

“One million and eight hundred thousand. Anyone wishes to raise the bid?”

"I think he was talking to the Imperatrice." Obama pointed out to Theao.

"My apologies if that was the case." Raphael replied as we was corrected by Obama.

The finance director had not previously heard of either person, though she smiled politely all the same.

‘It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms Sahlu,’ replied the friendly Xirniumite, graciously extending a fair-skinned hand towards each individual in turn. ‘My name is Valéria Arquenís.’

Both figure skating (particularly, pair skating) and ice dancing were, in fact, quite popular within the Eternal Republic. Valéria, however, had never shown tremendous interest in the sport (despite her great fondness for competitive ballroom dancing), and was thus blithely unaware that the lady before her was an Olympic-level ice skater.

‘It’s interesting that you should mention the, err… overzealous character of some of the bidders,’ Valéria continued after a brief moment. ‘I must confess that I’ve never seen more spirited an auction – leastways certainly not at a charity event,’ clarified the lady. Ms Arquenís began to regret having left her wineglass (and her husband) at the table, but was relieved at least to see that bidding had continued on the album.

‘Anyway, I suppose that the function organisers will be supremely pleased with the extremely competitive bidding, if not perhaps all of those actually attending the function,’ added Valéria with a curious grin.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ms Arquenís noticed that the pretty Esmerálda was now sitting much closer to her partner than she had been before, and seemed to be whispering something into Fabien’s ear that he was apparently finding rather amusing. The corporate executive did her best to ignore them.

‘Forgive my excessive inquisitiveness, but the two of you are Danaans, are you not?’

Shazza noticed one of the many people bidding look at her. She wasn't sure if it was because she was big competition or she had unusually large boobies. Maybe they were looking at her legs but then good looking rich women turned some folks on.

She ignored the attention and put in a bid for 1,900,000 francs.

If Lord Carstairs had been able to read minds, he would have chuckled at the thoughts of Shazza. Instead he remained blissfully ignorant of them and continued with his main focus, the bidding. He lifted his glass to his lips, savouring the taste of the whiskey as it slipped down his throat and enjoyed the warm the seemed to spread briefly though his body.

Clearing his throat with a short cough, he once more raised his card, and called out “Two million Francs.”

He looked up then at the three people who were approaching and stood to greet them, his eyes focused on the man and woman with his companion. He gave them a smile, instantly recognising both.

Katrina released Ithun’s arm and took a step towards Lord Carstairs, looking at Ithun. “Your Excellency, may I introduce Lord Carstairs, Duke of Claven.” She then turned to Laurence. “Your Grace, His Excellency, High Count Ithun Khat, the Grand Ducal Minister of Foreign Affairs. She indicated Ithun then Angelina. “Miss Ormond needs no introduction.”

Laurence presented his hand first to Ithun, shaking it with a firm grip. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Excellency.” He then turned to Angelina and taking her hand in his, bent slightly and kissed just above the skin on the back of her hand. “No introductions are necessary, how could I forget Miss Ormond.” He smiled and looked back at Ithun. “Are you here for the bidding, Your Excellency?” As he spoke, he indicated for the group to sit.

Ithun shook his head negatively as he helped Angelina take her seat by the table before sitting down himself. “Not really, Your Grace. I am not interested in spending millions on a lingerie album, especially when I have the only model I need at my… disposition,” he said with a grin as he reached out to rub Angelina’s back gently.

“Besides,” he continued, “the Khat family is already participating in the Bread for Sword program, so my moral obligations are already executed. We are turning over a share of our yearly income to the Shakhovskoy to keep the program running.”

Spotting the curious look at Laurence’s face as the Minister mention bread and sword, Ithun proceeded with a little explanation. “The Bread for Sword is an old Taraskovyan custom, initiated some six hundred years ago when Grand Duke Vsevolod, embezzled in a routine strife with a coalition of unfaithful Dukes, offered the poorest of his realm to rally his banner in exchange for food and shelter for their families. Back then, the country was not really prosperous due to rather frequent skirmishes between the various lords and you can understand that quite a host rallied his banned.

“Since then, and I haste to reassure Your Grace, the tradition has been refined and streamlined. Today, the Bread for Sword consists in financial assistance offered by the Grand Ducal family. The beneficiaries are then assisted in finding a job, even a low paid one, and are provided with additional funds to keep them at a level worthy of human beings. In return all able bodied beneficiaries, men and women alike, undergo several months of basic training as part of the Civil Defence, and they are then called up a week once every year for rehearsals, for a total period of nine or ten years. The Civil Defence itself is the Taraskovyan armed citizen militia that serves as a “last resort” reserve in times of war. It consists in part from the beneficiaries of the Bread for Sword program and in part from volunteers willing to go through military experience without running the risk to be sent into fighting on some distant continent or planet. As such, if the Grand Duchy gets into a really impressive mess, its military strength can pass from a dozen to several hundred million well trained and armed troops in a matter of days.”

Ithun paused and smiled a little. “But the last time the mess was considered important enough to mobilize such reserves was some three hundred years ago, praised be the Seven Deities. Today, nobody expects that the Civil Defence will ever be called up to fight and, as such, Bread for Sword is what you may consider “charity”, even if I suggest against ever using the word in presence of the beneficiaries.”

He paused just in time for the auctioneer to declare that the second album was sold for two million Taraskovyan franks to none else than Lord Carstairs. The Taraskovyan Foreign Minister grinned at the news. “Well then, Your Grace, allow me to congratulate you on a very worthy acquisition.”

* * *

“The third album of the series is hereby put to the auction at a starting price of two hundred thousand Taraskovyan franks. Same rules apply as for the previous item.”

“Two hundred thousand,” Strogorodskiy placed a bid, followed by Lesov at short pace who raised the bid to three hundred thousand.

“And so we have three hundred thousand franks for the third album of the series. Three and twenty anyone?”

[OOC: I assumed Laurence wouldn't be privy to the exact nature of Taraskovyan weird social policies, namely in order to be able to make a longer post. Hope it is okay :confused: ]

Auction Hall

“And a bid of nine hundred thousand franks for the second album. Anyone for nine and twenty thousand? Nine and twenty?”

“Nine and thirty,” Strogorodskiy said.

“Nine and sixty,” Lesov immediately retorted.

“A million,” Strogorodskiy said with a glance at his compatriot before running his gaze around the hall. He then gave a glance at the auctioneer before standing up from his table and walking up to the Pantocratorians.

“Greetings,” he said with a smile and a little nod of the head, in turn to Virginie and then Thierry. “I do not believe you would know me, so allow me to present myself. Iliya Stepanovich Strogorodskiy, arts collector and businessman. Unfortunately, from your company I only know Mademoiselle’s, but Monsieur’s name escapes me.”

The man was speaking in French; with a slight Russian accent as he rolled the r’s and pronounced some vowels heavier than they were. His French was not suffering from anything else and, as such, was quite presentable indeed to francophonic ears.

"A pleasure to meet you, monsieur." replied Virginie Merlot with a smile, blushing a touch that she had been recognised before one of Pantocratoria's wealthiest men. Of course, she was on the television every night, and Sir Thierry was hardly ever seen at all, but even still, the thought was almost inconceivable to those who knew him. "Permit me to introduce Sir Thierry del Moray, the Chief Executive Officer of Peacock Holdings Group."

Daniel took Valéria’s hand gently and kissed the air just above the fair skin. “It is charming to meet you, my lady.”

Bara smiled warmly, shaking hands with the Xirniumite woman. “It’s nice to meet you, as well.”

“I certainly hope that they shall.” Daniel answered Valéria’s comment about the organizers of the event. “God knows that it is certainly needed after the tragic events of the Plague. These last few years, the world has seen enough of tragedy: The Shattering, endless terrorism, the genocide in Iraqstan, the civil war in the Five Kingdoms…It is enough to make one take pause.”

“You would be quite correct.” Bara answered her next question. “Daniel and I are both from the Principality of Carasia, a small principality in Danaan Ambara.”

Laban, still standing by the Imperatrice and her company, made one last reply to Theao before turning his attention back to the Kajali. “No apologies necessary.”

One cannot truly understand the psyche of the Danaan people unless one first fully appreciates the calamitous socio-political and cultural watershed that was the Shattering, reflected Valéria sagely. Its pervasive presence seems to permeate all aspects of their national consciousness.

‘You are right of course, Mr Shiferaw, the world has indeed already seen enough tragedy,’ agreed Valéria with a nod, smiling sadly. ‘Unfortunately, too often it is not until after misfortune strikes at home that one becomes acute to the misery of others. With all of the (seemingly limitless) wretchedness around the globe, there is always the danger that one might become desensitised to innumerable injustices that occur daily - at least, to those that occur outside one’s own nation. If there is but one thing that I and my fellow countrymen and women can be faulted on, it must certainly be a lamentable lack of true empathy with those individuals who happen to reside beyond the frontiers of the Eternal Republic,’ explained the finance director.

In her mind’s eye, the Xirniumite pictured the always elegantly poised Esmerálda, for whom the plight of the less fortunate abroad was a matter merely of detached academic interest - a distant, intangible reality to be analysed impassively.

Ms Arquenís suddenly appeared embarrassed with the frank quality of her response to Daniel, her pale cheeks blushing slightly as she hastily changed the subject.

‘So you are both from Carasia... I must confess that I had an inkling you might be. Interestingly enough, I once attended a minor international corporate symposium in Ezana,’ continued Valéria vaguely. ‘It seemed a most lovely city, from what little I saw of it,’ added the polite Xirniumite almost automatically, pointedly avoiding any mention of the myriad cases of racial and ethnic conflict that she knew had plagued various areas of the Ambaran continent.

[OOC: Off to Kiev for a week, starting tomorrow. =D ]

“I certainly think so.” Daniel said “although I tend to prefer the countryside. Carasia, although now part of an ancient nation and a home for ancient cultures, is a young principality and there are still places where the grasslands seem to go on forever. A few miles out of a village, one can be alone with alone with the sun and the plains and the wild beasts. It is an invigorating feeling like when the world was new.”

Bara smiled a little. “Sir Daniel is a bit of a romantic. I’ve always loved the bright lights of Ezana. It isn’t really a big city. It doesn’t compare to Narich of Zwingli, certainly. But it has a very vibrant cultural life. I think Ezana has some of the best bolel musicians in the Resurgent Dream, if not the world. It’s just the right size as far as I’m concerned.”