NationStates Jolt Archive

Amy blinks. The AdminCoordinator has the vocabulary of a xanthalian. This is all well and good, but xanthalians have a knack for using English better than most native speakers can. The fact that most of them take it as a second language boggles her mind. She wonders if the Blue's avoidance of contractions is deliberate, or if that's just how the translator works. Xanthalians don't use them either, but Amy suspects that's just to make the people around them feel like morons. As if they needed to.

"Well... huh." She thinks a bit more before starting again. "It's kinda hard to say how it's influenced my life since I don't have any basis for comparison. The truth is, Madame-" she's still stressing the word a little, as if to drive home the fact that she did, in fact, get that the bug was a female. Than don't have a sex like most complex organisms, so when it comes to languages that have gender-specific pronouns things can get awkward. "As much as my government would like me to, I don't identify myself as Xanthalian. Until thirty years ago... well, time is dicey when you're travelling between nations; relativity and multiversal fluctuations and all that. I'm sure you've noticed. It's been thirty years by my clock, anyway."

Amy is starting to babble, and she knows it. She checks herself before it becomes too obvious. "Anyway, until thirty years ago Trasnia, that's the solar system Freeland is a part of, was a sovereign state. I lived the first half of my life a Trasnian, and when the Xanthalian Union brought us together with Mirfak and Than, well... let's just say I wasn't about to throw away my national identity because we were all of a sudden federated. I'm not the only one, either."

She smiles wryly. "Sorry, I am working towards answering your question here. I suppose I've already answered in a way. The crux of it is, Trasnia was originally a pirate colony. Now don't get me wrong: we're civilized people these days, after the first hundred thousand people it got kinda hard for our ancestors to hide from the people they were looting, but we're still the freewheeling sort to some extent. We look positively crazy alongside Mirfak and Than. They have much more... well, to use your own term they're a lot more collectivist than we are. So, you know, I'm perfectly happy to represent Xanthal. If I wasn't, I wouldn't be here. But I'm not Xanthal, and that's a distinction that seems increasingly vague to me in some of the people working for the diplomatic corps these days." She tilts her head. That punch may have been non-alcoholic, but she's loosening up anyway. Must be my nerves, she decides. It's been one hell of an evening so far.

"And so, if I may hypothesize without offense, being originally of a society more individualist than the greater one you find yourself in now you chose a path in which you would represent this new society. You are already somewhat distant from what would be the Xanthal statistical norm, and this perhaps gives you that objective distance necessary to 'sell' your nation as your profession demands. Meanwhile, in the act of selling, you yourself explore your relationship to your nation to try and come to a better understanding of it. I suppose a similar analog I have heard of is that of a student helping to teach a subject to a peer in order to better learn the material herself.

"This is, as I said, a hypothesis and I hope I do not assume too much in making it." Her synthesized voice does take on a quietly apologetic tone, and the tips of her antennae press together gently much as they did when she apologized to Jack earlier. "One of those assumptions is that Xanthal is individualistic enough to allow individuals to choose your profession. Still, you clearly have a... social life? outside of your profession, which is something more or less alien to us. As someone who does not intuitively understand the concept, I often wonder how people such as yourself balance the two--as I am told that yes, they often do need to be balanced. How do you maintain that balance, and towards what end of the working-social life axis do you tend to keep that balance, if I may ask? How would it compare to your peers, or the society as a whole?"

Interesting how one can go on journeys of self-discovery at the oddest times. "Wow. I never really spent much time analyzing it. You sound like you understand it better than I do." Her tone is colored by admiration, but then it turns dark. "The answer is, I don't. Especially not lately. You may already be aware that Northrop-Grumman assisted in an ESUS invasion of Mirfak about six weeks ago in which each country lost billions of dollars in property and over a hundred thousand lives. Since then, I'm sure you can imagine my job has been a good deal more complicated. This is the first real social event I've been to in a while."

She smiles weakly, relating the rest of the story with good humor, considering the content. "Paul has been a real sport. He handles the chores and errands while I'm off at the Embassy trying to keep constructive dialogue open between the Xanthalians, many of whom would love to see the Corporation burn right about now, and the Grummians, who seem to be amazingly casual about the whole affair, which only pisses off my superiors more. I've lived in Caprica City for twenty-three years now, so I know the Corporation's point of view better than any Xanthalian, but with the official statement of the Chair essentially being a sympathetic 'we were only doing what the ESUS told us to,' well... it managed to get me in a Xanthalian uniform tonight, so there're definitely issues to be worked out."

"Sorry, that doesn't really address your whole question, does it? Let's see..." Amy visibly shifts gears as she moves from talking about herself to talking about the Republic. "I don't think it'd be fair to generalize too much. People strike whatever balance between work and fun that they like. I know xanthalians aren't terribly social people, and the than only seem to be social when it has some bearing on the task at hand. But in a societal sense, I suppose Xanthalians get more time for socializing than most, Trasnians in particular. To deal with the labor surplus, the state government has put a lot of floors on wages and a lot of ceilings on how much time people can work. Most don't even work a quarter-day or more than half the week. There are exceptions of course, especially in the diplomatic and military fields. If I wasn't in so deep here, I'd snap up those kind of hours in a second, even if it meant going back to Trasnia and public housing."

"My apologies for bringing the conversation to... sensitive subjects." Another bow of the head, antennae tip-to-tip, voice quietly contrite. "It is in my racial nature to constantly assess what surrounds me and apply hypotheses to aid in my understanding. It is also highly... unfortunate that we are so placed in a delicate situation. While there is not much we can do after the fact, we can offer--as allies of Northrop-Grumman--our assets to assist in the repair of damages incurred to your facilities or infrastructure. That our allies are no longer tied to the likes of ESUS should hopefully assist in working towards better relations."

She listens with her usual unblinking attentiveness to Amy's description of Xanthalian culture. "I hope you do not mind my commenting, but it seems that labor caps are quite... inefficient. Then again, we would think so, given our own cultural background. The average panNorm works until she is physically fatigued. Then she rests until she is once again alert. We do not sleep quite as endoskeletals understand it, and so resting periods are often used for computation and conceptual work, as our fugue states tend to be our most creative periods. Unfortunately, they still do not match humanoid standards of creativity, although we seem to be somewhat better at establishing links via consilience between subjects."

Amy's smile broadens again in appreciation. "Population control measures are in place, but we humans do have a tendency to multiply. With the technology available these days, there is only so much work to be done, and too many people to do it in our case.

"You are very kind, AdminCoordinator. I doubt my people would offer yours assistance were our positions reversed. Yes, much of this trouble can rightfully be placed upon the shoulders of the Extra-Solar Union, but I doubt any kindness on the part of the panNorm can soothe the anger many in Xanthal harbor towards the Corporation for its complicity. Even so, I'm certain your help would be welcome, though I myself am not in a position to accept such an offer."

The AdminCoordinator seems to brighten as Amy does. A plan is forming in her head, and she turns it over in her mind as she speaks. "The offer remains open, in good faith. If nothing else, hopefully its value as a commentary on our support of our allies, given our infamously paranoiac nature, will not be completely lost. Who should I direct my cousin the EngCoordinator towards in order to make our offer official?"

"The Xanthalian Triumvirate. They should all be back on Renku by now, but don't worry about that. Send your message aboard any Xanthalian courier vessel and it'll get where it needs to go. I don't know if any of our ships stop in your territory. If not, you should be able to transfer carriers at any major solar system in this part of the galaxy. Just send it as data, if possible. The Transportation Ministry charges foreigners a rather large fee to deliver packages."

"We will be sure to, then. Is there any other way we might be of service in this matter?"

"Be careful," Amy jokes. It feels good to have made a friend, especially considering earlier events. "Make yourselves out as too willing and the Triumvirate might have you paying for the colonization of Soviet, too."

She sighs. "Well, I've monopolized you enough for now, I suppose." Looking around at the guests that are left, she stands back. "Your company has been a relief, I have to say. I should find my son."

The AdminCoordinator chuckles with all the sincerity her little vocoder box can muster and bows, manipulators clasped in front of her. "It has been a pleasure, Amy Tyler. I wish you well in your quest--at the very least, a child here should stand out somewhat more than any individual pupa in its rack back home." The synthesized voice once again suggests a quiet, humorous smile. "I consider this a good omen. Live well."

Thus politely excusing herself, the AdminCoordinator leaves Amy to her own ends before scuttling gracefully back over to the congregation of her allies. "Imperatrice Nathicana D'Aquisto, Emperor Devon Treznor, Chairman Jack O'Neill, Chairwoman Siri O'Neill." She nods her head in acknowledgement to each one in turn before leaning in conspiratorially. "I do hate to sound so formal where it may not be appropriate, but, friends and allies, after speaking with the visitor from Xanthal I have developed an idea to better relations between Northrop-Grumman and Xanthal in this post-ESUS period. If now is not the time or place I will not go any further, but if a small amount of 'shop talk' is allowable I can provide an abstract..."

And yes, the simulated voice draws out the ellipsis, quite effectively pulling off the suggestive nature of the statement. The Blue also tilts one of its antennae up a bit in a mimicry of a raised eyebrow, something Nathi and Devon at least should pick up on.

Rene saw Nathicana wave, and raised a hand in reply. Her DNI identified the people she didn't recognise, as well as pegging a number on the AdminCoordinator; thanks to the panNorm's strict eugenics and their alien features, it was difficult to tell one panNorm from another.

"Good evening, friends!" she called, smiling; she did truly consider Nathicana a friend, and it was good to see the Imperatrice again.

"And well met to you, Chairman O'Neill," she continued, bowing politely, "As we've not met before. Thank you for inviting me to your festivities."

OOC: Gacht, short. Oh well. The prior caveat stands; my internet access is erratic and I'll reply as I'm able.

Upon receiving the gift, Jack carefully ran his fingers down the length of the sword, feeling every contour in its intricate design, before he grasped the handle and begun to swing it around, making sure not to hit any bystanders or the Christmas tree near him. He found it was balanced perfectly for his hand, which he thought was rather odd, and easily sliced it through the air with very little effort, much like his other sword that hung over the mantle of the fireplace.

Seeing that this was indeed a very nice gift and also figuring that he had better put it away before someone gets hurt or killed by it, Jack handed the weapon over to Siri, who stepped over to the fireplace and set it carefully on an empty rack below another weapon – an ancient longsword, crafted in a silver metal that reflected any light that shone upon it and displayed a design unlike any other one in the room with many similarities to futurist architecture of the early twentieth century.

When he had seen that the sword was resting safely out of the way, Jack looked towards von Papen, ignoring anything about what else would have been granted for he was tired of conflict with the Dersconi Imperial Court. “I want to thank you for sword, Franz, even though that it was not originally yours to give,” he replied with a smile and a firm handshake. “You have honored Alexei’s wishes that it be given to me long after he has been gone, and I’m sure that he would have been glad that you had done that.”

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

“You have been waiting to meet Vice Chairman Naelthasser, correct, Jaril?” asked Ire’arra, turning her eyes from the digital clock on the stove back to the young Drow. “Quen…llar…draa…uss…”

Shoving the door of the kitchen open, Shiran stepped through, clutching an old clipboard in his hand and a pen in the other. He seemed frustrated as he sketched a rectangular object in the middle of the lined paper and, around this rectangle, jotted down letters of an alphabet that none were familiar with. Dropping it upon the countertop, he continued sketching, then pausing for a moment as he thought before sketching again.

“Good evening, Shiran. What seems to be cause of your frustration?” Ire’arra responded to his entrance, but already knowing what the answer would be.

The elf gave a simple nod before he spoke. “We appear to have had a few guests leave, thus forcing me to reconstruct the table setting for dinner, which is what I am doing now. But it appears that I will have to remove three of the slats from the dining room table.”

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

Finding himself in the middle of yet another introduction, Jack focused his attention upon Rene and returned the bow to her. “You’re quite welcome,” he replied with a nod of the head. “I’m certainly glad you could make it here tonight.” He then glanced down to his watch. “And you’re just in time too. Dinner is going to be ready in a little while.”

His attention was then caught by the words of the AdminCoordinator, causing him to turn his head from the conversation over to the panNorm. “Eh…well…go right ahead, ma’am.” He pondered for a moment before he continued to speak. “I wouldn’t mind hearing what this idea is since all of us in the Chair are, in fact, looking for some way to help mend relations between the Corporation and the Xanthalians. But we just haven’t had very many good ideas lately about how to do so…so any input would be helpful.”

The AdminCoordinator nods, bobbing her head up and down once. Without turning her head, she makes sure Amy is out of earshot, and speaks quietly all the same. "I just offered the panNorm's assistance to Xanthal in repairing their recent war damage in the interest of bettering relations between them and our allies," she says with an inclusive gesture, "but she said that while appreciated it may not have any effect on Northrop-Grumman/Xanthal relations. I have come up with a possible solution to this matter.

"Now, I recognize that Northrop-Grumman has its own damages to repair and thus does not necessarily have the interest or the means to expend resources on repairing a recent enemy. We--the panNorm--on the other hand, have sufficient excess resource capacity to both offer an errand of mercy to Xanthal as well as sub-contract Northrop-Grumman interests to assist in the repairs. What we do not do is actually ever mention the fact that your interests, Chairman Jack O'Neill, are actually being funded by panNorm resources, thus making it appear that you are altruistically putting things aside and expending your own resources to assist Xanthal in its war repairs while working alongside us as per our offer to help.

"We would invite you to help, as allies, and thus pre-empt the Xanthalians from refusing your aid. This arrangement for reimbursement--'under the table,' I believe the phrase is--would be left at only the top levels of our respective hierarchies and therefore at the ground and diplomatic levels would appear to be you letting bygones be bygones and volunteering your own assets to aid us in reconstruction. Combined with proletariat-level direct interaction with the Xanthalian public, this should aid in making Northrop-Grumman look much better in the eyes of the Xanthalian Triumvirate and its people."

"Thus," she says with no slight amount of pride, "we should be able to forward the interests of our alliance abroad to the betterment of all involved. The panNorm would primarily profit from this through coordination with your assets, Chairman Jack O'Neill, and as using it as an opportunity to see how suitably matched we are as allies, as well as by expending our resources in such a method as to make the Alliance appear a benevolent organization and thus improve all of our standings in the eyes of the international community."

While Amy searches elsewhere in the house for her son, Greg looks over at the Vice-Chairman. "What happened in there? I heard yelling."

Upon hearing the idea that was put forth by the AdminCoordinator, Siri merely stared at the floor and muttered between breaths, “Trickery…”

Her husband, making sure that she did not create any problems because of her already apparent opposition to the plan, put his hands on her shoulders and tried to quietly explain the situation to her. “Yeah, in a sense, it is…but we really don’t have a choice in the matter. The money to help the Xanthalians rebuild is not there because we are running deficits as is and simply cannot afford to be charitable as we’d just put ourselves further and further into debt. If we take this opportunity, we can at least mend relations and see what we can do for them in the future…but if we don’t, we pass up an excellent opportunity, and it will be more difficult to try to fix things later on. Personally, I’d like to take the former. It’s better for everyone…”

“You don’t understand…” came the response as she sadly shook her head and stepped away from his grasp.

Jack shut his eyes for a moment and sighed before he spoke to the AdminCoordinator in a somewhat resigned tone. “Your idea is the best we have right now, so I think we’ll go for it.”

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

As he is jotting down the various names upon the clipboard, Shiran, without looking up from his work, responded to Greg, “With the arrival of a guest, who, in human terms, appeared to be a large ant, the Ridgians became rather disgusted by this sentient creature and created an irritating fuss indirectly about her, resulting in an argument between King Antonette and Chairman O’Neill. The King was promptly ordered to leave after a small intervention by your mother. However, I do believe that the situation is quieting down in the living room at this time.”

Greg looks surprised. "Mom? It's not like her to step into other people's arguments."

Shiran glanced over to Greg. “She merely expressed her disgust at the events and threatened…politely…to leave if things were not resolved. In light of that and other concerns, the Chairman revoked the Ridgians' privilege to be at the party."

Seeing the lull in the party, Prince Tarakh went out to the foyer room where his coat was, opened a box in his suitcase, and let a cute little penguin run loose before going back to sit at the fire, watching the penguin waddle across the room out of the corner of his eye.

The AdminCoordinator slowly taps the tips of her antennae together--a natural response--and slightly cants her head to the side--an affected one--but recovers quickly. "It does omit several facts to those outside our alliance--or even outside this little circle here--but those facts, mostly dealing with means, have nothing to do with the intents involved. We all wish better relations, you wish to help your former enemies yet lack the means to do so, we have the means and the opportunity and can supply them quietly. Northrop-Grumman will certainly contribute its own effort in terms of labor and coordination, Chairwoman Siri O'Neill. The only thing you would not be exactly contributing would be mere raw materials and resources, and indeed you would even be contributing those once we gift them--quietly--to you. There would be nothing except the quiet agreement of a few friends here keeping you from holding on to them for your own benefit, but you would still use them to aid Xanthal in an effort to achieve your own goals and ideals--those that are shared with the rest of us. It is no pain to us, certainly, and as you endoskeletals are prone to say, 'is this not what friends are for?'"

Her synthesized voice is friendly and soothing, perhaps hiding a tiny bit of hurt that her plan is considered trickery rather than simply tricksy, as there is a difference. "If it truly concerns you, we can work out some method of repayment in the future, preferably in biomatter or perhaps a 'favor,' if you will. I did not mean to offend, Chairwoman Siri O'Neill, and apologize if I have--not only is it a poor way to start our relations, but personally inappropriate as well."

She also looks without a turn of her head at the penguin. She can't help but slowly tap her antennae together again.

Upon finding that there had truly been a greater disruption than had been at his vantage, Jaril had been so busy trying to use Grace to coax the information out of Eyarayin's N'dromis that he'd forgotten completely that he had never met nor greeted Shiran before.

Clearing his throat softly, he stood, making the smooth half-bow and spreading of open hands customary to his native land.

"Saesa omentien lle, Vice-Chairman Naelthasser," he said, trying his hand at Elvish (a greater courtesy, using the older Elvish to greet the Elf than it was to use the more common 'gre'as'anto lueth verve dro,' or even the extremely formal "Xal dosst menvissen tlu vesss, Dosst xonathulls nezmuth, Lu' dosst daewle sei'lor p'los dos izil 'anonen. H'uena ulu telanth, zuch tlu seke. H'uena ulu thalra, mal'rak biu abban").

"I hope you will excuse my rudeness in not coming to meet you earlier, either at this event or since I have come to Northrop-Grumman."
_______________________________________________________________

Eyarayin had quietly observed the general happenings in the main room...and now she discovered what the heat source in a coat in the closet had been.

Even to the beasts we slaughter, we are more kind than to put in a box...I would not be surprised if that was the intended purpose of this avian.

Adding to the growing crowd in the kitchen, Amy pokes her head in. "There you are." She walks in, looking exasperated. "I hope you have permission to be in here, Gregory."

"Uh..." Greg backs up a step, looking over at the creepy mind-reading drow lady. "Sort of?" He places the beer in his hand on the counter behind him, as if to conceal it.

In her response to the AdminCoordinator, Siri’s voice did not contain the warm, friendly tone of the panNorm but instead seemed emotionless and cold, the same of her facial expression. “Most…if not all…would settle for the plan which you are suggesting, for it seems to yield the results that we all seek with the cost carried on the shoulders of more than one nation. However, I am not one of those people because I feel that since we created this problem in the first place, we need to accept the entirety of the cost for their reconstruction…it is the right thing to do as it will be the retribution for what I…we…have done…”

Caught up in what had been said, her voice stopped partially through the sentence as her face appeared to freeze into one of confusion. She said nothing for almost twenty seconds, an eternity from some people’s standards, before she spoke again in the same tone as before. “I accept your proposal for dealing with the Xanthalian reconstruction…dismiss whatever I have said before…it is irrelevant…”

Siri appeared bothered, distressed by something that had occurred and politely excused herself from the conversation, only to leave out of the side door into the front hall.

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

Seeing that his sketching of the dining room table was complete and fully labeled for this evening, Shiran carefully clipped the pen back onto the clipboard and tucked it under his left arm with the intent to reworki the table itself, according to the plan that he had created. He was about to leave the room when he heard an Elvish greeting by the one Kaymirilian.

“It is certainly a pleasure to finally meet you, also, Jaril d’ Kestal, Second Son of the Second House of Kaymiril,” replied Shiran as he turned and bowed fully to the young Drow.

“You have no need to apologize for your actions. I fully understand your delay in this matter for it is reasonable to assume that not everyone has met every other guest at the party. I know that I have not and have been rather lax in doing so.”

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

The penguin was an unwise creature to bring into the living room, mostly because the O’Neill’s cat, who had been previously occupied playing with an ornament that had dropped on the floor, was now interested in this bird. Trying to capture it as if it were just a mere robin, the cat pounced upon the penguin, causing a loud bang on the floor as the attack only frightened it and forcing it to be chased by the feline out through the door that Siri had left open.

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

“I have given him permission to join us here in the kitchen, Ambassador. And do not worry. He is not being a bothersome individual unlike the others that you have been dealing with. On the contrary, he is acting as a perfect gentleman,” Ire’arra responded to Amy as she glanced over to Greg with a smile. From the counter behind him, the bottle of beer faded away until nothing was there, not even a ring of condensation on the marble.

"Huh." Amy looks over her progeny with a suspicious gleam in her eye, then shrugs as if to dismiss the whole affair. "Well then. Mister Vice Chairman, Madame Aleanrahel, Sir." She nods to each in turn, the last addressed to Jaril. "Please excuse my intrusion." An audible thump emanates from the living room down the hall, followed by the growl of a cat and the squeal of a distressed penguin. Amy takes a deep breath, steeling herself as she pauses in the doorway, then makes her exit.

With his mother gone, Greg shakes his head and casts a woeful smile towards Jaril. "Just when I was starting to think it was safe to go back there." He turns to get his drink and finds it gone. Naturally, he looks over at Ire’arra. Her knowing expression sends a shudder through his body. This party is really too much. He stares at the counter where the bottle was. "Well," he manages, then turns and sits heavily on the floor.

"Ah, good," said Jaril to Shiran. "I must admit...so many unknown entities from many nations...and the arrival of more while I was here speaking with Advisor Aleanrahel, with the thankful departure of some of the more hostile forces in the room...if you will forgive my saying so."

Jaril looked at Greg as he was spoken to and as the young human slid to the floor with a soft thump.

"Are you all right?"

"Oh, fine, fine..." Greg replies with a weak smile. "Just give me a minute."

“Would you excuse me for just a moment, Hasan?” Alakantar asked politely, breaking away from his little chat with the Halladi Premier and turning his attention to something that had caught his eye on the far end of the living room.

Alakantar then stepped away from the man and slowly began to approach Eyarayin, pondering deeply about what he was going to do and whether or not he ought to do it. It was the first time that he had this opportunity ever since he could remember, though he felt slightly nervous about even trying to do it. But the Christmas spirit -- among other things -- won out over his caution, and when he had reached his friend, he smiled and gave her a kiss, before pointing up to the broad, green leaves and white berries of a familiar parasitic plant dangling over their heads.

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

“I assure you that you will meet most, if not all, of the other guests when they are assembled together for dinner, which will commence soon,” Shiran added, noting the reappearance of Greg’s bottle of beer on the floor next to the human and chuckling slightly. “But first, I must rearrange the table settings, then place the food out upon it….Excuse me for a few moments.”

It is typically a bad move for a man to kiss a woman without permission.

It is an even worse idea to do it under the excuse of a cultural idiosyncracy...that doesn't exist in her culture.

As Alak's lips touched hers, Eya's hand came up to deliver a warning blow across his face...perhaps a touch harder than intended, but it wouldn't do any real damage.

"There will not be a repeat of that action."
____________________________________________________________

Jaril nodded to Shiran, before crouching down next to Greg, the silk of his clothes moving easily with him.

"I suppose this is your first time to meet a Drow?"

Greg sighs, hauling himself back to his feet. He sees the bottle of beer, but he doesn't acknowledge it in any way. It'd probably put me under a spell or something. "Well, in person. I mean, I've seen 'em on T.V. and noticed them walking down the street or whatever. Why?"

"Well..." Jaril tilted his head from one side to the other.

"To be perfectly honest, you're a bit jumpy around us. Don't let my cousin see that...she is completely merciless when it comes to phobias or anything remotely resembling one."

Greg crosses his arms, looking hurt. "It's not you, it's the mind-reading and telekinesis and... whatever." He looks over at Ire’arra. "No offense."

"Magick?"

Jaril conjured a bottle of Kaymirilian honeyed wine, offering it to Shiran.

"We can all do it, to some extent. Some of it isn't malevolent, and I assure you...your drink is fine."

"Some?" Greg does not appear reassured by this.

The differences in cultures had oddly slipped Alakantar’s mind, albeit only temporarily as the strike to his face and the resulting stinging sensation that he felt on his cheek suddenly caused it to come back to mind. And his immediate reaction was to hold his face and to exclaim, “Ow!”

Remembering that Eya had not been informed about the mistletoe and the cultural meaning behind it, Alak thought that she at least deserved an explanation. “Erm…I think I forgot to tell you about this…but…here on Earth, it’s been a Christmas tradition for hundred of years for two people that meet underneath the mistletoe to kiss,” he explained, leaving out the needless details about the Greeks and the English, which would serve only to complicate matters. “Most of the original meanings behind it have faded away, save for a few, of course, but it does make things a bit more fun around Christmastime…most of the time.” He felt his face again and mouthed the word “Ow” still feeling the stinging.

Meanwhile, over with those from the NDA, Jack had been watching the whole encounter with a slight grin on his face, enjoying the lightheartedness of it over the abrupt and sad exit of his wife from the room. He should consider himself lucky…getting a kiss out of that and all…my first encounter with Siri didn’t go that well…Hell…all I got out of it was a headache and a scar on my face that I still have even after all these years.

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

“Thank you, Jaril. I shall have a glass of this once I am able to,” replied Shiran graciously as he grasped the bottle in his hand, making sure to put it away before he carried any more plates of food between the kitchen and the main dining room.

"Well, admittedly, there are more than plenty of spells that can be used to destroy, injure, disfigure, or kill," Jaril explained to Greg. "But there are also spells that can heal, create, restore, shape...magick in and of itself is not good or bad, destructive or creative. Magick is merely what the caster makes of it."

Jaril turned back to Shiran.

"If you think the other guests might like it, I can provide another bottle for dinner."
________________________________________________________________

"I am not human, Alakantar, and I have little use for customs humans use on Earth."

Eya's expression was as bland as ever, and her tone did not waver.

"I would think you, of all people here, would keep that to mind."

"I still don't trust it," Greg says shifting his weight nervously. "At least if someone comes at you with a knife or a gun you have a chance to do something about it. Even harmless things; you've gotta wonder where this stuff comes from. It's scary." He opens the refrigerator and retrieves another bottle of beer.

"Ah, and we come to the heart of the matter. Guns are an uncommon sight in Kaymiril, at best...and they terrify most of us, to think that something so deadly could travel so fast. Magick is familiar."

Jaril leaned thoughtfully on the counter top.

"That is an interesting consideration."

"Well, yeah. What you know is a big part of it, but physical weapons come from real places. You can see how they're made and use them intuitively. Magic comes from... some weird other dimension or something. I mean, mana? Mist? It's all so... I don't know." He takes a long drink from the new bottle. "Maybe you're right, but I still feel the same."

"Oh, no! No, no." Jaril shook his head.

"Magick is very much real, and comes from your surroundings." The usually quite still and calm Jaril grew quite animated as he began to explain it.

"You see, Greg, every living thing has energy...and not just every living thing...everything. But fire has a different kind of energy than ice, and both are different yet from plants, which are different from animals, and there are even differences in animal energy. Whichever type of energy a being -- yes, there are even some beings we would consider 'non-sentient' which can use magick of sorts -- whichever type of energy they associate with and control most easily is their 'element,' as it were. The control of this energy and the substance to which it is bound is called manifestation. A pyromancer's manifestation is flame, a hydromancer's is water, just for example. The raw quantity of energy a mage is able to manipulate to his or her own end defines how powerful the individual mage is, but the ability to control magick very finely determines a good mage from a bad, good and bad here differing from the value judgements of 'good and evil.' A very good mage is able to take a type of energy that he or she cannot use normally and convert it to the familiar energy...much like you would...I don't know, turn that bottle into a club if you had no other recourse."

He stopped abruptly, realizing he was growing long-winded with his explanation.

"In short, you don't need to fear magick while you are a guest here, beyond my cousin Eyarayin using it to pick on you if she finds out. It in itself is a tool, much like a gun. Not a force of right or wrong in and of itself...it's all in the user, and none of the ones who have a sensitivity to it here have any ill will towards you."

Greg just looks blank. "Oh. Well, that's alright then." He empties his bottle and goes for another.

Jaril looks at Greg, and then to Ire'arra, making a few of the complex hand guestures that made up another aspect of the "language" that was Drow. While it was a completely different language, most people knew both.

Did I explain too far?

“Yeah, I know…I know…it’s what happens when you are brought up in a society like this. Your customs and views pretty much reflect that around you no matter what you are,” Alak responded to his Drow friend, before focusing his eyes towards hers and replying softly.

“I’m sorry that I kissed you without letting you know the custom or even asking for permission beforehand. I should’ve known better.”

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

The hand gestures that Jaril had used were familiar with Ire’arra, but unfortunately she had not used them for quite some time – over a couple thousand years to be exact – as was evident by the frequent pausing that occurred as she signaled.

I believe your explanation was

She stopped for a moment, seemingly confused as to what she was attempting to convey, before she remembered again.

lengthy for the young human, but I feel that he will understand as he ponders such things in his spare time.

Nathi was of course intrigued about AdminCoordinator’s proposal, and arched one brow slightly in response to the mischievous look given. Still, better to hear it all out and see what was what before commenting, so … as the conversation progressed, she smiled and nodded, eyes flicking back and forth between those gathered, trying to read reactions.

In her eyes, it was a perfectly legitimate, and brilliant strategy for mutual benefit, and some excellent PR. Freely-offered help to one another was something the NDA was proud of. With the exception of the sometimes problematic Iraqstan, it had been a very peaceable, profitable, and friendly alliance, which was just what she had hoped for when Carlos and Devon had first approached her with the idea, what seemed ages ago now. Amazing the things that can be thought up in a hot tub, in retrospect. And as Treznor had observed, it had by far outgrown the three founders, attracting an array of respectable and effective allies, all of which were capable of taking on the responsibilities of leadership when the time came for it, as it surely would.

So to say Siri’s reaction came as a surprise was a bit of an understatement. Trickery? And what on earth was wrong with a bit of harmless misdirection when in the end, it benefitted all? Just what did the woman think politics was, if not for a mix of truth, perception, creative spin, and the ultimate goal of forwarding one’s own interests, be it for country, alliance, or position within them? Slyness was a skill highly lauded in the Dominion. Those who didn’t know how to use their imagination and wit to get what they wanted, tended not to get near as far – it was simply how things had worked for centuries, and continued to work even now, regardless that honestly and honor were also held in high regard.

As AdminCoordinator said, there was no ill-intent here. Merely a rearranging of assets for mutual benefit. While Siri’s continued explanation shed some light on it, Nathi wondered quietly if the lady were not allowing her pride and honor to be too much of a stumbling block. She knew from experience that sort of thing could end up shooting one in the foot more than helping accomplish goals in the end – none knew better than Devon just how stubborn she could be about things when she got her mind set on it. She let out a slow breath she’d inadvertently held as Siri relented, watching with a touch of concern as she left.

“I’ll most certainly support this proposal,” she finally said quietly. “Thank you, AdminCoordinator, for thinking of it, and offering. We’ll be more than happy to help defray the cost, if you’re willing. Jack, if there’s anything the Dominion can do to assist, please let us know. Helping one another, and improving relations in the process, is not an opportunity to be missed if it can be managed.”

“Yeah, I know…I know…it’s what happens when you are brought up in a society like this. Your customs and views pretty much reflect that around you no matter what you are,” Alak responded to his Drow friend, before focusing his eyes towards hers and replying softly.

“I’m sorry that I kissed you without letting you know the custom or even asking for permission beforehand. I should’ve known better.”

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

The hand gestures that Jaril had used were familiar with Ire’arra, but unfortunately she had not used them for quite some time – over a couple thousand years to be exact – as was evident by the frequent pausing that occurred as she signaled.

I believe your explanation was

She stopped for a moment, seemingly confused as to what she was attempting to convey, before she remembered again.

lengthy for the young human, but I feel that he will understand as he ponders such things in his spare time.

"Indeed you should have."

She glanced around the room, taking in what was happening.

"Rilu'oh, dosst jabplynn zhahus naut l' toha valyrin d' nindel d' dosst ilhar, lu' Usstan orn naut mir ol qua'laen dos whol 'zil mzilt draeval."
_________________________________________________________

Ah, xas.

Jaril glanced back to Greg from Ire'arra and cleared his throat gently.

"Shall we go see the trouble everyone else has gotten into, or shall we wait here with no one but ourselves?"

"Do I get a vote?" Greg interjects.

"I was merely putting out a suggestion," soothed Jaril.

"...Although I will admit, being unaccustomed to a democratic society, and having originated in a matriarchial society, I was mainly posing the question to Advisor Aleanrahel."

"What, you think I know anything about democracy? The O'Neill's govern everything around here; or at least they try. If the religious nuts would put away their guns and love their fellow man like Jesus told 'em to, maybe we could get something done in this city, like after the invasion. Everyone was working together until the Daedreth showed up." Greg takes another long drink. "Anyway, it's not like I care. I can head back to Xanthal if it all goes to shit. I just wanna be in the loop, you know?"


Amy reappears in the living room fully composed. She is pleased to see that everything seems to be in order; whatever has become of the cat and penguin, they've fallen silent. The ambassador walks over to her husband and tugs on his ear. Hard. Paul wakes up with a snort and looks up. "What'd I miss?"

Amy quickly checks to be sure that Jack and Siri aren't looking, then cuffs him over the head, chiding him. "A lot. Now get up and try to act like you're interested in something other than napping."

Paul stands, groaning a little as he lifts himself out of the well-cushioned seat. "Yes, dear." He says with an ironic smile. He takes in his surroundings with a slow scan around the room. "Where's Greg?" He pauses. "And where are the guests?"

“Bel'la dos, Eya,” answered Alakantar, glad that his friend wasn’t as angered about this as she was with what had happened with his mother earlier.

He too began to examine what was going on around him and noticed something out of place. “Telanthaad d' vel'bolen...Usstan brorn vel'klar ussta ilhar uriu alus...il llaar 'udtila naut sevir ussta ilharn's suul vel'drav uk zhah bauth.”

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

“I trust it would be more courteous to those attending if we would join them in the living room instead of remaining hidden in here,” Ire’arra responded to Jaril, opening the door from the kitchen with just a flick of the wrist. “Besides, the chaotic happenings have now resided there, so there is no reason for us to stay away.”

“And as for you, Gregory…” The ancient Drow turned towards the young human and snapped her fingers, causing the bottle of beer to simply vanish from his grasp. “I believe you have had more than enough of these alcoholic beverages for the time being for intoxication would serve nothing more than for you to make a fool of yourself in front of your parents and our other guests.”

"Hey!" Greg exclaims, jumping back. "Don't you ever just use your hands for anything?" He follows her out the door. "And don't call me 'Gregory'!"

Clang…clang…clang…clang…clang…clang…clang

From the corner of the living room, an antique grandfather clock overpowered the conversations between the guests with a set of chimes that resonated loudly every few seconds for a total of seven rings. The sounds filled the room as the clock’s black and white face boasted that it was seven in the evening. As soon as the last one had reverberated throughout the stone-walled room, the Vice Chairman entered in through the rear door, before propping it open with a simple rubber wedge. He seemed to be in good spirits as a smile had crept across his face, and he called out to those within the room.

“Excuse me! Could I have your attention, please?” he said with a raised voice. “I am delighted to announce that dinner is ready…now, would you all please follow me?”

After assembling the group just outside of the door, the elf first made sure that there were not any stragglers left in the living room before leading everyone down one of the many sparsely furnished halls that wound throughout the mansion. They were not properly lit though. But it appeared to make sense that there was a lack of furniture and other decorations so that walking was made easier and less problematic for the group.

The place to which they were led, the formal dining room, was quite large, even more so than the living room mainly because it had to accommodate enough furniture to seat more than fifty guests. But set up for a little more than half of that amount, the wooden dining room table, intricately hand-carved out of the finest mahogany, spread out across the room with twenty seven chairs of the same style around the sides and two slightly larger chairs with arms on the ends.

On the top of this table, a dark green cotton cloth covered every square inch of the wood and hung down from the sides. Though, this would not be as noticeable as that which was resting on that cloth. Four fifteen pound glazed hams, still steaming from the ovens, sat evenly spaced from one another surrounded by large bowls of scalloped potatoes, green beans, potato salad, and sweet corn, smaller bowls of cranberry sauce, roasted apple chunks, steamed broccoli, and ginger-glazed carrots, wicker baskets full of rolls, platters of pickles, black and green olives, and fruits such as watermelon, pineapple, and others. In addition to these various kinds of foods, drinks were readily available and consisted of fruit punch, iced tea, lemonade, and water for those who did not want alcoholic beverages, and red wines such as Pinot Noir and white such as White Zinfandel along with others for those that did. Also, placed neatly in front of every chair, except for one, was a set of silverware, a cloth napkin, a ceramic place, and both a glass of water and an empty crystal wine glass. And sitting in the middle of the plate was a card that displayed the name of a person that was supposed to sit there.

Starting on the far end of the table with the armed chair was a place for Chairman O’Neill and to his left was one for the AdminCoordinator. It was a slightly different place setting than the rest with an ottoman for the panNorm’s ant-like body along with a meaty gelatin mold resting on the plate because of the species’ dietary needs.

To her left moving down the table were places for Devon Treznor, Nathicana D’Aquisto, Rene, Masetti – one of the Dread Lady’s bodyguards, Arthur, Leia, their parents Count Richard I and Queen Mariah, Inquisitor Janus, Vice Chairman Naelthasser, Gregory Tyler, and his parents Amy and Paul, respectively. On the other end of the table next to the Xanthalian Ambassador’s husband was a spot for Chairwoman O’Neill, followed by Phoren, Kael, Nala, and Tylandin Narqu, Ezekiel, Drakomis Reign, Ire’arra Aleanrahel, Franz von Papen, Tarakh Andropov, Pascali – the Dread Lady’s other bodyguard, Hasan Muhammed, Jaril d’ Kestal, Alakantar d’ Aleanrahel, and Eyarayin d’ Drasdera, respectively.

OOC: For reference on the layout of the table settings: http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v73/TheQ2005/Custom%20Pictures/seatingarrangement.png

Well-accustomed to social situations and their occasional need for acting in a directed manner, the AdminCoordinator follows the flow with the practiced ease of a taoist and eventually takes her 'seat,' a motion which mostly consists of folding her legs under her thorax in a cross between the lotus position and cushion-kneeling. Fortunately, she had the good idea to call ahead and suggest something a bit more amenable to make the process of panNorm eating compatible with the usual standards of uman table manners. When all one's teeth are on the outside and one's actual internal 'mouth' is more of a flat beak-like orifice behind said teeth, it is perhaps for the gastrointestinal betterment of those around one if one avoids anything requiring any real amount of chewing.

Even then, the process of spoon-feeding essentially consists of widening the mandibles, raising the maxillae, and then inserting the spoon into the beak. The AdminCoordinator has become expert at using a particular spoon she carries with her to basically scrape the spoon clean with the top of her beak as most endoskeletals do with their upper lips, but using foreign table service is generally at least mildly impolite and, so, she resorts to something else the panNorm devised to deal with such potentially socially awkward situations.

Reaching into one pocket on her web vest, she extracts what looks to be a neatly-folded blue handkerchief connected somehow to a steel chain. Deftly unfolding it to full size and revealing its intricate yellow pattern (similar to the one she bore on her own carapace), she quickly slips her antennae through the steel chain until the handkerchief veils everything below the upper line of her mandibles, then tightens the chain through a simple clasp to make sure it will stay there. With that accomplished she removes the translator cube--now completely hidden--from her mandibles, sets it in its blocky pouch on her vest, and folds her manipulators on the edge of the table, waiting for the next step in the procedure.

It varies from tradition to tradition, so it should pay to simply be attentive and follow the leader.

The smell of the food had Nathi’s mouth watering before they even sat down. She’d made her way to the dining room with Devon of course, arm looped comfortably with his, Mas and Pascali doing what they always did in keeping an eye on things without trying to draw attention to themselves or be in the way. Finding they too were welcome at table brought surprised and very satisfied smiles from the both of them, moreso on seeing that their placement was more than adequate to continue their jobs, though they felt they had little to fear here, and enjoy the fine spread at the same time.

”I think I’m going to like our new friends,” Massetti murmured quietly to Pascali as they took their places, though they waited for all of the ladies present to be seated, Mas offering his assistance to Rene if she wished it.

Nathicana graciously accepted whatever assistance Treznor chose to offer, leaning over to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek once they all were settled in.

“Grazie, Jack. It all looks absolutely delicious. Thank you, both you and your lovely wife again for so graciously inviting us to your beautiful home to celebrate the season.” The thanks was echoed quietly by the two bodyguards with polite nods and genuine smiles, both to Jack and to Siri.

The Halladi smiled with a sort of sarcastic smirk that was becoming ever more typical of him. He thought to himself of how he was relieved it was finally time for dinner. This was, of course, since he knew essentially no one else at the party. He'd been pretty quiet the whole night, except for his conversation with Alakantar. Quickly and quietly he took a seat, and waited to see if there would be any sort of prayer before he began to feed.

Franz and Tarakh glanced at each other, nodding, and following the crowd to the table. Franz was impressed by the set-up, but Tarakh maintained his usual indifference to his surroundings. Taking their seats, Franz chuckled uneasily after looking down to either end of the table, leaning over towards Tarakh.

"It seems we have the position of 'least important' here at this table." Tarakh, glancing up and down the table as well, nodded.

"Quite, albeit not to be unexpected. After all, Xavier was not exactly cordial, and the fact the Northrop-Grumman and Dersconi governments don't recognize each other." von Papen sighed.

"Amazing how such things can deteriorate so quickly." Tarakh nodded as his personal communicator installed in his brain as a Praesillei Dei chirped up (it allowed them to recieve communications without having anyone else to notice, as it registered in his mind like a telepathic message would). Getting the message, he leaned towards Papen, whispering in his ear.

"Franz, your house was raided by the SS and burnt to the ground." Franz kept his face straight as he heard the message.

"Well, it seems my fortress will be getting more residential use from now on."

Jaril looked to his cousin Eyarayin.

"Well, it seems this would be the time."

The Kaymirilian Captain of the Third Fleet nodded, and each of the two Drow moved thier hands forward.

While they had been holding nothing at the start, each set a bottle of wine on the table.

"It is long standing tradition in both Kaymirilian and human cultures for the guests to present gifts to their hosts," stated Jaril.

"We decided to wait until now to present them in the hopes that everyone might get enjoyment out of them that so desires. I bring from my native Albera province a mild honeyed wine, and I believe Eyarayin brings from her Chalin province a rather strong spiced wine. While the evening began somewhat rockily, I hope we all come to the table of our two gracious hosts in peace and the wish to make of this evening everything we had desired of it in coming here."

Amy, Paul, and Greg take their seats obediently and without fanfare. All three are looking forward to the meal, especially considering the quality and quantity of what sits before them. Greg keeps glancing across the table at Ire’arra, half expecting her to levitate the table or pull some other trick. Paul is distracted by his proximity to Siri; the distant coldness of the woman puts him on edge. Amy busies herself re-committing to memory the names of those across from her.

“It is our pleasure to have you all here, Nathicana,” Jack replied, finally settling into the chair, his hands resting comfortably on the arms. “But I have to say, complements for the food should to go Siri and Shiran. I don’t think this meal could’ve happened without either one of them.”

He turned his head to the other side of the table as his attention was caught by the small speech that Jaril had begun. Smiling, he listened intently to what was being said, and then nodded his head a few times when the Drow had finished. “Thank you both so much for the wine, Jaril…Eyarayin. I personally have never had any Kaymirilian wine, and I doubt that very few have here either. So I think we’ll all have to try some of it…I know I will.”

Now, Jack proceeded to watch the guests that were seated around the table, noting how clear it was that they were all waiting upon him. But he was slightly conflicted about what he was going to do because normally he would begin with a spoken prayer. Though, this time, there was such a variety of religious and non-religious people around the table. Hrm…Don’t know about all those from the NDA…Mariah’s family is all Roman Catholic…who knows about the Xanthalians…Siri thinks there is some deity out there…Phoren and his family…eh…he is the God-Emperor afterall, so that settles that…Drakomis believes in the Goddess of Novar, if I remember correctly…Ire and the rest of the Drow are not religious…the Dersconi are Protestant…and…Hasan is…Muslim…I think…

Jack glanced around once more, before deciding on something that he thought to be appropriate. “Before we eat,” he announced. “Let’s have a moment or two of silence, allow people to pray, have some quiet for a little while, or just to ponder.”

Bowing his head and shutting his eyes, he began a little prayer to himself. Dear Heavenly Father, I thank you for all the ways that you have blessed us today. I am grateful for everyone that has gathered around this table with us to enjoy this Christmas Eve and for the food that has been provided for us. I ask that you bless us and our food that we are about to eat, use it to the nourishment of our bodies. In your name I pray…Amen The last word, he whispered quietly, before he raised his head.

Jack glanced around at those around the table again, making sure that everyone was finished, and stood up from his chair, grasping the large stainless-steel knife that rested next to the steaming ham. Nodding to both Ire’arra and Siri, who quickly followed his lead, he began to cut off slices and hand them to those who offered their plates to him.

Nathicana quietly bowed her head in respect of the moment of silence, taking the time to perk up her ears so to speak on the offhand chance of catching any stray words or hints in the transitional periods between, or should anyone slip, during. Of course she was grateful to be here, and thankful that things had not gone as poorly as they might, and to be in such good company as she was, and to see friends, both old and new gathered together, though she herself did not pray. It would likely be blasphemy at this point if she did, she figured, and having a longstanding issue with God and his methods, chose to leave him well enough alone if he’d try and do her the same courtesy.

Pascali and Massetti both clasped their hands together and bowed their head in silent prayer, though perhaps the former put more thought to it than the latter, being more resolute in his beliefs and the seriousness with which he took such things. Given their appointed tasks however, they chose to keep a careful eye on things whilst doing so, trying to balance duty with respect, sitting quietly when finished.

When it seemed appropriate, Nathi also raised her head, looking around with a pleasant smile to the others at the table. She wasn’t sure what opportunities might be had tonight, all things considered, but if any arose for conversation, or positive point of contact, she looked forward to them.

The men of course waited for the ladies to be served before taking anything for themselves, offering assistance if desired, and waiting patiently if not. Nathi was careful not to be one of the first served, simply waiting for the opportune moment, and thanking Jack quietly. She took a brief moment to judge the custom intended, then helped herself to a modest serving from the closest side dish before passing it along, as seemed fitting, with the other two following her lead.

<LOS Communications - Devon>
{
>> One of the many benefits of this line of comms is never having to break contact or speak with your mouth full. I do hope you leave enough room for … dessert. [wink analog]
}

The AdminCoordinator continues to sit silently with hands folded, bowing her head slightly more out of respect for everyone else's traditions than her own. It isn't as if she can close her eyes, and it's not like she has a religion beyond the continuance of the panNorm (which is more of a fervent, zealous call to duty more than what anyone would reasonably call a belief structure, much less a religion). Her antennae twitch unconsciously as they taste the air; certainly everything smells and tastes wonderful. Were she of a more Epicurean bent than the comparatively narrow continuum of psychologies her species allows, she would be positively heartbroken that she doesn't get to eat any of it, really. As it stands, she doesn't have to touch it, much less eat it, to taste the food and appreciate it and so it works out in the end. The probably not bland but certainly not aromatic blob sitting in front of her will nourish her; this will suffice.

That being said, the copious amount of volatile ethanol in the air mars everything ever so slightly; the panNorm do not drink alcohol. Beyond the fact it serves no good to the individual, much less the Hive--antioxidants are better consumed via other methods--to the spacedy ant constitution it is actually somewhat painful to even consider drinking, being a dessicant. The downside to having highly distributed cardiovascular and pulmonary systems but a centralized filtration system is that local portions of the distributed systems are much easier to overpower. Thus, alcohol tends to poison local heart and lung analogs at a much lower relative dose than they would a human's vital systems, and tissue necrosis is certain death for a pseudoexoskeletal organism (one of the advantages to endoskeletals, the panNorm grudingly admit, is that their organs are more accessible for repair).

Ah well. She wouldn't be the AdminCoordinator if she weren't bred and trained to put up with the scent of the toxins that endoskeletals seem so fond of imbibing. It's put up or shut up, and she does both.

When he was finally finished slicing the ham and handing it out to each of the guests seated in his section of the table, Jack sat back down and gazed at those around him. He quickly noted that very little conversation seemed to be happening, not even from his usually talkative son who appeared to be more concerned with eating and glancing over to Eyarayin than anything else. So as he poured himself a glass of Jaril’s honeyed wine, he looked over to the Dread Lady and spoke, trying to break the silence.

“So, Nathicana, how are things going for you out in the Dominion?”

Meanwhile, on the other end of the lengthy table, Siri could feel the eyes of the Ambassador’s husband peering over at her, a slightly unsettling emotion emanating from him.

“Is there something wrong, Paul?” She asked with her eyes still lowered, focused upon her gloved fists that clenched the fork and the knife - the latter slowly cutting through the ham.

Paul jumps a little when Siri addresses him, despite himself. "Ahem. No, nothing at all, Madame Chairwoman. It's been a lovely party, and the food looks positively exquisite." He nods, reassuring himself as much as Siri. Lovely party. Yes, that seems safe.

“Quite well, thank you Jack,” she replied after a quick swallow. “There’s the usual squabbling between re-established houses – not that it didn’t go on to some degree before this whole ‘imperatrice’ business. I blame Devon.” This of course delivered with a teasing smile in the man’s direction.

“The little ones seem to grow faster all the time. If not for Gianni and the others, not the least of which being extended and adopted family, I don’t know how we’d manage. Overall I’d say it’s business as usual for the most part, and in spite of some ups and downs, we seem to be enjoying a favorable trend.”

It would be impolite, she felt, to linger overlong on things, and herself, and besides, there were other things she hoped to address – both for his benefit, and others. She took a moment for a quick sip of her drink before continuing.

“Which reminds me, Jack. I realize it hasn’t been long in the grand scheme of things since we had the great fortune to welcome you to our little alliance, yet a very welcome member you are. Is there anything at all we can do to assist with anything? I just want to reassure you that while we have no intention of meddling where we do not belong, we as always are ready, willing, and able to lend what assistance we can to our members – new, or old. I’m sure my friends here will agree,” she said, gesturing subtly to Devon, AdminCoordinator, and Rene, “that the well-being of our individual member nations, and our fellow leaders within, is something we do not wish to take for granted, nor allow harm to come when there are things we might do to prevent it.”

Masetti meanwhile offered to refill Rene and Arthur’s glasses if need be, giving Pascali a grin from across the table. “Bene, bene … molto bene,” he murmured quietly in response to the most excellent repast, with Pascali nodding and smiling in agreement.

“Mmmhmm, very good,” he replied, offering the same service to Hasan and Tarakh as a courtesy. While not unheard of, it was a very welcome treat to be having dinner with ‘the boss’, after all. And though they remained watchful, it was clear they were enjoying themselves.

Rene had never been particularly religious - the Commonwealth had been officially atheist for many centuries, after all, and her uncle had controlled the prophet of the Orthodox Faith as Lords Protector had controlled the religious since Kail I issued the Second Edict of Amnesty. And now she commanded the Arkhaeron in much the same way ... it was difficult to believe in God Above when you commanded His voice on Earth.

But many of the people here were Christians, and she did not control the Pope; there was no point in offending anyone if she could do otherwise.

And who knows, maybe the physicists will finally figure out what all that Kymnari pseudoscience actually means and I'll be proven wrong. Wouldn't that be a suprise. Qera Kymni, kari ect adris!

"My thanks," she told Masetti, accepting his offer to refill her glass. "I don't often drink - wine, that is - but this Kaymirillian stuff is quite good."

With a mere nod of her head to Paul, Siri turned her eyes towards the other end of the table -- to her husband who she noticed was beginning to explain to the Imperatrice one of the major problems that the Corporation was facing at this moment of time.

“Well…,” replied Jack, resting his fork and knife on the edge of the plate in preparation for a long winded explanation. “…for a while now, we’ve been having a pretty large problem of fighting between the Christian leaders within the local government and a fairly new polytheistic religion. At first, it was small civil arguments here and there…polite disagreements, if you will…, but unfortunately it has digressed to the point of open warfare between the more radical, militant factions. There have even been suicide bombings of university buildings, churches, and what not.”

He took a small sip of the honeyed wine before he continued. “To be blunt, I have had just about enough of all of it. It has gone on for far too long….so, once I am sure that the more moderate elements have distanced themselves from this mess, I intend to send in whatever we have to enforce national martial law and root out the problem until a more permanent solution can be found.”

Sighing a little, Jack came to the problem that had slowed this plan from happening. “Now, since our eyes and ears are turning inward to what is going on there, we, more or less, need someone to watch our backs until we get this sorted out.”

Despite the fact that the conversation is happening on the other end of the table and is difficult to make out with her human hearing, especially since it has dulled slightly with age, Amy catches as much of the exchange between Jack and Nathicana as she can. The Corporation's alliance with the NDA is a new development; understanding the deals they make, official and unofficial, may prove useful. She tries to be discreet; even though they're obviously not trying to be secretive at the moment, they might choose to lower their voices if they notice she is overly interested.

Nathi nodded, frowning slightly as Jack spoke. Some things were public enough record, others had been touched on in discussions. She highly approved of action being taken and order restored, even if it meant some unpleasantness. When things progressed to the point of violence such as this after all, greater force was required.

“You know how we feel about sovereign rights, and how we prefer not to interfere in the governance of our member nations,” she finally said. “However, if you feel you have the situation in hand internally, I believe we could see our way clear to offering visible support externally, should anyone have the misfortune to think that striking at a time when your attention is turned inward is an ‘opportune’ moment. Looming menacingly, if you will. Is that more or less what you had in mind?”

She was well aware the conversation was public. In fact, given some of the guests, she was counting on it.

“That’s exactly what I had in mind, Nathicana,” Jack responded with a nod, taking a sip of his glass of honeyed wine once more. “See…the way things are right now with all the massive changes that have been going on over the past several months, it’s rather hard to tell who one’s friends are…aside from a select few…as things have been rather chaotic in the foreign relations area. And who knows what people are thinking right now, whether they harbor no hard feelings about everything that has happened or the complete opposite. That’s why I have been a bit wary about pulling forces back and refocusing them on what’s been going on domestically. It’s just too risky right now.”

He paused and thought before starting again. “But if our allies in the NDA keep a look-out for anything suspicious, I think we can get things straightened out here at home.”

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

Glancing over to Eyarayin eating, Alakantar finally spoke up -- his first words since coming to the dinner table – and asked the usual question that had been on his mind for quite a while.

“You’ve been in Northrop-Grumman for a few hours already. How do you like it so far?”

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

Noting that her husband was doing well enough on his end, taking care of the business of the Corporation and keeping the conversation up, Siri focused back upon her plate in front of her, seemingly concentrating on the way she was handling the fork and the knife as she slowly manipulated each one with her fingers. But she also was concentrating on how to get conversation going on this end and finally found a topic. A rather cliché one, yes, but it would at least keep things from being so quiet.

“So, Paul, what is it you do for a living here?” she asked the man, knowing the answer, of course.

“I’m certain we could see our way clear,” Nathi says with a knowing smile. “Between joint forces available, and force of my own I’d be willing to put into rotation, along with any others who wish to contribute, I would imagine it to be a simple enough thing to accomplish. After all, our own fleets are already pulling rotations in three locations our two nations share an interest in. Adjusting and expanding patrol patterns shouldn’t prove too difficult. I can contact the Defense Ministry as soon as you like to begin coordinating with your own forces to make the proper changes in rotation schedules.”

Kynaz-Hetman Tarakh Andropov thanked Pascali with a slight smile and a nod (which was substantial for Tarakh) before turning back to his food. Franz von Papen turned to Tarakh.

"This is quite good." Tarakh nodded.

"Not as good as the imperial chefs. But good." Neither Dersconi made any attempt at conversation, having unknowns at one end and their antagonists at the other.

However, both listened to what Nathicana was saying to Jack, both knowing that she was mostly referring to Derscon and Greater Prussia in her statement. Neither let on that they were listening, and did a find job in making it seem like they were ignoring her. Tarakh, still outwardly focusing on his food, conversed with von Papen telepathically, carefully shielding his thoughts to avoid meddling from unwelcome evesdroppers.

I do believe she is threatening us. This impression is compounded by the fact one of Nathicana's bodyguards just happens to be sitting next to me. Papen drew a "Bерный" in his potato salad before scooping it up and eating it. Using an amulet made for him by Vanir Þrúðglam, von Papen returned the telepathy.

Not that it matters. Xavier doesn't care about Northrop Grumman, or any of its allies. As far as he's concerned, this nation doesn't exist. Tarakh suppressed a smirk.

Quite. Besides, Derscon has its own problems than to worry about a foreign nation it no longer recognizes. von Papen ate some of the scalloped potatoes.

Indeed. I believe we should stop. Some of the less friendly around here may pick up on our telepathic conversation.

They couldn't tell what we're thinking.

No, but I'd rather them not even know we can do this. Tarakh simply made a checkmark with his green beans before stabbing a few onto his fork and eating them, as if the past five minutes never existed.

Mas wondered idly what Tarakh was thanking him for, while Pascali arched a brow curiously, having been the one to offer the refill. A quick, subtle series of hand gestures answered quickly with another – a carryover from the Black Companies that had been adapted for more private use amongst Nathi’s teams.

Senile? Insult? Stupidity?

Prussians.

Exchanged smiles and knowing nods, and a subtle shrug at the decided lack of communication from many at the table, and the two lapsed into their own conversation.


Mas of course, couldn’t help but be himself, which involved pleasant smiles, and his usual good-natured demeanor, not to mention the fact that he enjoyed the company of ladies, even if they were completely out of his league.

“If I may be so bold, m’lady Rene, you’re looking as beautiful as ever,” he said between the ongoing chatter with Pascali about the food, the wonderful hospitality, and the regret that their stomachs have only so much room to put it all away in. Both are careful to have but a sample of wine, sticking to water or juices for the rest.

They pointedly ignored the fact that some people insisted on playing the rude ‘stick in the mud’ at what ought to be a pleasant party.

So far as the talk of defense and assistance goes, they don’t seem to be bothered in the least. Being the ones usually present as Nathi’s guards, they’re quite familiar with how it all works. In the Dominion, business is traditionally carried out over a pleasant meal or after it, and sealed with a decent wine. Nothing untowards there. In addition, helping one another out is what the NDA did. Even in the case of Iraqstan, their most troublesome member, things had been as respectful and amicable as possible, none of them having wanted to act rashly when things had been ‘difficult’.

Nathi meanwhile, is far from psychic, and quite content with the lack of such skills. However she has always prided herself on being able to read people and their intentions all the same, and cannot help but think that the seemingly contradictory demeanors of the GPE folks translate into something less than savory. Not that she was always correct, but overall, the track record was not too shabby. She conveniently dismissed some of the more glaring oversights out of hand.

As for the Prussians, they seemed to be trying too hard, for one thing. And they seemed intent on being poor guests for another. What their problem was she couldn’t imagine. Why they were there was anyone’s guess, considering how so many of their delegation had acted already during the night. Further, why Jack continued to tolerate them was a complete mystery. Perhaps trying to show there were no hard feelings on his part, in spite of their obvious disdain? She couldn’t fault him for trying, but then everyone did foolish well-meaning things now and then. Probably a situation of pearls before swine in her estimation.

Still, if they chose to be bothered by simple shop talk that was no concern of hers, if indeed that’s what the problem was. Who knew when it came to the GPE – they were unpredictable in the best of times, unless one depended on them to act irrationally. Friends helped friends, and the NDA was, or at least was intended, to be based on mutual respect, and hopefully friendship wherever it could be managed. It was one of the things that set it apart from many alliances after all – the solidarity and loyalty of it’s members, and the willingness to come to the table to work out any differences or problems that came along. Only one other alliance did she hold in as high esteem, and she was a member of it as well.

Her assurances to Jack after all, were no more than a message of ‘we’ve got your back’. If anyone felt threatened, that was their problem. The only ones who should would be those with ill-intent, after all.



ooc: Derscon, really poor ettiquite making another person's post look foolish on account of your own inattention by going back long after the fact and changing yours. I'll note there has at this time been no effort on IRC, tg, or otherwise to contact me to clear this up, so I can only assume it to be as it appears - a quick fix of too little too late to make yourself look better at someone else's expense. Had an attempt been made, I would probably view this in an entirely different light, and adjust my post accordingly. Not so now. Poor form, boyo. Poor form. Our opinions and take on the situation will stand.

Throughout all of this, the AdminCoordinator quietly spoons bits of gelatin into her mouth, listening politely and observing scientifically how endoskeletals play with their food. Well, efficiency is not always one of their greater virtues; so it goes. After deciding she has been silent enough already, she pauses in her eating, fishes her translator cube out from her vest, and puts it between her mandbles, still under the veil. This may look somewhat humorous, now having said veil draped over the boxy apparatus, but it is not as if she has an ego to bruise.

First, she addresses Jack. "The panNorm have made it a racial mission to assist our allies. Your success is our own. Anyone questioning our commitment need only ask anyone from Syskeyia how we consider our allies one and the same with ourselves."

That Syskeyia no longer exists, mostly through S-14's intervention in a spat on Mars, is the unmentioned point of her statement. She does not say it with pride; it is merely a statement of historical fact.

Next, she tries to address the woman sitting across from her. It is only polite, after all. "All things considered, it has been a pleasant evening, ma'am. I do not believe we have been introduced--I am AdminCoordinator 67521 of the Blue Mother of Us All. This has been my first opportunity to meet the panNorm's new allies."

"Er," Paul replies uncomfortably, swallowing the meat he's been chewing. "I just stay at home." He laughs nervously. Something about Siri puts him ill at ease. Nothing about her tone or posture... it's almost like an aura of darkness and danger that surrounds the Chairwoman. "Amy stays pretty busy, so it's up to me to keep the house running smoothly." He looks down at his plate, examining a bit of mashed potato, then returns his eyes to Siri after this all-too-brief respite. "Uh... how about you? I suppose you've had a lot to do with the... um." He clears his throat, cracking a painfully artificial smile. "Sorry." Paul desperately wishes for the help of his wife, but she's intent upon what's happening at the other end of the table and shows no interest in his plight.

Tarakh continued to monitor the people at the party, not showing much interest -- it wasn't how he worked.

von Papen, however, wanted to talk to Jack, but currently, he was being taken by Nathicana and Northrop Grumman's other NDA allies, and knew very well that due to the bad blood between Northrop Grumman and the Greater Prussian nations -- and the sheer hatred from everyone else -- such a chance for actual conversation really did not present itself.

It was a lose-lose situation, no matter how you looked at it. It stressed the retired Foreign Minister greatly, who was not used to such nasty situations, and being 127 years old and nothing but a human, it began to take its toll.

It's a little hot in here. von Papen could feel sweat droplets starting to form on his forehead. It wasn't much, so he ignored it. However, a small pain began to develop in his left arm, growing steadily larger and sharper. The pain began to creep down into his chest as Kynaz Tarakh glanced over and quickly double-taked, jumping out of his chair to grab ahold of the retired foreign minister as von Papen collapsed from the heart attack. Prince Tarakh made a quick but low bow to Jack, speaking briskly, trying to sound as inoffencive as possible.

"My apologies, you'll have to excuse us." Kynaz Tarakh quickly carried von Papen out of the dining hall, back into the room where they were previously -- now empty -- laying von Papen down on a couch as he injected a serum the Kremlin doctors gave to Tarakh should this happen.

Kynaz Tarakh sat by von Papen by the fireplace, monitoring his health and making sure the serum worked. He would have returned to the dinner, but he trusted absolutely no one here -- in fact, he was almost certain that quite a few wouldn't mind seeing him dead, for the only reason of being a Dersconi. I'll probably have to get him back to Derscon, he thought. I'll stay here for now, make sure he recovers a bit before putting him back on a plane.

With a simple polite bow of his head, Jack gratefully replied to Nathicana and the AdminCoordinator, quite pleased at the turn of events. “Thank you both for all your help. I must say that it is immensely appreciated, especially now, in these times that we’re in.”

He had been completely unaware of what had been happening towards the midsection of the table and honestly did not care. Even more conflict with the Dersconis and others was to be avoided, if at all possible, for he had had enough of these sorts of things this evening and generally wanted to stay away from any more. A more pleasant Christmas Eve was the focus on his mind so he continued to talk throughout the confusion that had been taking place.

“And the day after Christmas, I will get in touch with the Commander-in-Chief of the Air Force Space Command and have her coordinate the forces under her command with both of yours. I believe that we should be able to get things set up on our end by the new year…”

Jack would have continued for far longer but the collapse of the Dersconi Foreign Minister rapidly caught his undivided attention. He was caught off-guard and didn’t know what was going on right off. But when he saw that the man was being carried out of the room, he turned his head towards the Vice Chairman and nodded towards the doorway leading out, directing the elf to go follow.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the lengthy table, Siri had been carefully cutting through a new slice of meat from the ham, concentrating on keeping the utensils clutched in her hand and performing their task, but also preparing to answer the Xanthalian man. However, von Papen’s sudden collapse snapped her head up from her meal, breaking her focus. The sharp knife in her left hand darted to the right uncontrollably and into her gloved right hand, eventually skewering it all the way through. She was completely unaware of this development as she turned her attention first to von Papen being carried away then to Ire’arra, who continued to eat without the slightest concern for anything, not even an indication of any surprise.

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

Shiran had followed the two Dersconis to the living room where he entered just as Tarakh gave the older man the serum. He was quite concerned about what had happened and asked, although in his usual stiff manner. “Does he require medical assistance?”

Amy stands up, alarmed at this new situation. Paul doesn't even get a chance to see what's happened to the Dersconi Foreign Minister. Seeing Siri's hand impaled sends him slumping in a faint. Greg, now in a state approaching panic, freezes up in his seat, unsure what to do. With von Papen out of the room, Amy pulls her husband out of his chair and lays him on the floor, checking him over. Just as the evening was starting to seem normal, she laments privately.

Kynaz Tarakh Andropov checked the retired Foreign Minister's pulse as Alakantar walked through the doors. Tarakh didn't notice, though, until Alakantar came up beside him.

Tarakh dismissed the Vice Chairman's abruptness and rigidness in his question, as he, himself, was often like that. Tarakh could also at least make an educated guess that the Vice Chairman did, in fact, care and it was not just a show, otherwise he wouldn't be here in the first place. If Alakantar was anything like Tarakh was, anyways.

At the moment, von Papen was resting on the couch, his suit jacket off. Tarakh surveyed the retired Foreign Minister again before shaking his head.

"No, not for the moment." Hmm, he thought. I probably should leave with Papen. He bit his lower lip, thinking, looking over Papen once more before turning and nodding to Alakantar.

"Thanks."

The AdminCoordinator rationally decides to ignore the evolving situation and, by acting as nothing is amiss, hopefully radiate calm. The last thing anyone needs is a giant bug running around getting in the way, especially when the giant bug's mere presence was enough to make some people run away in horror earlier.

No, I think I will simply sit here and hopefully continue the conversation. She would look expectantly at Eya, if she could.

Not wanting to rudely put undue attention on an already awkward situation, Nathi glances with concern at the retreating Dersconi party, then speaks quietly before settling back to her meal.

“I hope the gentleman will be alright.”

Paul going down in a faint results in an arched brow and another concerned glance, with Mas and Pascali half rising from their seats and looking around quickly to make certain there is no immediate threat.

Good lord, dropping like flies …ok, perhaps that’s not such a great metaphor, but still.

With a nod, Nathi gives the ok for Pascali to go see if he can assist, with Mas sitting quietly, keeping an eye on things and staying close to the Imperatrice.

Making certain he doesn’t seem to be sneaking up on the poor woman, Pascali offers assistance quietly, bending down next to Amy, but not too closely.

“Apologies, ma’am. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Amy looks up with a harried smile. "Oh, well..." she looks down at her husband, feeling his brow with the back of one hand as she checks his pulse with the other. "It's nothing serious. Would you hand me my glass, please?" She looks up at Siri, noticing for the first time her impaled hand. "Oh!" she can't stop herself from recoiling a little. "I..." It doesn't seem to be bothering Siri. No blood. Is it artificial? She collects herself quickly. "Would you mind if I spilled some water on your floor, Madame Chairwoman?"

Snapping her head back towards Paul’s unconscious body now lying on the floor, Siri still had not yet noticed the knife running through her hand until the reaction of the ambassador brought it to her attention. She glanced down, wondering what was causing this reaction, and carefully looked over her body for what was wrong. There, she found the black wooden handle of the knife jutting out of the palm of her hand, scraping slightly on the arm of the chair.

“Go right ahead, Ambassador,” she responded with a huff of frustration at what happened to her.

Grasping the handle, Siri yanked the blade from her hand -- the grinding of metal against bone and dust from the bone emanating from the “wound” – and dropped the knife back onto the table next to her plate. She now watched with concern at the ambassador’s husband and waited for him to awaken.

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

“Very well,” responded Shiran with a nod. “I shall wait here further, if you need any assistance with the Foreign Minister.”

So there the Vice Chairman stood rigidly beside Tarakh, hands tucked neatly behind his back, surveying the scene before him. He did not intend to return to the dinner until things were settled in here first nor did he mind waiting to continue his meal. Also, he said not a word in his usual demeanor and kept a close eye upon von Papen, prepared for any sort of problem that may arise.

Pascali simply nods and gets Amy the glass of water as requested, finally noticing the problem with Siri’s hand which gives him momentary pause and a second glance in the midst of things. He also grabs a napkin for the inevitable cleanup, and kneels down close enough to be of any additional assistance, but making sure to give the couple the space needed.

Best not to call attention … she seems fine … artificial, perhaps? Cyberware? In any case, so long as the lady is well, and does not wish to make an issue, no business of mine. Never a dull moment with this job.

(OOC: Sorry for the long absence everyone, my attention got caught up with a new (for me) forum that is the equiv of internet crack. NS ranges from being internet pot to internet moxie, but I'm back now. I'm going to try and hit everything, so sit tight.)

Alakantar asked her a question...how she liked Northrop-Grumman so far. She shook her head at the beginning of her answer.

"I have been in this nation for but a few hours, and have met only a few representatives of the nation. I have seen little countryside, only the outsides of buildings, and a lot of snow. So I cannot give you an honest opinion of this nation, for I have not had the time to form one. Most of what I know of your nation comes from its military files and records."

She turned her head to the panNorm as the insectoid began talking to her. Unlike the Prussians, it didn't bother Eyarayin to be in the same area with what was, according to humanoid sensibilities, a gigantic bug. It was more peaceable than some of the bugs in human form had been, and for that, she was grateful.

Identity: AdminCoordinator six-seven-five-two-one. Social Unit: Blue Mother of Us All. Hive mind community, obviously. Practical name structure. First time she has come to Northrop-Grumman, as well.

"Well, from my experiences in your nation, so far," Jaril started to answer Alakantar as Eya was about to respond to the panNorm. Unfortunately, the remaining Dersconi official chose that moment to have a cardiac arrest, and that attracted the attention of both Drow.

As he was being carted out and Shiran followed, Jaril leaned back abruptly to look his cousin in the eye.

Eya, shlu'ta dos...? Usstan shlu'ta naut xund xuil klezn saph nindol.

Nau. Usstan zhaun naubol bauth rivven lu' lu'oh natha rivvil khel xunden. Tu'suulen, ussta zhaunil d' lu'oh ulu o'goth gos er'griff ji feir 'zil l' k'lar d' duucald. Wun uss d' USSTA xonathulls, l' nesst orn'la inbal tlus elghinyrr natha szithrel draevalen phor.

Dos ph' ji hass'l...

Xas.

With that, Eya turned back to the panNorm that had addressed her earlier.

"My apologies about the delay. I am Eyarayin d' Drasdera, Captain of the Fourth Fleet in the Kaymirilian Navy."

Jaril shifted uneasily. People suddenly collapsing was so foreign to him that it made him a bit squeamish, and that feeling wasn't helped when he noticed that at the other end of the table his hostess had skewered herself through the hand.

"Well...Alak...I rather like your nation," he began meekly. "It doesn't tend to like people who have different or no religious beliefs...and some of your friends were surprised that there was a different Drow on campus. I learned the hard way that it isn't a good idea to use magick, even if it's just a little light spell...but on the whole, the nation is quite charming, and its day-to-day technology is centuries ahead of our own."

He chuckled thinly.

"But campus security here is not half as good as it is back in Kaymiril...at least so long as there is a Drasdera in attendance."

The AdminCoordinator's voice communicates the smile she is (being rather much, for all practical intents and purposes, a giant ant) physically incapable of giving, outside of an unreadable gesture of the antennae. "The delay is hardly an issue. As some of your endoskeletal cultures say, 'patience is a virtue' and 'virtue is its own reward.' It certainly has been an... interesting party, hasn't it?"

Very, very, very quiet synthesized chuckle. "Which of course connects to yet another cultural curse concerning 'interesting times.'"

"Probably a human thing," noted Eya wryly. "Depending on one's definition of interesting, it has been most interesting...although certain cultures have proven more...aggravating than interesting."

She was, of course, referring to the Prussians who had stuck their heads up and not only been poor guests, but poor examples of their particular nations...and as they were high-ranking officials, it made Eyarayin glad that the treaty with Prussia was now fairly defunct.

A slight smirk marked the Drow's features -- one that would have terrified Jaril had he seen it, for when Eya smiled, it meant trouble.

"I've never seen someone go feverish at the mere sight of a spider before tonight."

Amy raises an eyebrow. There's probably a better way to do this, but she's no medic. Leaving him to recover on his own is out of the question; he's put enough of a damper on the mood already. Shaking her head almost indiscernably in wonder at how she's managed to end up in this situation, she dumps the contents of her glass on Paul's face. The ice water revives him almost instantly, and he sits up with a start. "What...?"

Amy stands, pulling his napkin off the table and tossing it into his lap. "Dry yourself off and sit in your chair," she says in a commanding murmer. "Try to act like the man of the house, for Heaven's sake." She forces a smile as she bows respectfully to Pascali. "Thank you for your assistance, sir." The Ambassador retakes her seat as Paul stands up, dabbing at his face and collar where the water has made his shirt wet. Amy is miffed that after so many interruptions to what should have been a pleasant evening, her own family has now contributed to the uneasy mood.

Beside her, Greg seems to have recovered from his petrification and now chuckles uncomfortably, speaking to Janus across the empty space left by Shiran. "Parents, huh?" Getting no response, the younger Tyler concentrates on poking his slice of ham with his fork, suddenly not feeling very hungry.

The AdminCoordinator nods, or at least, replicates the gesture of a nod with the pitch of her head. "I wish I could say that was unexpected. I will be first to admit that we do not fully understand some of the irrational and seemingly anticausal drives which seem to lead to such behaviors, but they do exist and it is simply something to adapt to. Nevertheless, one cannot judge too quickly because attitudes sometimes seem to change with the weather, as it were, and the disappointment of today is often the surprise of tomorrow, if previous experience is any indication."

She sounds slightly disapproving of the schadenfreude suggested in the spider commentary. "Arachnophobia is a well-known psychological malady in humans with a long history of case studies and treatment. Like all phobias it is, by definition, an irrational fear that the patient usually has no control over beyond the application of will to lessen its severity. Fortunately for us, we do not look like spiders and so it generally does not concern us." She mimics a shrug, basically raising her immobile shoulders while dipping her head down. "That it is often related to a broader arthropodophobia, or at least a cultural distaste for the exoskeletal, is an unfortunate occupational hazard."

“Always a pleasure, ma’am,” Pascali offers, setting the napkin he’d been holding at the ready back on the table. With another quick glance at Siri to make sure all was … as well as could be there, he bows respectfully and returns to his seat, giving Mas a look of ‘hell if I know’ before settling back into his meal with a slight shrug and an apologetic smile.

Nathi listens politely to the conversation going on around her, without trying to interject, keeping her conversation with Treznor on the more private level for now. She can’t help but smile a bit at the inferences to the GPE folks, still being both insulted and amused by their ‘performance’ for the evening, though more satisfied overall that they had left it seemed, one and all, with a very poor impression of themselves, their nation, and their seemingly faltering alliance. All for the best, in her opinion. If they chose not to interact well with others, let them become more isolated and shunned.

Ire’arra continued to carefully pick at each serving she had upon her plate, taking a bite of each one in a counterclockwise fashion around the plate. She seemed to be more interested in her meal than all that had been happening around her and did not even glance over to the commotion with the ambassador’s husband. It was just the way her demeanor was, nothing new and certainly not harmful to those around her.

However, she did begin to speak, but it did not readily appear to be directed at anyone, at least, not right off. “Curiosity, that innate desire to question, is that which all possess. From the lowliest infant to the eldest monarch all seek the answers to the queries that lie within their minds. Unfortunately, there are those that suppress that desire, mask it from the world in which they abide in, but, this is not wise. One must question all that appears before him, seek the answers to that which he fails to understand, and through that he will grasp the understanding and the knowledge that will craft him to be a wiser individual throughout the remainder of his existence.”

----------

“That’s true,” Alakantar responded to Eyarayin with a nod to his left. “But I think you’ll get a better feel for the place once you’ve been around here for a few days. You really haven’t gotten a chance to see the capital city yet or really anything else outside of the airport and this house.”

Finding himself only a short distance from where the sudden collapse of the Dersconi Foreign Minster happened, Alakantar’s attention bolted quickly to his right, where he saw Tarakh carry the older human out, followed by the Vice Chairman. He continued to watch for some time until the group had finally left the room.

When Jaril was finally able to speak once more, relating what had happened over the course of the semester, Alakantar laughed, “Yeah, people around here are pretty touchy when you use magick near them. That’s why I try not to levitate unless it is absolutely necessary. It would be my luck that someone decides to take a shot at me while I’m up in the air.”

With the mention of security, he nodded in agreement. “That I can attest to…having a Drasdera around definitely makes things a lot safer anywhere, and I doubt we could be any safer right now with Eya over here and my mother over on the other end, along with the Imperatrice’s bodyguards in the middle.”

----------

Seeing that the Xanthalian was able to stand on his own now and was quite well, not requiring any medical attention of course, the Chairwoman glanced over to the man and proceeded to continue the conversation.

“So now, where were we, Paul?” she asked him, resting her hands comfortably on the arms of the chair.

Tarakh was wondering why Alakantar hadn't left yet, joining the rest of the party in their condemnation of himself and everyone else with him. He shrugged the thought off, though, figuring it wasn't a thought process that needed to continue.

The Prince began to zone out when von Papen began convulsing again, causing Prince Tarakh to snap out of the chair and jump over to him. Another heart attack. He glanced at his watch. Not enough time since the serum. Prince Tarakh thought for a moment, coming up with a quick solution.

He scanned von Papen's body before placing his first two fingers of each hand on von Papen's left and right chest. He closed his eyes and pressed down slightly, sending an electric shock into von Papen, stabilizing him. The retired foreign minister sat up, but was clearly drained. Prince Tarakh made him lie back down. "Relax, sir." Von Papen lied back down on the couch as Prince Tarakh turned to Alakantar.

"Would you mind if I had Dersconi medical flights in to pick von Papen up and take him back to Derscon? He really needs to get back."

"Uh..." is all Paul manages to come up with. He sits back down, but not because he wants to. He doesn't remember where their discussion left off, and for that matter he's really starting to wish the Chairwoman would pick a different conversation partner. Amy is no longer invested in any other matters, but she's not really interested in rescuing Paul, either. Instead, she focuses on trying to enjoy her food with what dignity the night's events have left her.

Back and forth across the center rug in the living room, Shiran slowly paced, carefully pondering the request of the Dersconi Prince. Under normal circumstances this would have been a simple one to grant, but these were not normal times, considering the relations…or lack thereof…between the two governments. He sincerely wanted to help this man return to his nation so that proper medical attention could be given but wanted to do so in a manner that would not endanger the lives of those he had sworn to protect, especially due to recent events that had endangered every Grummian that lived on the planet.

“I shall allow you to do this. However…,” Shiran began to explain, remaining in his stiff official demeanor. “…certain precautions must be taken due to the delicate nature of affairs, domestic and foreign. A medical aircraft will be intercepted by a fighter escort at our maritime border, where it will cruise through our airspace, remaining clear from all major cities. It will land at Davis Air Force Base, a nearby military installation, where those aboard will remain aboard at all times, no exceptions whatsoever. Refueling and repairs, if needed, will be handled by Grummian personnel only. In the meantime, the Foreign Minister will be driven by ambulance from this house to the airport where he will be lifted into the aircraft by our paramedics only. After seeing that he is safely aboard, they will disembark, and the aircraft will be once again escorted out of our airspace. Do you understand this?”

----------

Raising a mere eyebrow at the way the Xanthalian acted around her, Siri ignored it and did not inquire further into the matter, instead, continuing with the conversation from before after finally remembering what exactly it was they were talking about prior to the interruption.

“I believe we were discussing what we both do for a living, were we not?” Siri asked rhetorically. “Well, aside from attending to running the Corporation, I find myself teaching students at the nation’s four largest military academies that consist of subjects ranging from swordplay to tactics in infantry warfare. I do keep myself amused with countless other things, but I doubt you’d want to hear about any of those.”

Not really. Paul suppresses a sigh, using all his self-control to keep a note of irony from creeping into his voice. "Well of course I'm interested in anything you'd like to tell me, Madame Chairwoman."

Given the discussion at hand, Nathi wasn’t sure quite what Ire’arra was referring to, though it seemed certain, given her demeanor, that she had a definite purpose behind it. She arched a brow at Pascali, who blinked, and shrugged slightly, but chose to relay what he’d seen about Siri’s hand later, leaving Nathi rather in the dark about it all.

“There is something to be said for the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake,” Nathicana replied carefully, looking over at Ire’arra with a curious expression of her own. “As you say, asking questions is what sparks the process. Though I believe there are times when one must be judicious in how one pursues them all the same.”

For example, her own wondering at why the Xanthalians seemed so awkward and uncomfortable over such a simple thing as dinner. Of course she wondered why, but it would be rude to ask, and so, she tried not to call attention to it, and make a bad situation worse, however odd she found it.

OOC: Bugger all, did it again.

Tarakh listened to Shiran's conditions on transport and sighed. If he doesn't trust me, how can I trust him?

"There is a minor problem with your plan, and that is the excessive attention being placed on the plane. If all of that attention is put on a plane coming out of Derscon to Northrop-Grumman, Dersconi officials will notice." Tarakh paused. How can I word this...

"Franz von Papen is...not held in high regard by the current Tsar. I don't believe -- in fact, I am positive -- that the flight would likely be intercepted by Dersconi personnel and forced to land in a location where medical facilities are not on hand." Like, say, a Tundarian Level three labour camp, he didn't add.

"While I would prefer that Dersconi personnel are used throughout the entire process, I suppose to quarrel and squabble over the specifics is only hindering Franz's health, so I can accept those conditions. However, I must request that as little attention as possible is placed on the aircraft."

The Vice Chairman listened intently to that which Tarakh was saying, attempting to understand the situation that the man was in, though he began to ponder quite carefully about what was being told to him. How would a medical aircraft en route from Derscon to Northrop-Grumman that is being escorted by armed fighter craft attract any more attention than a regular flight since neither nations recognize nor particularly trust one another? As of now, there are currently no flights between the two nations, so any one would be automatically suspicious.

In his usual demeanor, his face did not betray his thoughts for he remained in his usual emotionless state, continuing to listen as the Dersconi explain further. Another point of questioning is the Foreign Minister himself. If he is “not held in high regard by the current Tsar”, why has he not been dealt with prior to this event? Also, why was he even asked to be brought here? Such inconsistencies…

“The terms will remain as they were,” the elf responded when Tarakh was finished. “We will not delay any further. The man must receive medical attention as soon as humanly possible. Is there anywhere you need to be to make the arrangements?”

----------

Turning from the diminishing plate of food lying before her, Ire’arra’s eyes focused upon who she spoke to, Nathicana. A smile crept up onto her face when she realized that, for once, someone actually responded to what she said. It was a rarity since most, if not all, people were often quite wary of the way she handled herself around others.

“You are indeed accurate, Imperatrice,” she replied. “However, direct inquiry is but one of at least three paths that lead to the answers to that which you seek. Observation requires less intervention but has the least chances of success. Nevertheless, it is useful in those rather delicate situations where an inquiry would spur uneasiness. Another route is research, through the use of other individuals and databases, as it requires the least intervention in the matter and can yield a great number of results.”

Tarakh didn't show his disappointment. Stubborn ass. He obviously doesn't care about this man's actual well-being. He thought for a minute, seemingly thinking over the terms, but in reality, was thinking about how he was going to get him medical attention without tipping off the Air Force. Well, I could bring him back with me...no, he'd be noticed. After all, that was the whole point, bring von Papen here so Xavier could have his men take down the Papen household and prepare to arrest him while he wasn't noticing. He pushed that thought aside. Well, the Northrop-Grumman island is just outside Greater Prussian territorial waters. I know a sympathetic admiral who's patrolling out in that area....

Tarakh nodded to Shiran. "That's fine, then. As long as he recieves the medical attention he needs. I'll just need to step outside." He started to move out towards the doors, but stopped to look back at the resting von Papen. Should I trust them and just leave him on the couch for now? Tarakh shook his head. No, they wouldn't do anything to von Papen. He's the only real person with influence still petitioning for diplomatic recognition of Northrop-Grumman. the General-Prince walked through the mansion and got outside, looking around. He pulled out his phone, designed by some friends who were ex-MSS and military scientists. Tarakh pressed a button on the phone, which gave him a reading of the area around him, and the various electronic installations -- cameras, microphones, and what not -- so he could find a place to speak where microphones couldn't pick his voice up, and cameras couldn't read his lips. When he found it, he dialed up the phone number of his friend in the Navy. The phone itself was designed to compress and scramble the sound waves and turn them into directed X-rays, which would be beamed to the satellite and then to the target phone, where it would then be converted back to sound waves and unscrambled.

"Levidr? This is Tarakh...yeah, that's fine...Heh, indeed....Right. Hey, can you do me a favour? I need you to move a small carrier into international waters beside Northrop-Grumman, and send a medical plane here where I am...Right, it's Franz's heart....okay, yeah....Indeed, be as discreet as possible....right, thanks. Bye." Kynaz-Hetman Tarakh Andropov terminated the call and walked back to the room where von Papen was.

"There should be a medical flight coming here soon. It's coming from a carrier, but it's entirely medical, and completely unarmed."
_________________________________________

South Prussian Sea

Grand Imperial Admiral Levidr Joegithan was on his flagship when he recieved the call. However, once he hung up, he immediately took a helicoptor to one of the small minicarriers used mostly for logistical purposes, reserves, and vanguard forces.

Once on board, he took command of the carrier personally and it, along with four surface escorts and three submarines, broke off from the main fleet and sailed towards international waters. On the way there, he ordered all of the ships to turn off all tracking signals, so the ships would fall off the electronic map that the NMCC has running, and would disappear for the duration of the mission. He didn't bother ordering to have all of the aircraft and what not do the same, as they sent their signals to the home carrier, not the NMCC.

On the way there, he instructed the mechanics to take one of the Empyrean Dove medical VTOLs and strip it of its weaponry. Once that was complete, and the small task force was in place, The VTOL set off with a team of medical personnel, Royal Marines, and a stranged cloaked figure carrying a somewhat large satchel, accompanied by four Serpentarius-class fighter/interceptors.

Once they approached Northrop-Grumman territorial waters, the escort planes broke off and let the VTOL continue without Dersconi escort.

The VTOL was completely fueled and checked to ensure it was in perfect condition before it embarked. Admiral Joegithan wanted as little Grummanian tampering as possible. In case the VTOL became short on fuel, there was an airbourne-refuler plane waiting on the aircraft to intercept them as they came out of Grummanian space.

As Siri nodded to the ambassador’s husband, the small glass of water in front of her slowly rose from the table and glided over to her open hand. She grasped it by the side, being very careful so as to not lose her focus and drop it, and took a long tip before she gently rested it back down onto the table.

She then placed her hands upon the arms of the chair once more and answered Paul. “In my spare time, I attempt to work on such things as that. However, most of what I do is not as simple as merely levitating a glass of water, but instead are as complex as teleportation and restoring someone’s health.”

“Also…slightly related to the latter, I find that human and elven psychology and physiology to be quite fascinating in design and often study both in an attempt to understand how they function, what their weaknesses are, and what are their strengths.” A slight grin began to appear on her face as she related these things to the man.

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

While the Dersconi Prince was away getting in touch with whoever handled the medical transports, the Vice Chairman took this time to do the same and proceeded to make two calls of his own to handle this side of the plan and to ensure that it would be done without any particularly troublesome problems. Though, he did not even take note of the Foreign Minister’s presence being a problem as he made the calls for he was not really concerned about keeping such things secret. Why would he, since the arrangements were not pertaining to sensitive topics and had to do with the man anyway.

The first call that he made, to the commander of the space forces, was intended to set up ground defenses for the arrival of this medical flight and to provide a fighter escort for the length of time it was here. The second, to the local hospital, was to make sure that an ambulance would arrive here as soon as possible to transport von Papen to the nearest military base. Not a particularly troublesome set of calls to make – though this was helped by the elf’s constant business-like attitude - as her was finished by the time the Prince returned from make his one.

“Very well,” the Vice Chairman responded to the man. “I have completed the arrangements on this side of the matter. An ambulance will be here within minutes to provide the Foreign Minster with transport.”

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

Once the transmission to the fleet commander had been sent, four F-550 fighter craft quickly departed from the launch bays of the Battlecarrier John Davis Northrop that was orbiting Earth and plummeted into the atmosphere below. Within seconds, they had reached the Dersconi medical transport and took up positions, two fighters to each side of the transport. Their plasma weapons were fully powered in the event that the aircraft they were escorting was not what it was claimed to be. But yet these weapons were not locked onto it so as not to look entirely too threatening. However on the ground below, defense turrets, specifically designed to fire upon capital ships overhead but also smaller vessels in space and in the atmosphere, had their weapons locked upon the transport and followed it as it made its trek through Grummian airspace.

“Dersconi medical transport, you are directed and cleared to land on Runway Nine at the following coordinates…” replied the lead pilot through the onboard radio, giving the exact location of the base. “After you have landed, you will taxi to a stop near Hangar A and will remain until you have taken aboard your passengers.”

Paul nods, smiling weakly. "Well, it's always good to have a hobby."

Empyrean Dove VTOL

The pilot of the large VTOL glanced at the display screen and sighed. Going in to enemy territory without an escort. My God. He shook the thought out of his mind as the Grummanian fighters linked up with the Dersconi VTOL. In the back, several of the Marines were disgusted.

"They think they're so tough sending space fighters, huh? We should blast 'em with a Kosmosfalke." Another Marine laughed.

"Fuck that, man! Use a Divikarei!" Laughter spread throughout the Marine contingent at the mention of one of the larger capital ships of the Dersconi Imperial Stellar Fleet. The cloaked figured let out a rare chuckle, but shook its head.

"While I am sure most of us would enjoy crushing our adversaries, swallow your pride. This is not your fight." The tiny contingent of Marines fell silent as the plane made its way to the military base.

Up in the cockpit, the pilot recieved the coordinates and affirmed his recieving, turning the craft in that direction.


The men on board stayed silent for the most part, the Marines not saying much, knowing that they weren't really there for any reason other than to ease the nerves of the medical personnel, and said medics were busy making final preparations to accept von Papen.

Finally arriving at the base, the pilot eased the VTOL down onto the runway, as close to the hangar as possible, and then made the very short taxi up to the front of the hangar. The hatch at the back was opened, the medics waiting for the ambulance to arrive. The Marine Captain walked down to the base of the hatch, armed only with his officer sword, accompanied by the chief medical officer. Two Marines, their DAR-1 rifles readied but not shouldered, were standing back up in the plane on either side of the ramp. They made sure that they showed discipline, but not malice, watching over the area. They didn't expect anything, really -- after all, no one would kill a diplomat.

Down at the base of the ramp, the CMO and the Marine Captain stood, waiting for the ambulance to arrive.

“Yes,” Siri responded politely to Paul. “Yes, it is.

“There are many things which one can learn while studying such a topic. For an example…” As she spoke, she leaned toward the man, carefully grasping one of his hands in her own. The cold, hardness of her gloved hand contrasted that of his as she held it, and she gently pointed to each of his fingertips with her other.

“Here on the underside of the hand, the fingertips have some of the densest areas of nerve endings in the body and thus are one of the most sensitive. But yet, they are the most likely to be injured, since they are, of course, used for writing, driving, and such.” She glanced over his once more before she continued. “On a side note, they present a sort of flaw, depending on one’s point of view, in that enormous amounts of pain can be inflicted upon a person without consequences of death just by the manipulation of these vast quantities of nerve endings, because they are not situated near any major organs or even arteries.”

Paul pulls his hand away, eyes wide with horror at the implications of that statement. He looks ready to vomit, even though he has barely touched his food. "S- surely you aren't serious?..."

Amy looks over at Siri unhappily, appearing a bit unsettled herself. She doesn't really want to intervene in the conversation, but there's such a thing as going too far, even for someone with the status of the O'Neills. "Madame Chairwoman, is it really necessary to discuss such gruesome things at the dinner table?" She deftly avoids any tone of disgust or anger, asking it as she would the time of day.

“Indeed,” Nathicana replies, tilting her head slightly as she looks at Ire’arra. “The pursuit of knowledge, or information, whether it be to fulfill a need, a curiosity, for power or control, or for its own sake, all have their worth and purpose. Question everything, they say – which is not to say trust has no place, mind. Still, a healthy curiosity I think is a must, whether your responsibilities, your career, or your life depends on it or not.”

Given her augmented hearing, which she’d tuned up a bit to try and catch some of the passing conversations where she could, it was interesting to pick up bits of what was going on at the other end of the table. In truth, her curiosity was piqued, and she was reminded again of the inherent danger in several of the people sitting there with her, and how much or how little she knew about them. Perhaps it wasn’t polite dinner conversation at that, but she refrains from giving any indication all the same.

Obviously the Xanthalians had very delicate sensibilities, and were likely not acquainted with such things on anything but a passing awareness – which was all fine and well. The poor people seemed a bit out of their depth all in all, and she couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for them on account. It probably was harder for them in some respects to attend than it had been for her to keep her temper in check with the haughty Prussians earlier. Which, given her temper, was saying a lot.

“Oh, I am serious,” Siri replied without the slightest concern in her voice as she found it to be one of the easiest topics of conversation for her to speak about. But the response from Amy also caused her to rethink just what exactly she was saying to these people.

“Perhaps it would be a better idea to change the topic of conversation for the sake of your stomachs. It just tends to be less…unsettling…to those who have lived three hundred years or so fighting just to stay alive and seeing things far worse than torture unfold around you,” she responded to the couple. “And I doubt either one of you have ever been captured, tortured for days on end, killed numerous times, or even slashed your way through the most vile creatures to walk the face of the planet. But once you have done this, as I have, you tend to be desensitized to most anything that common people would consider gruesome…”

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

Earlier in the meal, Alakantar had noticed the woman from Tsaraine sitting not too far off from where he was and wondered just exactly who she was. Everyone else, he had already met, heard about from various conversations he overheard, or just knew them from the news and other such media. But this person’s name and who exactly she was eluded him, so finally his curiosity reached a point where it had to be dealt with.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said to Rene. “I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Alakantar O’Neill, son of the Chairman and Chairwoman.”

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

Only minutes after the Vice Chairman had placed the phone call, a solitary red-striped, white ambulance sped up the wet paved driveway to the mansion as its blinding red and blue flashing lights reflected off the snow drifts nearby and into the fixed panes of the living room windows. One thing was missing though, the usual blaring siren, but it did not come as a surprise to Shiran who had specifically ordered it not to be used on the driveway up to the house so as not to alarm the other guests.

When the ambulance had parked behind the Chairman’s truck, Shiran quickly left the two Dersconi men and made his way to the front door, opening it for the two paramedics and the collapsible gurney they carried. He then directed them towards the living room and von Papen.

“Just lie still, sir,” one instructed the Foreign Minister politely as he and the other EMT lowered the gurney to the level of the sofa. They then slid the older Dersconi onto it and strapped him in so as to make sure he did not fall off while in transport. After checking to see that the straps were secure and von Papen was relatively well, they raised the gurney and rolled it out of the house and into the ambulance.

"Uh..." Paul looks over at his wife searchingly.

"We respect the hardships you have endured," Amy says in a subdued voice, "but please remember that this is not a field of battle, and we are not warriors. I apologize for our delicate sensibilities, and would be grateful were you to select a more pleasant topic." She hangs her head in the manner of one ashamed.

“You have no need to apologize for what you have no control over,” Siri responded, dismissing it all with a wave of her hand and a slight smile.

“To put it simply, I am not like you. You are not like me. We’ve lived far different lives from one another with different experiences that have molded us into what we are today. Every one of us has topics that we prefer not to discuss…even me. That is something you don’t have to apologize for.”

"We are grateful for your understanding, Madame Chairwoman," Amy says, returning the smile.

Paul breathes a sigh of relief. Best to leave diplomacy to the diplomats.

Wishing to change the topic of conversation to something more pleasant for the Xanthalians, Siri decided not to focus on herself and what she enjoyed but instead on more about the couple and what they thought of things. It was safer, in her mind, than anything else she could think of from her own life.

“So, how is life here in Northrop-Grumman? I trust things are going well in more recent times.”

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

As most people began to steadily taper off in eating their dinners, one of the side doors that lead into the kitchen swung open, and through it stepped the Vice Chairman, finished the matter that dealt with the Dersconi guests. In his usual demeanor, he did not mention any of the events that had occurred while he was away nor did he seem as if anything particularly serious had happened. But he did not step back to his seat right away because, behind him, he pulled a long steel cart that contained two shelves filled with numerous kinds of fresh desserts and drinks for the guests.

The elf wheeled the cart to the midpoint of the table, directly behind Ire’arra, before he spoke to everyone seated before him. “My apologies to each of you for my absence during this dinner. There was an important matter I had to attend to,” he responded. “However, now that it had been dealt with appropriately, it is my pleasure to offer you the desserts that have been prepared for this event.”

He began to point out each one on the cart as he named them. “We have butter, peanut butter, gingerbread, oatmeal, chocolate chip, and sugar cookies, fruitcake, Bûche de Noël…a ‘yule log’ I ought to clarify, lemon meringue, chocolate, pecan, and apple pie, fudge, and Christmas pudding. Also, if you wish for a different type of beverage than what you have now, I have brought both alcoholic and non-alcoholic eggnog, apple cider, wassail, and hot cocoa.”

Tucking his hands behind his back and taking a stance similar to that of someone in the military, Shiran finally said, “What will each of you prefer to have?”

Amy is about to answer Siri when Shiran returns to the table. Bowing her head apologetically, she turns her attention to him. "A yule log and wassail, please." It's too bad milk isn't on the list, but oh, well.

"I'll just have some eggnog, alcoholic," Paul says. Anything to calm his nerves.

"Alcoholic eggnog," Greg agrees. The beer he'd had earlier was barely enough to get him tipsy; this night calls for a drunken stupor as far as he's concerned. "And apple pie." Food is an afterthought to his strong desire to be inebriated for the remainder of the party. If I'm lucky, he thinks, I won't remember any of this tomorrow.

Nathi gladly accepts some wassail, and a slice of the yule log dessert, with Mas requesting the non-alcoholic eggnog and pecan pie, and Pascali contenting himself with hot cocoa and gingerbread cookies, each thanking their hosts profusely for their hospitality in the process.

Granted, it hadn’t been the smoothest of evenings, but it could have been far worse. She blamed the Prussians for initiating the trouble of course, and couldn’t help but quietly hope that their actions would prove to be the final nail in the coffin so to speak of Northrop-Grumman’s involvement with them. As far as she was concerned, they didn’t deserve the honor of association, and leaving their alliance was one of the smartest moves Jack could have made.