NationStates Jolt Archive

Ages ago, before the coming of elves, the land around Caras Aeglos had been a darkness of orcs and stranger, fouler things. One of the lesser-known facts about Menelmacari history was that the first coming of elves to the area happened quite some time before the establishment of Menelmacari proper. Avari had inhabited the area south of Caras Aeglos for some millennia before the arrival of the Noldorin elves, by Serendis’ ancestors, who’d been rather good at navigation of the seas, and settled both part of the northwestern landmass of Menelmacar, and many of its islands.

As such, the large town-sized residence that was the ‘house’ of the house of Fithurin was located upon the inland sea of Aeglos there, within sight of but still half a day’s walk from the edge of city. It backed into a thick forest known locally as the wild wood, which, though the areas around the House were safe and benign, deeper in was known as one of the more dangerous paths through the woodlands of Menelmacar, not for overt things, for the orcs of Menelmacar had long ago been ‘persuaded to leave’ over several millennia, mostly at bow point. But rather, the wild wood was a place that for its own unknown reasons, appeared to resent elves, and was distinctly unwelcoming, with brambles that would lash out at those who came too close, and malign trees that offered no shade or rest. It was said that the leaders of the house of Fithurin knew why, but no questions about the matter were ever given a straight answer.

For the most part the elves were high in their lofty halls upon the prominent peak of rock around which the house was based, a peak that jutted into the Sea of Aeglos, a limpid, sea that nourished a thousand species of algae that blossomed upon its surface in shimmering wisps of green before being consumed by the equally impressive proliferation of algae-eaters supported by the sea.

Culdalot sat upon one of the bridges lower on the spar of rock, her legs dangling on either side of a vertical brass rail that supported the bar, looking out over this green expanse illuminated by the late evening sun.

“You look puzzled,” asked a deep voice from behind her, and she caught the rail, leaning back to look up. Her father, and husband of the famed Serendis nos Fithurin, stood over her, and crouched down to hug the elf a moment later.

“Yeah,” Culdalot said, at last, “I’m wondering why exactly we have Yule. Hardly a very… elfy… name.”

This at least was true; there were many holidays and festivals in Menelmacar, distributed according to two separate
‘calendars’ The longer measurement used by the Elves was the Yén and officially Menelmacar celebrated several holidays per Yén, most notably the equivalent of the “new year,” every one hundred and forty four years. Others were the celebration of the Yén-anniversary of the founding, and a few anniversaries commemorating other events of significance. As well as that, the elves measured time in periods relating to one solar year. In each year, the chief festival celebrated in Menelmacar was the Tarnin Austa or Tarnin Laer, at the beginning of summer, followed in importance by a number of others, including Nost-na-Lothion and Yule.

“Well,” Mélasoron said, “That’s because it’s not. Both the term and the festival were adopted from the Periannath in the beginning of the fourth age, in honour of their contribution to its formation. Well, that, and also because it’s an excuse for a party. It might interest you to know that lots of humans have a religious festival in three days time, called Christmas,” he said.

“I see,” the young elf said, biting her lower lip, and suddenly hopping up to her feet, “Question answered!” she giggled and bounded up the stairs.

“Far too much sugar,” the elven commander said to himself, watching his daughter disappear up the stairs that seemed to flow along the rock-side, sunken into the living rock, worn smooth in places despite its magical enhancement to resist erosion (such things have to be taken into account when building in Menelmacar) by the weather, by an ever expanding number of inhabitants.

Culdalot bounded through the lofty open end of the hall, where the tables of her innumerate kin were set up, draped in shimmering crimson and evergreen. The Quendi could put up a fine show of finery when they wished to, and there were few better occasions for it than today. As such, the room was aglow with shining gems and brilliant costumes, many were solemn and regal affairs, and some, more foolish looking.

She passed some of the most eminent people in Menelmacar, first, Laerion, a governor famed for his reasonable nature and unusually self-effacing nature, dressed in billowing pantaloons of the same shimmering crimson tied at the waist with a violet sash, and otherwise dressed in upward-hanging cloth that billowed up above his head suspended from several tiny gravitic generators. He was talking to warlady Naurelin, commander of the fifth fleet, known for finding more than her share of ‘action’ wherever she was assigned; most notably because she tended to end up at Mars.

After that pair, she dodged under the arm of someone – she didn’t catch if it was a servant or family member, as everyone present was gaily decorated and many were garlanded in white-leaved flowers that also hung in arcing streamers and colourful bouquets from the hall’s wooden roof. The hall was as big as those on the Menelmacari navy’s troopships, but that was still by far insufficient, and although almost five thousand were in the hall, not counting servants, the throng was far greater, and other long-halls were built in the house of Fithurin around this great hall, scarcely lesser in size, and linked by the covered stairways and bridges that Culdalot had previously lingered upon.

She ducked under a table where the famous necron general Arnran Selvaran sat with a short haired elf-woman in a midnight blue and white costume. Culdalot recognised her as Idhrindiel, a comparatively well-known Mornahossë captain operating in one of the units that didn’t require much operational security. Opposite another pair of elves who Culdalot didn’t recognise, as they weren’t as famous as those opposite, but whose MIDF insignia, worn on dress uniforms, declared they were from the Elrandir Command.

Serendis, Culdalot’s mother, sat of course, at the ‘top table’ which was rather larger than the others, semicircular in design, made of dark wood with silver traceries, over which another of the coloured tablecloths was pinned. Sere reached out and hugged the young elf to her side, “Try not to trip anyone up next time,” she said.

“Huh?” the elflet said anxiously looking around behind her, seeing only her father working his way through the crowd after her.

“Got you,” Serendis said.


Lord Glorfindel frowned a little as he looked out on the evening sky, around the river mouth over which his own home was built. While the house of Fithurin was on an inland sea, Glorfindel’s was a little way outside Minas Limgûl, along the coast of the ocean. The land about was in tiered plateaus, some a few feet across, some vast. Aside from the small city, there was no permanent habitation around, though there were holidaymakers and nomadic Menelmacari now and then used some flets in the trees. Low mountains with high tree-lines surrounded the house on all sides, and the sea crashed against the rocks far below. The buildings were built on high spurs of rock, inaccessible from below, and marble buildings built in a style that most nations would call classical, perched atop them. The only way into the structure without flying was along the aqueduct that took water from the high weirs of the river where it dropped from flat rocky surface to flat rocky surface, chattering as it made the last phase of its journey to the sea.

He turned his sword slowly in his grip, on one of those miniature plateaus, elevated fifty feet above the forest canopy below, surrounded partially by a Stonehenge-like arrangement of Grecian looking marble pillars. Several pillars of what appeared to be iron shaped as snarling uruks were arrayed irregularly around him. “Herio,” he snapped, and they began moving, propelled by gravitic generators around him, both moving at the joints, and moving around. In a moment the winds from their movement had picked up as they neared the speed of sound.

Glorfindel ducked aside from one and then another of the multi-ton obelisks. His blade twitched, and a piece of metal flew aside, twisting as it bounced off the fields at the edge of the training area. One of the ‘uruks’ toppled, beheaded, the blade having cut clear through the best part of a foot of armour grade metal.

Again, and he transfixed another target on the blade, which flared with a white incandescence as the target shivered into pieces that scattered all around. The outstretched blade of another target cut through the air over his head. Glorfindel twirled under the heavy blade, which whipcracked as it broke the speed of sound. He cut through the ersatz attacker’s foreleg, and moved on, plunging the blade into another’s groin, carving up through the armour in an eyeblink, through to the top of the head, toppling the target into two smoking segments.

Moments later the last were gone, and Glorfindel laid the flat of his sword against his shoulder, watching as the remnants of the destroyed targets faded away after the manner of necrons.

“Generate random scenario; level four,” he said. The environment around him disappeared, replaced with a holographic simulation (and his garb, save the sword, replaced with a tactile simulation of armour and other weapons and equipment) of a blasted terrain half ruined by orbital fire, crowded with all sorts of strange creatures, orcs, for the most part, equipped with strange, glowing firearms, the type of which he’d never seen before. Neutron blasters of some form, it seemed, thick bolts of incandescence shot from one side of the blasted valley to another, where a drab looking force hunkered down, possibly – presumably – Menelmacari.

Before he could really get into the thing, a cool voice interjected with ‘pause’ and a tall feminine figure stepped through the edge of the illusion. “You know, we’re supposed to be on our way to Vinyatírion now…” Asine’rin said.

“Humm?” Glorfindel asked, thinking for a moment, “Ah yes. Quite. Preserve scenario, close.”

He didn’t like to leave things half-done.


Vilyaroquen Nehtëlótëon watched as Mars appeared in the ‘window,’ of his fighter as he flipped it over, gunning the engine to alter his course a little, mumbling a little at the horrid garishness of the ZMI traffic to the planet as the passive sensor package brought up a visual and produced a bunch of estimates of the payload.

It was, mind, a friendly patrol that Martian Command maintained to keep an eye on doings in the shipping ‘lane’ – not that it could be really called that, so much as the optimal trajectory at any given time, there were two: The fast route, and the low energy route. These days, most people went by the fast route.

Not everyone got the day off. Indeed, many of those at the Fithurin retreat were on call still, but as elves could suppress the need for sleep, they could double their ‘off-duty’ time with relatively few consequences. However, Nehtëlótëon, who usually went by his far more simple call-sign of Anarfion, was pretty much stuck for most of the day on a long patrol, which was irritating.

That said, the cockpit of a manned Thoron had the redeeming feature of being rather comfortable. Plush would be another way to put it, and the Thoron was often erroneously said to be the only fighter-craft in existence with a massage-chair, something Anarfion was making grateful use of at the moment.


The banqueting chamber of Fëanor Palace was a major construction; the palace as a whole as huge, yet the inhabited volume of the royal family and their retainers was quite small, much of the structure was like this chamber, vast spaces intended for state occasions.

In this instance, the intention was a little informal, and being held in this and several smaller, alternate rooms, as well. As the event was an unusual crossover of the usually minor ‘christmas’ celebrations and Durin’s Day, a number of portals to Khazad-dûm were set up, where the other half of the events would take place.

Of course, the Khazad-dûm-side would be distinctly dwarven. Which was to say, drunken feasting. The halls of Khazad-dûm were no less impressive, of course, in some ways they were more so, for they were older, and had been made with less advanced tools.

Ilyatur nos Círdan, the events-manager of the palace, Herufiriemmolië, an elf-looking necron lord in charge of a part of the security operations, Vesadine, a human woman who concerned herself with managing the residence, and Túrelio nos Fingolfin, the Prefect of State sat, reviewing the guest list…

“Domestically, we should have all of the permanent residents, including the Yvressi ambassador,” Ilyatur said, “as well as Aeloisa, Anáriel, Arshaw Mîraglariel, Arshaw, Asirnoth, Azura, Celebrimbor, Devash, Elash Mîraglariel, Elendan, Fëaelenion, Ithenril, Kasterairin, Kestrel Amea, Laudrina Frost, Luinthelë, Maglor, Miriel, Paul de Vere, Sharan, Taurevanimë, Thranduril, Túrelio nos Fingolfin,” Túrelio chuckled, and listened as the list went on and on.

Finally he moved on to his own list, “Not all of these have responded. But we’ve invited delegations from: Aelosia, Austar Union, Kaenei, Kajal, Karma, Karmicaria, Nathicana, Pantocratoria, Resurgent Dream,” he didn’t use the current name, simply out of habit, “Scolopendra, Sunset, Tor Yvresse, Tsaraine, Xirnium,” and so the list went, encompassing every Yut and VERITAS state, as well as a whole scattershot of places that had interested Túrelio at the time.

The next list included any number of internationally known figures personally, ranging from heads of state to military heroes, plutocrats to film stars.¹


Sirithil Nalosaurawen Finlaurë Aineldalië Minyavendë and Ranisath Cuilahîr Cuilévaher to Nathicana D’Aquisto, Empress of the Dominion, greetings: the Valar keep you and may no shadow fall upon you.

We hope that this missive finds you and yours well, and we wish to convey our hopes that you will continue to remain so. We write to invite you and your family, to visit Vinyatírion on the 21st and 22nd of December this year, when we will be publicly celebrating several holidays at the same time (including in Khazad-dûm, if that interests you) and we would be greatly honoured if you were to attend.

Of course, you are quite welcome to bring whomever and whatever you desire², and stay where you will, though we will prepare suites in Fëanor Palace and elsewhere, should you desire.

We hope that you may be able to find time to attend, though please do not think it any obligation, and we will understand fully if you do not. Regardless, we look forward to seeing you at the next opportunity to do so.

Manwë keep you under the One, and send fair wind to your sails.

OOC: The thread title translates as 'Glory on high and peace on earth,' if anyone wants to know. Co-written with Siri (mostly, last December). The whole err, mail-shot is probably sent out in November some time, though there might be some more advance given according to how busy we think the recipient is. No need to mess about with big arrival posts or circling the runway; there’s direct landing for shuttle sized vessels in the palace’s various hangars, as well as landing outside Vinyatírion for larger things, like airplanes or large space ships. We’ll post more details of the various rooms and such available, shortly.

¹ One can assume any character you like is on the list unless they’ve reason not to be, mostly by dint of being enemies of Menelmacar or rampantly genocidal monsters. So, Bridgette Iesus is not invited,
² That’s for allies. More general invitations, say, Pantocratoria, would specify the maximum size of one’s retinue in vague terms (and for them, at least, rather large terms too), and anyone not capable of restraint would be explicitly told not to bring entire platoons of guards and flotillas of warships.

From: Aliria nos Elúrin nos Dior nos Lúthien nos Melian
To: Sirithil Nalosaurawen Finlaurë Aineldalië Minyavendë and Ranisath Cuilahîr Cuilévaher

May Yavanna and Oröme shower their blessings upon your rule and union, my dear friends.

I received a missive regarding the little and humble gathering you are organizing in Vinyatírion, and given the fact that my official duties won't distract me during those days, and after hearing that in said gathering I will have the pleasure of meeting with old friends, allies and family, it will be my pleasure to attend, to have the opportunity to enjoy the marvelous views of your city, alongside the wonders hidden in Khazad-Dûm.

My mother and predecessor, Aelosia nos Dior nos Lúthien nos Melian, wrote me a letter stating that she will attend too, more likely alongside her life long companion, Asirnoth the Blessed Void Dragon. I hope I might have the chance of sharing some time alongside the Crownprince Maglor, and other interesting personalities as the fabled Glorfindel, Lady Serendis, and Turelio nos Fingolfin, apart from the always welcoming company of the Lady of the Noldor and the Istari of the Stars.

I am afraid that some of my usual companions to these gatherings will be missing this time. My Imperial Chancellor, Lady Archduchess Celestrianna Paelisi of the Golden Beak will be unable to attend given her delicate state of health, and the Imperial Advisor Marquise Aleinna Cúthalion will be distracted by her duties as Vicereine of the province of Craulnober in Mars. However, I will bring an entourage consisting of two high nobles, the Archduke Admiral Prince Kithail Hyral, and the Lady Princess Sylia Daeron, the Mistress of Minstrels, and a dozen of lesser attendants and nobles from my court.

May Manwë, Ulmo and Elbereth protect you during the infinity of time and space...

Sirithil Nalosaurawen Finlaurë Aineldalië Minyavendë and Ranisath Cuilahîr Cuilévaher to Nathicana D’Aquisto dal Lupo, Empress of the Dominion, greetings: the Valar keep you and may no shadow fall upon you.

We hope that this missive finds you and yours well, and we wish to convey our hopes that you will continue to remain so. We write to invite you and your family, to visit Vinyatírion on the 21st and 22nd of December this year, when we will be publicly celebrating several holidays at the same time (including in Khazad-dûm, if that interests you) and we would be greatly honoured if you were to attend.

Of course, you are quite welcome to bring whomever and whatever you desire², and stay where you will, though we will prepare suites in Fëanor Palace and elsewhere, should you desire.

We hope that you may be able to find time to attend, though please do not think it any obligation, and we will understand fully if you do not. Regardless, we look forward to seeing you at the next opportunity to do so.

Manwë keep you under the One, and send fair wind to your sails.

She read the letter a second time, folded it skillfully within her hands and tucked it away in a small compartment. She had attended every event prior in other nations as empress of her own empire. She had recently, and recently meaning fifty years, passed her throne to one of her daughters; Charmaine. It was almost strange to her, but she felt a great deal of relief lifted from her shoulders. After so many years of ruling, fighting, and hardships, a vacation was long overdue. She had found piece on a quiet place by the sea with her fiancé, Corothisia, and they had lost themselves in sleep. She was awakened when Charmaine had called for her when the seal within the chamber of faythe had been broken. She was free now to passing the time as she pleased. She had planned to meet an old friend here. They had seen each other for the first time in a long time after that incidence, but only for a short time.

Her hair fell in long dark waves over her shoulders and down her back to her hips. Her skin was pale and ethereal as if it were infused with moonlight. One of her most striking features was her crimson eyes; unnatural, unnerving, and beautiful. Her nails were long; and small diamond had been embedded on top of black lacquer. Her dress was dark scarlet silk; backless to just above her hips and a plunging neckline. It fit her all to well, and she knew it. She hadn’t changed in many decades. She stepped out of the small jet which had brought her to this location. She had never met these type of people before. Surely they hadn’t met one of her family before. She didn’t bother to fold the decently sized black-feathered wings at her back, nor hide the stark white fangs which rested on her ruby stained lower lip.

Where to go... she thought to herself.

A giggle.
Muffled cursing.
More giggling.
"I swear to Eru woman, you ask your dressmakers to make these accursed clasps deliberately harder and harder to open. It's a plot to drive me mad. Maaad I say! Loony like a Roanian monarch!"
*kc-snap*
"Ahah, got the bastard by-"
The speaker is cut off, by the sounds of things, he doesn't really mind.
Time passes, during which further sounds indicate a good time is being had by everyone. Which is nice.
Yes indeed.
Time is still passing here.
(They should both have been born in Der Angst. Degenerates.)
Ah...finally.

"Ooooh. That was nice."
"Nice? Woman you've ruptured me. Arrgh!"
Tickling has ensued and eventually a certain amount of limb re-arrangement is necessary, before the King and Queen of Britmattia are revealed in the traditional sheet-showing-off-just-enough-to-make-you-envious pose so beloved of cinema. However, as the pair have spared nothing towards realism, the bed is also very rumpled.
Actually I think it might actually be broken.
Oh dear.

Anyway, moving swiftly on, both are sweaty, look extremely smug and are plainly enjoying their holiday.
Arwen, draped over the Owen's impressively muscled, albeit oddly lumpy, torso, pushes back a river of hair dark as night from her face and glows at the King, a smile that has the same effect on men as approximately three litres of the very best endorphins science can manufacture.
Owen, regardless of lineage, training and personal mental toughness, is no more immune to this than the next man and automatically agrees to anything suggested while the smile is display.

(It's a matter of some pride to his wife that the King of Men has, in the interests of science, been asked to invade Titan while under the effects of said smile and agreed to the project wholeheartedly. {For reference it took approximately two and a half minutes for him to realise what he'd agreed to})

So, here comes Arwen's suggestion for what to do with portions of the holiday period, delivered at the moment of maximum susceptibility.
"Darling?"
"Yes love?"
The smile widens, the Queen, for all her beauty, grace and intelligence, never quite truly believes her fairytale has come true. "Love" in her husband's mouth sends happy little shivers down her spine.
"I've been thinking about that invitation. The one from...Menelmacar."
The rest in a rush, a little breathy at the end.
"I thought we might accept."
Owen, lost in the luminous beauty of his wife, nods.
"Sure. It'll be fun."

Arwen squeaks with joy and clasps slender arms around the King's neck, shapely shoulders clasping tight enough that breath would be a struggle for an ordinary man.
"Thank you! It's not that I don't like Yule here, but it'll be really nice to do something different and I can meet my progenitor and, and, oh there's so much to do and pack!"
The elf-woman vaults out of the bed, leaping almost in one move to the walk-in closet dominating one wall.

Owen, being an individual of low character, watches the inevitable wiggling of his naked wife with a certain proprietary smugness while a little voice in the back of his head gradually increases in volume to the point where the lazy smugness vanishes abruptly and the King begins to hiss curses.
"Oh god. Menelmacar. Diplomacy. Formal House Blacks."
A murderous scowl is directed at Arwen, who has chosen that moment to writhe back into her underwear, breaking the King's train of thought entirely for a moment.
Still, he rallies, re-attempting the glare (and failing), before the worst curse a nation who fetishes practical chivalry can utter escapes him in a tea-kettle hiss.
"Elves!"

By the hand of Lirella Meraia Kavar-Keral, to Sirithil Nalosaurawen Finlaurë Aineldalië Minyavendë and Ranisath Cuilahîr Cuilévaher,

It was with some delight that I recieved your missive, and while I must admit that I am not entirely familiar with the holidays in question, that I would be delighted to attend. Coincidentally, it would seem, that the new year is upon us in the Four Worlds proper, and celebrations for such will be held in a few days themselves.

I have informed the Princess of your missive, and, should it be acceptable, she will arrive in Vinyatirion from Mars as I do from Kajal, accompanied by my Prime Minister, and future husband. Derin is most anxious to announce such to everyone within earshot, though our tabloids have tired of such...

If I do understand correctly, these holidays often involve the exchanging of gifts, no? I'll see if I can't find something to surprise you two.

May the Seraii keep you in health, and send their blessings in this festive season.

Ilunaia would arrive first, coming from a shorter distance, though Lirella's own ship travelled somewhat faster, rendering the point moot, as Lirella rather immediately latched on to her daughter upon arrival anyways.

After that, though, they started to mingle. All three of them were already rather familiar with the specific locale, of course.

He was the prince of this land. The defining apex predator. Absolutely perfectly evolved for both the wild plains and rocky arid wastelands that stretched uninterrupted for hundreds of miles around him, every bone, muscle, tooth and claw shaped and forged by evolution into the most perfect killing machine of his era. Twenty five foot and one solid ton of condensed, toned muscle, arms and legs thick as tree trunks and wings with the span that would embarrass a small aircraft.

His tail swooped and nostril flared as he tracked his prey through smell and sound, his eyes, though sharp as a hawk in flight, unnecessary save for maintaining his alertness to surroundings as dangerous as he was. Mustang, wild Freestian horses, small herd, twenty, thirty maybe? He moved slowly, large spread out feet silently shifting the sand, body poised to run. His head cleared the crest of the rocks nearby, downwind and far enough away to see and confirm the herd. They didn’t stand a chance.

“DU DU DU DU DUDUDU DUDU…” The Mustangs shot upright, twitched, and bolted as his mobile blurted out the first few notes of an incoming call. Clodius froze in shock, then gritted his teeth in absolute anger, then let out an earsplitting roar. He attempted to grab his phone from its strap around his left horn, failing to find the tiny thing until hooking it in a talon and bringing it before him. He cursed his frontal blind spot as he tried to read the display, and, still awkwardly manipulating the thing in his claws, flipped the lid somehow and pressed the answer button. Bastard thing.

“Aaaaaaaaa, how it going Clo?” The voice was distinctly jolly and slightly distracted. Clodius breathed out slowly.

“Sempero you absolute arse bastard. You spooked the evening meal.”

“Oh, you eating out?” A pause containing a curious ’oh’ before cogs started turning in the recipients mind. “Wait, it bolted? What was you going after?” Clodius closed his eyes at Semp’s question and it implications.

“Mustang.”

Sempero let out a drunken cackle, alongside several female giggles after he repeated the answer to them. “Mustang? For fuck’s sake man why don’t you just give up and become a vegetarian? Or turnips too threatening and quick for you?”

“Bugger. Off. You. Prick.” Clodius gave a quick sniff and did a precursory scan to ensure nothing bigger was planning to eat him. “Anyway, there a point to this?”

“Oh, just season’s greetings mah man. Oh, and yeah, Barham asked me to grab you and reign you in over the next couple days.”

“Huh?” Clodius arched his armoured eyebrow equivalents. “What for?”

“Eh, some party the big pointies are putting on. Should be a good opportunity for yours and me truly to spread ourselves out a bit. Barham’s dragging Farahind as well. She’s doing alright enough in the polls to basically have it wrapped up as his successor.”

“So what, haul ass back in?”

“Well, originally yes, but I got told to get you about…three days ago, then I fell asleep, then I woke up, slept with a lot of people and drank enough to kill four elephants. I‘m actually quite impressed with myself, I sat down and worked that out properly, and anyway the time sorted drifted by a lot quicker than I thought it would. So I’m just sending a Yeoman out in a Hauler. Should be with you soon enough.”

“Thanks. I guess…” Clodius paused, sniffing the air. Something rustled nearby. Clodius rolled his eyes. “Gotta go, I’m gonna get pounced by a giant snake in about thirty seconds.”

“Oh really? Might be a great time to tell you I puked over your car and dissolved the upholstery.”

“What?” Click. Clodius took the phone away from his ear grove and glared at it. He then blinked, momentarily forgetting the metre-thick coiling serpent creeping up on him. He scanned the horizon, ten miles from east to west, again nothing and no one.

“How the fuck did I get a signal out here?” He asked, genuinely curious, to no one in particular.

“Oh, brother! Your Empire will not fall apart in two days,” Vethara sighed in exasperation as she steered her horse through the snow covered path. Her brother, His Most August Majesty the Vasilevs, who was riding side by side, laughed heartily and shook his head.

“I know it will not. I have named a very competent Chancellor, after all,” the Emperor said merrily. “But it might damage the image I am creating for myself. A mysterious and secretive demigod deciding the fate of billions from behind his secret lair…”

“Don’t be silly, you just don’t want to go to Menelmacar,” Vethara frowned.

“As a matter of fact, you are right,” Mikhail nodded softly. “This would make them the first nation I have visited in my quality as Emperor. And I admit that I have not yet decided on what country to bestow such an honour… but well, you know Taraskovyan media better than me. And how they interpret all sorts of things.”

“It is an informal meeting,” the Grand Duchess of Taraskovya shrugged at the Vasilevs and all Taraskovya.

“Maybe, maybe not,” it was Mikhail’s turn to shrug. “But I guess it cannot hurt to attend the event.”

“Maybe you’ll finally find a nice girl and get the crown some heirs!” Vethara giggled cheerfully.

“Meh. Maybe you’ll find a husband and I shall finally be rid of you!” The Emperor did not have the time to chuckle as his sister somehow had the time to find some snow, make a snowball and send it his direction, scoring a nearly perfect hit on the forehead. All this while still riding on horseback.

Alessa's letter was printed, with some obvious difficulty, in quenya. Apart from a few mispelled words, she managed quite well.

My beloved friends,

My current studies appear to have hit a dead end and so I am at a loss for where to continue. Perhaps travel will allow me to begin thinking along new lines, and as always a chance to peruse the texts of your library, so much easier to obtain access to, sadly, than my own, will...

There followed a few scribblings, and one or two scorchmarks, as if the offending words had been scoured from existence, before her train of thought and ability in Quenya appeared to reassert itself.

allow me to continue. I am curious about these celebrations you are holding, as my own advisors have not salved my curiousity about this, 'sandy claws' the great gift giver. It all seems very peculiar to me, and out of the interest of learning, I shall attend your party personally. I have absolute faith in your kindness and in your security, and will bring only enough of my sacramental guard to allow me an entrance.

Your true friend,

Alessa

The letter ended, and then, suddenly, as if an afterthought, there was an addition at the end.

Postscript! I've been practicing my Quenya and I hope I've improved. My Grand Vizier thinks it's a waste of time, and not suitable for me to do, but I think it's important to find out new things. Here, I learned my elf name! Beriadanwen Mornawen. I think I prefer my galstandard name, though.

PPS. The Archancellor insisted, insisted, mind you, that he accompany me to see Vinyatirion. I hope it's not too much trouble. Faith and Duty!

To Sirithil Nalosaurawen Finlaurë Aineldalië Minyavendë and Ranisath Cuilahîr Cuilévaher.

It would be an honour and a joy to attend this occasion, and see the wonders of our Kin once more. As such I myself shall of course be in attendance; beyond this the Farseer Badb Trill-Gorath has expressed an interest, along with her partner, to attend the function.

My personal craft will bring us shortly, but it would still be a joy to stay a while within the Palace, as your guests.

By my own hand I remain.

Asuridain Iyanna Arienal
Prince of the City of the Glittering Vale
Chosen of Isha
Daughter of the Mother


Sometimes even a Farseer can be forgiven for missing the movements of one of her own so perhaps Iyanna could be this time also, since unknown to her, a man deep within the Web switched on his bike, turned to his companion and smiled a moment. ‘Hhmm I think it’s time I showed you something different…’ the Gravitic engines kicked in and the alien form behind the Farseer clung on tightly the face turned in what one might assume to be a smile as the pair sped off towards well a party it seemed.

Magnus Hesche, Envoy to New Worlds, cracks a grin out towards the vista rather than to the rather large ratcats standing across from him on the patio. They're used to his grin, of course, and it would be rude if he could actually help it, but there's no reason for anyone to cause trouble. "And to think, we rated personalized invitations!" In one sense, such boyish enthusiasm wouldn't normally be expected from the ubermensch sitting easily in a polar-white tuxedo with black trim, his healthily long but not at all effeminate golden-blond hair looking neatly fallen over his brow, his skin heathily bronzed, his chin capable of breaking Soviet missile battlecruisers, and his blue eyes sparkling. Then there's the grin, with teeth so bright they might serve as signal mirrors. On the other hand, this is Magnus, immortalized in movies, comic books, television nature specials, and a lot of extremely secret operation files. Boyish enthusiasm is what he does, and like a lot of things he does, he does it well.

The head ratcat, in more ways than one, quirks a furred brow over one scarred eyelid. Speaker-Rrit, Patriarch of the [Scolopendran] Kzinti and [repeatedly elected] Supreme Emperor of the Federated Segments, is his usual dashing big tiger linebacker with bat-wing ears self, and wearing his usual blue-plastroned uniform with the double-breasted lines. "You did save Menelmacar," he growlbles in a chiding but friendly way, mostly because his gravelly voice doesn't allow any sort of non-growl to enter his voice.

"Mória, sir," corrects the teenaged woman standing next to Magnus. Looking to be about sixteen and having an uncanny similarity to the man sitting next to her, 'Warrant Officer' Rhiannon Xiphilina Hesche, one of the few Office of Psionic Operations agents with a combat pilot commendation, she looks healthily athletic, well-built, and overall quite pretty, but not ethereally or unusually so. She has more of a wholesome but somewhat bookish liberated young woman air about her rather than that of some sort of supermodel sex object created out of some sort of unrealistic chauvinist's (not to mention somewhat pedophiliac's) fantasy. Perhaps unusually for her Western European looks, she wears a sari in very patriotic red and black with geometric patterns (http://www.divadesigner.co.uk/images/web%20product/2330.jpg). "It's north of here, on a different landmass..." She pauses for a moment, then smiles close-lipped. "Sorry. Splitting hairs."

"I have plenty of hairs left to split, young Hesche," Speaker-Rrit says good-naturedly with a flap of his bat-wing ears, "and so I think I will manage. After all, I cannot misbehave with my better half here." The kzintosh turns a bit to flap his ears at the mentioned kzinrret.

"'Better half.'" H'zta, said aforementioned 'ret, chortles. "I am the sly, devious, corporate capitalist one of us, O scion of the people's will." A little taller than her consort, H'zta also isn't quite as broad. Instead, she could be something more like a running-back than a linebacker, but unless one knows what they're looking for, it could be difficult to tell that she's actually female when using human standards (hint: athleticism and quadrupedalism don't make large mammaries effective evolutionary traits, but some of the evolutionary drivers for human overactive mammaries are still present, primarily due to successful mating being possible from the front as well. This Evolutionary Nature Special is brought to you by Magnus Hesche and Seeker Sam's Safari Shop!). To perhaps simplify things somewhat she wears a loose-fitting midnight-blue evening dress relatively low-cut around the thighs--but with increasingly translucent wrappings continuing down to near the ankle for a fading effect--and so conservatively cut on the chest that it does actually form a neckline. A sort of aged silver chain ties it together around the waist, but she otherwise wears no other jewelry, unlike some other 'rets out on the town, and a loose-sleeved translucent yet shimmery dark gold shawl of something like a kimono shortened to tunic proportions goes over her arms and shoulders.

"Had I said 'worse half' I would have had a worse time of it," Speaker teases.

"Only when and where no one would see," H'zta purrumbles.

"Kinky," Magnus chirps.

"Dad!" Rhiannon blushes furiously. "These are... you... gah, I'm sorry, honored H'zta, padishah..."

Speaker shakes his head and chuckles. "Young Hesche, we have had to deal with your father since before you were hatched. I am quite used to it."

"And he is right, it is kinky," H'zta says with a sly wink to the young woman, which only makes Rhi turn even redder, somehow inhumanly so, as if she had suddenly drunken half a bottle of wine and hopped into a sauna. "We cannot hold the truth against Elder Hesche, no?"

Rhiannon mutters something like "yes, ma'am" while trying to fight down her natural instinct to emulate the color of her clothing. It's not that she's prudish, really, so much as she has a distinct sense of propriety and, well, it's just not proper to discuss kink with the padishah and his consort. Banter around the table at lunch or cruising with friends, okay, that's one thing. This is something else entirely.

"Anyway," Magnus comes to his daughter's rescue, "let's mingle a bit, shall we? There's plenty of interesting people to meet, after all. Now let's see, who's here already... pointies, pointies, pointies, and a wingie. One of these things is not like the other," he mutters to himself in a sing-song voice, then sets a course for the most unusual person in the immediate vicinity.

"Should we follow him to keep him out of trouble?" H'zta asks only half-jokingly.

"I'm afraid that if I followed him, I'd end up having to slap him for something. No, let 'im do his thing." Rhiannon glances over at the two ratcats with a quietly calculating expression.

"Out with it," the kzinrret requests in a tone more polite than the command reads in plain text.

"Well, ma'am, I'm wondering if I'll be any better off around you two."

H'zta erupts in a short bout of roaring laughter, flapping her ears with glee. "I like you, Rhiannon. I promise I will behave."

"We have the honor and stateliness of the Race of Heroes to think of, after all," Speaker-Rrit adds with a sagely nod.

* - * - *

A metric fucktillion kilometers away

"Destroyer, Tactical." Lieutenant Colonel Timofeyev Bondayehr leans forward in his seat at the keystone of the arch-shaped formation of officer's stations in the command room of the Scolopendran WarShip Vespoidea, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his folded hands. The nebulous sphere that makes up the ship's strategic indicator display updates its view to indicate the sensor contacts appearing just over the horizon of the nearby colony world, but only in an angular sense. In a distance sense they're actually a good seventy-five astronomical units away. "Sensors, I want a read on those as quickly as possible, complete with threat assessment. Exec, set the ship to Event Condition Two. The Advisor won't catch us with our pants down."

'The Advisor' is Foot-to-Ass Advisor Lance Hawke, director of all the Segments' armed forces. Because he hasn't done it in three years, he ordered a full-scale full-force military exercise, all ships, all personnel, over a six-week period conveniently scheduled around the date of the Terrestrial northern hemispherical winter solstice. His rationale is that the Scolopendran Military Services must be ready to act and serve at any time of the year. His troopers' rationale, on the other hand, is that he's just a fucking grinch. The reality is indeed a union of the two.

Bondayehr's feelings are decidedly mixed. For one, his leave with his family was rather abruptly and rudely cut short. While everyone of course understands, it doesn't make anything any easier. My folks will at least take care of Shorty and the kittens well enough. On the other hand, at least I'm not being dragged to any stupid parties.

Response to: Sirithil Nalosaurawen Finlaurë Aineldalië Minyavendë and Ranisath Cuilahîr Cuilévaher

For some time, we have been searching for a way to take a vacation from the ever constant hustle and bustle of our duties but to no avail. However your invitation comes at a most perfect time. We would be delighted to attend this joyous holiday event and to share in the festivities with you both and friends, old and new.

We will certainly be in attendance, and, with your permission, would like to bring our son, Governor Alakantar O’Neill of the Martian Colony of Valacirca, Vice Chairman Shiran Naelthasser, and Chief Advisor Ire’arra Aleanrahel.

Sincerely wishing you both a very Merry Christmas,

Jack and Siri O’Neill
Chairman and Chairwoman
The Northrop-Grumman Corporation

{ Opening Transmission }-
{ Transmission Type: Diplomatic, Standard Encryption }-
-{ Destination: Sirithil Nalosaurawen Finlaurë Aineldalië Minyavendë and Ranisath Cuilahîr Cuilévaher, the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar and Eternal Necrontyr Empire of The Ctan respectively }--
-{ Source: Secretary-General Carmine Goodchild, the Unione of Capitalizt States of Austar Union }--
-{ Concerning: Celebrations in Vinyatírion }--

I would like to express my most sincere thanks for the invitation you have sent me to join you in celebrations of a number of holidays recognized in Menelmacar. Indeed, even my own country seems to be in 'holiday season' at the moment, with 'Christmas' and the new year to come. These festive times in mind, I would graciously like to accept your invitation and if you do not mind, would like to bring my protege Gen./Field Marshal Ezra Qu'Salos along with me.

Qu'Salos may take more of an interest in Khazad-dûm that I, but I'll leave that for him to decide for himself.

Many thanks,

http://i23.photobucket.com/albums/b370/AustarUnion/dean.jpg
Secretary-General Carmine Goodchild
The Unione of Capitalizt States of Austar Union

{ Close Transmission }-

The office of His Highness The Commander of Special Forces was a decidedly simplistic thing, as had been the intention. It contained: one desk, four chairs, two bookcases, a wall hanging, two framed paintings...and several large windows that provided natural light and a view out into Starguard's courtyard, which was beginning to blossom into a relatively decent formal garden under the skilled hands of...someone with skilled hands. Because, frankly, most people didn't think about it.

That in mind, it would probably have surprised people to learn that the individual responsible for the gardening was not a 'groundskeeper' by anything save inclination -- her technical job title was 'High Queen of Revenia,' though many people would have been decidedly surprised to learn that Revenia actually had a High Queen, as that little tidbit wasn't really advertised. Ever.

In point of fact, His Highness the Commander of Special Forces had been quite surprised when Her Majesty turned up on his doorstep with the stated intention of making his new keep look something 'less like a ruin,' which, in its defense, it had been less than a month prior. Some time had passed since, and Her influence had begun to win out over the wreckage...and her presence had had other benefits. For example, it meant that Dysaryn Stark could have breakfast with his mother.

Which, at present, he was. Bacon, eggs, hashbrowns...

Kaerah peered at her son over her cup of coffee, and it seemed as if two people sat side-by-side before her. One, the young, idealistic, happy young man he had been, so very, very long ago...the other...the oft-quiet man with the haunted eyes that he was at present.

"Bad dreams, Dys?"

He shrugged his shoulders, "Always..."

She slid a white folder with the RDS logo emblazoned on one side across the table to him. He looked at, raised an eyebrow, picked it up, flipped it open...and bit his lip.

"I...see."

Break

-RevNet Transmission Inbound
--Source Node: NorCon
---Receiving Node: MenDCon via VinCon
----Translation Protocol: AN-c13 v2.6
-Header-
To: The Proper Representatives of The King and Queen of Elfdom (or current residents)
From: RDSCenCo Relay, Nexus, ESSR.
Subj: Holiday Cheer

-Message Begins-

So. We're coming.

Stock more booze.

D.

-Message Ends-

--Signature
His Highness Sir Dysaryn Stark, Prince Starguard.

Break

And THUS did the Wanderer depart from Northfell. Yaaaaaaaay!

The inside of the security control room wasn't visible from the hall, as the smallish room was actually on the floor above the shining roof. It was practically covered in screens, which were rendered mostly superfluous by the small fraction of one of the major strategic command Artificial (one might say electronic, but they weren't, really) Intelligences in Taniquentil Command that was keeping a real-time eye on events in the public areas. On a table between the ten occupied chairs that ringed the room sat various items that might be of use. These ranged from replica swords and guns, de-powered armaments and micro-missiles, to what appeared to be balls of silver painted string. They were selected by a cadre of skilled mages in the next room whose task was to assist in managing major events, by predicting the most likely things to go wrong (or indeed, right) and how it might happen. Of course, they weren't perfect, but very little was.

Ninyaheri, one of the Mornahossë guard contingent, whose primary assignment was palace security, frowned. She would rather have preferred to be on the floor, but as it was, she was scrutinizing the signals that went to and from the hall. Fortunately, she had a room down the corridor; she'd change when she came off duty and see about going down there.

"Hmm, it looks like things are getting under way," she said, to the elf next to her, supervising the energy suppression field; one of two active defenses, against unauthorized weapons fire, and even use of bladed and projectile weapons.¹

The main hall in the palace end of the operation was where most guests arrived. Pillars of limestone concealing heavy metal supports ran from the ceilings, and crystalline, glassy walls seemed to be elaborately decorated. Each wall was a pane of 'glass' of the kind used on starship observation decks, a hundred feet high and twenty wide. Behind them was some kind of liquid, possibly water, that was possibly a few inches wide, and looking in at eye level, one could see, frozen, or moving slowly, olive-sized orbs, in the form of miniature lights, like gold-clad lanterns that shone in a number of colors, from white, to gold, or in shades of blue, green and crimson. Between these, were colored, reflective ribbons, and behind them, a mirrored surface that doubled the apparent number of lights shining in the walls. When viewed from far enough away, they assumed patterns, nebulae, constellations – Menelmacar itself took up one tall panel of the wall - with semi-spheres made of dozens of radiant silver lights making up luminescent stars, with single lights making up the background. Various state-related patterns or seasonal designs from around the world also appeared, though they were not as prominent as the star patterns.

The floor was in places covered in a carpet so thick one could almost get vertigo from sinking into it, and in others, past elegantly carved slivers of silver that held the carpet in place, the floor was bare to reveal a spectacular white marble floor with dark veins in it that shone with colored light from the walls and ceiling, the slabs of stone fit together so smoothly one could search for hours before finding a seam.

The experiences of those landing at the palace were all broadly similar. There were given landing instructions towards one of several indoor landing bays, or in more extreme instances for larger ships, a large landing area several hundred meters long concealed by doors covered by gardens, worked into the multiple tiers that surrounded the palace. Incoming vehicles were of course, scanned, and gravitically nudged – should the need arise – into certain flight lanes over the city; for most civilian traffic didn't fly over it, save on matters of moderate priority, or in short routes from underground (and even faster) 'highway' routes that made up part of the complex transportation infrastructure. Most of the city's buildings had car parks linked to 'capillaries' of this underground network, and for most intracity transport, teleportation was used, when foot travel wouldn’t suffice. Indeed, grav-cars would be going out of style but for their comfort and recreational use. Of course, horses persisted in great numbers in Menelmacar for this reason, so there was no danger of the grav-car’s disappearance in the predictable future.

There was a brief walk from most landing bays, passing through a number of short art galleries, most of which showed a number of famous past visitors. These were in fact, passageways through a major armored area that divided the structure as a whole from the landing areas, due to the (admittedly slim) chance of potentially explosive accidents.

From there, the palace's main lift system led guests into the main hall, or rather, a small chamber outside it, with cloakrooms and similar facilities off to its sides. On entry into the main hall, guests were announced by a tall, dark haired and black-clad elf.

As each group arrived, they were announced² and generally marked out by some local or other, if they didn't immediately go and talk to someone, they’d probably be intercepted with some effort to start up a conversation.

"Aliria nos Elúrin nos Dior nos Lúthien nos Melian, Everqueen of Aelosia…"

Unsurprisingly to those in the know, if Aelosia herself didn't get there first, the Menelmacari Crown Prince would surely be first to talk to Aliria. This was quite likely to involve distinctly physical displays of affection.

"Owen and Arwen Warwick, King and Queen of Britmattia…"

Arwen's distinctive looks raised a few eyebrows. Indeed, for a moment she was a veritable centre of attention, until a brown-haired, green eyed, and eerily similar- looking elf woman, wearing her hair in a long pony tail approached them.

"Lirella Meraia Kavar-Keral, Imperatrix of Kajal…"

The guest who paid most immediate attention to Lirella's arrival was Laudrina Frost, one of two C'tani 'Princeps' who did a large portion of C'tani lawmaking, and the one who had been in the role for the longest, originally being appointed by the (then) Emperor, and having retained the role through various re-elections since.

"Sir Clodius Lucife Maxilimus, Lord of Navarrok" meanwhile, attracted the attention of a seemingly middle aged man with dark hair, the head of the major C'tani intelligence agency.

"Mikhail Shakhovskoy, Vasilevs of all Taraskovya and Vethara Shakhovskaya, Grand Duchess of…"

Upon the arrival of the Taraskovyan delegation, a small band with exotic instruments, mostly stringed things of some variety – one was a violin – began to play a soft, lilting piece. One of the necrontyr present, dressed in long blue robes held by silver buttons far to one side, with dark hair pulled up high and speared by ornate silver pins in the shape of arrows, gave them a slight nod of… Interest? Recognition? Formality? She whispered to an aide, who walked away.

"Alessa Annirere, Mage Queen of Roania…" attracted the attention of another female Necrontyr, this one a Menelmacari minister, among other things, flanked by a pair of servants, one elven, one human. Quite why, one wouldn't know.

"Iyanna Arienal, Asuridain of Tor Yvresse…" was most probably intercepted immediately by her own ambassador.

"Speaker-Rrit, Supreme-Emperor of Scolopendra, and…" It seems they’ve found some semi-official titles for Magnus that he probably didn’t know he had…

The Scolopendran party attracted the attention of another apparent copy of Sirithil, this one obviously not the Elentári through her short, dark hair, and slightly bohemian (if such a thing could be said to apply to Menelmacari fashions) robes.

"Jack and Siri O'Neill, Chairman and Chairwoman of Northrop-Grumman…" were approached by Anáriel and Luinthelë, brunette and blonde haired elves respectively, both fairly well-known in business circles.

"Carmine Goodchild, Secretary-General of Austar Union, and Ezra Qu'Salos"

The Austar Union delegation seemed to pique the interest of the Menelmacari Prefect of Education, who gave them a courteous nod, and of course, time to look around.

"Dysaryn Stark, Prince Starguard…"

The Revenian group were promptly intercepted by the starkly tall figure of the necron 'general' Arnran, here in a less violent and more 'natural' looking mode, yet still carrying a rather worrying bladed staff. He had apparently, for whatever reason, been waiting, as, behind him, an elf carried a tray with a selection of bottles of spirits from various places, and six of what probably qualified as shot-glasses by someone's... generous measure.

----

Meanwhile, there was one group that didn't make it that far³, as yet. Looking at Ravelyn, one of the black armoured guards commented discreetly to her companion, "You know, I thought the idea Nathicana had big black wings was an invention of the Iesian church…"

Audibly, meanwhile, from behind their transparent helmets, as well as sending an – unnecessary, as the landing security controller was already aware of it - alarm, one demanded to know who she was, fingering her rifle.

OOC: ¹ Rar. Plot device!
² You aren't obliged to speak to those people, of course, if there's someone else around instead you'd rather. Sirithil, Ranisath and the better-known Menelmacari officials aren't there yet, but will be soon. Incidentally, if any titles are wrong, or if I missed someone in someone's entourage, let's just pretend they said the right thing. They have experts for etiquette.
³ Don't worry, we're going to let her in, in a bit. We just thought, as you copied Nathi's invite completely, it'd make something interesting to play around with if Rave had… somehow… got Nathi's invitation. These things do occasionally happen.

[OOC: Yes, I've checked with Siri on IRC - I'm allowed to enter]

Ajer, the Grand Democratic Duchy

Kurisir "Nabo" Toralen stared down at the wooden desk in front of him. It was carven oak and beech, an odd choice, to be sure, but the carpenter who had designed had skillfully masked the difference in the grains of the wood used. The colors of the woods were different as well and while Nabo's particular preference lead him to prefer elm over both types of wood that had been used to make the desk, even he, with all of his prejudices and inherent dislikes, as well his want to vehemently argue for anything that he thought was correct, or he just agreed with, even he had to admit that the desk had been masterfully made. Despite the fact that "submitting" to the this thought essentially ran counter of everything his believed, Nabo had to admit that simple fact. He had to.

Nonetheless, to the new Chief Minister, every single thought in a vein such as this was a "struggle". That was simply how he operated - fight by fight, conversation by conversation, thought by thought. He liked to say that that was how he had got where he had - born of parents who both were murdered by agents of the Empire (who had been, themselves, killed in the rebellions), in one of the poorest neighborhoods in the poorest area of Yafor 2, the city of Uharan. Of course, his best work had come at his new city, the one which he had governed, and, well, cleaned up a fair bit, Chelmar. But Uharan had "shaped him", he liked to say, and that thinking of life as a "struggle" was what had made him strong. In truth, it may have been a bit of an exaggeration by Nabo, who was a bit of an egotist, but the basic point was true; life had not been kind to Nabo. He had only arrived at where he had through his own hard work.

However, at the time, Nabo was not looking at the desk. Instead, his eyes were focused on the golden-fringed letter lying upon the desk. It had not yet been opened, mainly for the fact that it was addressed to the Elected Duchess. They knew that she wasn't coming to open it. She was far too busy with the Adejaani. Nonetheless, it was left to Nabo Toralen and the man across from him, Jyorin Kiamelar, the Foreign Minister to see what the Menemacari, a group not very welcome in the Grand Democratic Duchy, given their political affiliations and friendship with various nations of interest, wanted with the Yaforites. It was a curious question, but one that neither the Foreign Minister, nor the Chief Minister, wanted to actually answer and see. It was entirely possible that the actual answer was unpleasent.

"What's the use, I'll open it." Nabo, naturally, was the first to speak. Again, it had been a bit of a "struggle" for him to decide to "give in", but the taciturn Foreign Minister was even less likely than Nabo to do something that he thought was not right. Not that he didn't want to do - simply something he thought was not right. The Foreign Minister, unlike a lot of people, including many allies of the Grand Democratic Duchy, had a serious number of morals. To Nabo, it was mildly surprising that he had gone so far, while being so constrained by his morals. On another level it was less surprising, since almost the whole Foreign Ministry knew that Jyorin Kiamelar was good at what he did, as well as being trustworthy with secrets and money. Morals did have their place, Nabo decided.

Reaching towards the carved wooden letter-opener, Nabo slid his hand down the length of the wood, feeling the cut-out strips of that very material. Taking the letter-opener firmly by the top, he held the elaborate letter in his other hands and performed the necessary operation. There was a sound of a slight ripping of paper, and a sheet of some material similar in form to papyrus fell out. Dropping the letter-opener and the letter both, Nabo grabbed the contents of the letter, looking at it eagerly. It was in Quenya, and Nabo cursed his own education, for a second. It was required by the government of the Grand Democratic Duchy that all inhabitants speak at least five languages upon graduation. Due to Nabo's own school and his area, Quenya had not been offered. Cursing his upbringing once more, Nabo handed over the sheet of papery-material to the man who spoke Quenya in the room, Jyorin Kiamelar.

The Foreign Minister took several long seconds scanning the sheet of elven material, looking it up and down. To Nabo, at least, it seemed as though he had forgotten Quenya, but then realization came to him - the Foreign Minister must not have spoken Quenya in a long time. He had to wait, as the knowledge of the language seeped back into him. Finally, after a pause that seemed like an eternity, to the never-patient Chief Minister, Jyorin Kiamelar spoke. "They are inviting us to celebrate "several holidays". Not us. Eliana, I mean. Who is supposed to go? Why are they even inviting us?" His face seemed vaguely puzzled, but Nabo knew that the Foreign Minister saw opportunity in this. "What is it, Jyorin, what can this be?"

The Foreign Minister grinned. "Let me go. The Menelmacari will invite all the usual suspects - ToY, etc. That's good. Let's turn this into more than a social meeting." Nabo nodded. He was all too happy not to be going.

Until he realized he would be the one dealing with Eliana, after opening her mail.

"Speaker-Rrit, Supreme-Emperor of Scolopendra, and…" It seems they’ve found some semi-official titles for Magnus that he probably didn’t know he had…

The Scolopendran party attracted the attention of another apparent copy of Sirithil, this one obviously not the Elentári through her short, dark hair, and slightly bohemian (if such a thing could be said to apply to Menelmacari fashions) robes.
It's an attempt, and an appreciated one. Speaker-Rrit, H'zta, and Magnus, from their time in the service, are glad to see that the unfortunate victims of the Siriclone debacle had finally all been repatriated however they willed; the International Relations Section's efforts that way via KIST were held in quiet pride. The entire party bows respectfully, and Speaker, arguably being the one highest in the chain of command (although which chain, exactly, depended on who one asked and the context). "Good evening. I know we have been announced, and so you have the advantage on us." For a kzintosh whose facial muscles are not conducive to smiling winningly, he's rather good at it.

Magnus has a lot of titles in a lot of places, so he just takes it all in debonair stride. "We must certainly rank quite highly to rate such a beautiful and dignified contact." He bows lower, with his characteristic grin and a slight flourish. "I, indeed, am most pleased and honored to meet you." Rhiannon, standing slightly behind her father, just barely manages not to roll her eyes, while H'zta chuckles.

Should the next stage of egalitarian Scolopendran greeting etiquette--the handshake--follow, both Speaker and H'zta's grips are professionally firm, Rhiannon's is polite but has the odd sense of holding something back, like shaking the hand of someone in full body powered armor, and Magnus sweeps up the proffered hand with a deep bow, almost as if to kiss it, but doesn't. That's not quite his thing; actual kissing is far too Dominion for his tastes and he's not about to steal another culture's shtick.

The title may say 'Technocratic Oligarchy', but it really is more like an anarchy. Anarchy via a trip through Apathy Town to be sure, but it's still -- more or less -- an anarchy. There may be a group of individuals in charge, and they somehow get money out of the citizens, but they have very little influence in the nation. Nobody's quite sure how the military and educational infrastructure is maintained, but most people blame shadow corporations. Or GMC. Depends on the personal biases of the people asked.

Regardless, Dr. Specter is still the Nominal Head of the Oligarchy, and as such, things like formal invitations tend to get sent to him. At least, invitations like this. Northrop-Grumman might send such to Yuri Shirow, but that's little more than pointless trivia.

Thus, Josef found himself calling up one of his secretaries (how he affords staff is another mystery) to translate the fool thing. Normally, these things come in user-friendly English, but not this time. After he figured out what was being said, he sent a simple reply and RSVP and promptly forgot about the whole thing. He wasn't the typical absent-minded professor, but he frequently forgets about things like invites; especially since he usually declines.

Luckily, he had set things in motion before he forgot about it, so certain items were ready for one of the guests he wanted to bring along.

Last minute rushes aside, he managed to arrive not all that late, and with everyone looking quite respectable, and not at all frazzled. The party was a simple trio, as he didn't like to take advantage of the hospitality of others (that, or everyone else was busy, take your pick).

Leading the group was, of course, Josef himself. Despite being a fair bit older than he was when he was simply the head of R&D, he had aged well; various anti-aging treatments had helped considerably. He was never a flashy dresser, simply wearing a nice suit. Since the Hack never had a strong military tradition, he wore no medals, no ceremonial sword, or anything else of the sort. Honestly, the only thing that would make his stand out was the metal hand sticking out of his left sleeve. It had a brushed titanium appearance, but otherwise looked just like a normal hand.

To his left was Elisa Day, the Speaker for the Oligarchy. She was in a simple emerald dress, and seemed far more relaxed than her boss. Considering she was once a foreign diplomat while he was always a techie, it only made sense.

To his right was... a very average looking woman who appeared to be about sixty. She looked a little like Ellen Burstyn and wore a dress similar to Elisa's, except that it was more modest and red (the Christmas connection of their color choices was entirely unintentional). Hanging around her neck was what appeared to be a crystal pendant, a faint glow coming from within. She is introduced as "Vermi", the Hack's official UN Observer (http://forums3.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12077015&postcount=37).

“This is an interesting landing system they have here,” the Vasilevs told his sister as the two siblings walked along the galleries of paintings to whenever the local attendant was guiding them. Hopefully not to some sort of fondue trap. Unlike billions of his compatriots, the Vasilevs never understood the whole beauty of melted cheese. Besides, melted cheese would surely ruin his dark blue ceremonial uniform, which had an interesting detail: despite what one could expect from an Emperor, his chest was not covered in orders and decorations. Only what Mikhail had earned himself during his previous personal participations in combat operations. Of note was the ever present Sword of Rulers by the Emperor's side. Those familiar with Taraskovyan traditions and customs would immediately recognise the inseparable attribute of Taraskovyan monarchies. For others, it would just be a spiffy blade.

“Maybe I could so something like that at the Winter Palace…” the Taraskovyan ruler continued. “We are perched on a kilometer high plateau, with nothing but a huge cliff to the north, after all. Drill some holes there, expand the palace’s underground… We could get rid of the surface landing pads and put some greenery instead. Or some platinum statues to the glory of illustrious my persona!”

Upon this, Vethara chuckled and even laughed lightly. The Emperor’s sister was dressed into a long emerald silk dress, with long sleeves, but a generous enough décolleté to not make the garment seem overly conservative. All over the dress, silver motives formed decorations, trimmed with golden thread.

The Taraskovyan delegation which entered the party hall was small: only the Vasilevs and his sister. The rest of the Taraskovyan host which invaded Menelmacar upon this day were busily studying the apartments afforded to the Rosso-Tarathians and making everything cosy for His Most August Majesty and Her Imperial Highness.

“A friend of yours?” Mikhail inquired as he saw approach a necrontyr woman.

“Why do you not just wait and see, brother?”

“Oh, how mysterious you are!”

"Carmine Goodchild, Secretary-General of Austar Union, and Ezra Qu'Salos"

The Austar Union delegation seemed to pique the interest of the Menelmacari Prefect of Education, who gave them a courteous nod, and of course, time to look around.

Striding confidently, both delegates from the Unione of Capitalizt States remained side by side for most of their entry. Taking a small amount of time to admire the Menelmacari's efforts to prepare for the event, it was the Secretary-General who noticed the Prefect of Education's interest and returned his courteous acknowledgment with also a nod. Dressed in what was mostly business attire--that is, a designer suit, he contrasted Qu'Salos in the fact that the Gen./Field Marshal was dressed in a more 'military-esque' capacity. Both men in the meantime maintained a respectful posture, and acknowledged various characters in the room where ettiquite demanded it.

Approaching the Prefect in a manner and timing that was mutually appropriate, Goodchild offered a polite smile and greeted him/her in whichever way was customary in Menelmacar in a handshake/bow/whatever. His protoge followed closely behind.

" Well your government certainly knows how to put on an event, " said Carmine in a degree of admiration. " I would just like to say, I really appreciate the invitation. " He gestured to Ezra who was now by his side. " To both of us. "

The Gen./Field Marshal nodded appreciatively and also greeted the Prefect as was customary. " Yes, thank you. "

It was an odd sight for those who might have had dealings with Badb on Mars, or at some other occasion, usually the woman was, to put it mildly abrasive, arrogant and cold, so very cold. So perhaps seeing her dressed in warm colours, loose clothing and appearing approachable would shock people. Perhaps also the fact that for once by her side, and not following like an obedient guard dog was a man, holding her arm at times, and smiling. It might also be strange to see an occasional loving affectionate glance between the two, a conspiratorial whisper and a low laugh at times. Still it was Christmas after all, maybe it was simply even Badb needs a day off every now and again.

Iyanna on the other hand was almost the very epitome of her stereo type, the Vaul armour left at home however she wore a much simpler affair, although the occasional rune could be spotted amongst the clothing she wore, it was more for show than anything. No sword or other such weapon could be made out, but a collection of Runes was never far away from a Farseer and so a small pouch was attached to the outfit. As she spent a moment in conversation with Ambassador Nais, Shop talk was of course a part of things but mostly it seemed the Ambassador was speaking of home and other such things.

Of course as already said, something’s are missed, the Council had changed in recent times, the people had changed, old emotions long buried and forgotten had stirred, old personality traits had re-emerged, for some it meant finding love again, for others it meant a more rounded personality, but for one Farseer Darvins it had been a strange alteration, he had been perhaps the most extreme shift, gone was the old personality of the quiet administrator, and a wanderlust had came upon the man, one he had been unable, and to be frank unwilling, to deny.

He had taken a Jet-Bike from Yvresse and set out into the web-way to see other places, and do other things. Sometimes he had taken a companion other times he travelled alone, right now for example he had a Protoss lady from Mars with him as he arrived at Menelmacar, well to be exact he’d arrived on Earth a while ago and sped across the sea, Grav engines, really help a person get around. The Wanderlust directing him, he had come to see and be seen, and so, well he simply decided a party would be a great idea. Besides he had a feeling the woman behind him would enjoy it.

How exactly he planned on attending a prestigious party of this nature without exactly… phoning ahead he didn’t bother explaining, or what exactly the thoughts of those who saw a lone bike attempt to gain entry to such an affair would say, he didn’t really care. It wasn’t that he was careless, but when he was free, as he was now, he didn’t spend too much time thinking, responsibility would come again later after all.

Ardene, Asfellan, the Empire of Serren

"A message for your attention, Imperial Majesty. From the Elentari of Menelmacar."

His Imperial Majesty, Artenian Tiénáire XXIV, looked up from his work. "Thank you, Kelrane. I wonder what they have to say? We don't have any relations with the Elves."

The messenger, Artenian's Seneschal, slid the letter across the wide barrier of the Emperor's desk, atop the sheaves of printouts and paperwork littering it. Artenian picked it up, interested - truth be told, the Empire hadn't had relations with anybody much, outside the Empire, since his grandfather's day. Artenian XXII had allowed their treaties and alliances to lapse, and his father had never bothered to reinstate them. Merely running the Empire was a great work, and rebuilding Serren's international ties was another one - although the Emperor was still young, his hair was beginning to grey at the temples.

"They actually used the long form of the title? Impressive," he murmured. There were a great many lands under the Emperor's rule, and the long title listed every one of them. In this case it was longer than the message itself.

"Hm. Obviously I can't go, that's Sunreturning and the Temple needs me for the ceremonies. Who would you suggest I send, Kelrane?"

The Seneschal, having anticipated this, had suggestions ready to hand. "Perhaps one of Your Majesty's sisters? Many great rulers shall be present, and we should not wish to offend them."

"We are Serrene, Kelrane, of the blood of Tiénáire and Tiénosáine," Artenian pointed out, using the imperial pronoun of High Elsáine. "We may offend whom we wish."

"Of course, Your Majesty. My apologies, Your Majesty. There are also many kings who might attend, of the Geren, the Ermarren, the Korzen, the Erzhen ... Guiren landgraves ... Aobhani ausines, or cails, or kei ... Kashani senkheres ... Aighanté teim ... or various of Your Majesty's ministers, or archons, or aeons. I might suggest His Majesty the King of Kathansé, or -"

"No, Kelrane, I think now my sisters might well enjoy it, at that. It will be a chance to get away from all those familiar faces you were about to list. Oh, and send Aeon Paisley; her reports are always amusing. And one of the Sanghari Lord-Commanders."

"The Sanghari, Your Majesty?"

"Yes, Kelrane, I did say so. They're at least as civilized as Arand of Kathansé, and I'm informed that old Mordred hasn't eaten anyone for a long time now. Yes, send Mordred. 'Rina, Athrín, Aeon Paisley, and Lord-Commander Mordred. That will do."

"Your will be done, Your Majesty."

"Precisely, Kelrane."


From the offices of His Imperial Majesty Artenian Tiénáire XXIV, Emperor of Serren and all its lands, to Sirithil Nalosaurawen Finlaurë Aineldalië Minyavendë and Ranisath Cuilahîr Cuilévaher, greetings.

His Imperial Majesty regrets that Your Majesty's celebration falls upon the day of Sunreturning, at which his presence is required for matters of state; in his stead shall attend his sisters, the Crown Princess Katarin Tiénáire, Queen of Lohandin, Dutchess of Inaska, Landgravine of Fossane and Heir to the Carnic Throne; the Imperial Princess Athrín Tiénáire, Queen of Sveria, Dutchess of Morlengden, and Thaness of Tyrigha; the Aeon Beige Paisley, Castellaine of the Grey Tower, Lady-Commander of the Pale Knights, and Adept of the Hidden School; and Mordred Var Sanghari, Lord-Commander of the Fourth Host of the Sanghari.

His Imperial Majesty trusts that this shall prove acceptable; should this be so, the Serrene delegation shall arrive in Vinyatírion aboard a Seraph vessel upon the 21st of December.

May Iaré keep you and Inra stand by you.

Kelrane Rook
Imperial Seneschal
Earl of Ostrakane

ooc: sounds good to me love.

Ravelyn was a bit taken a back, but did not show it fully. Her hearing carried throughout the place. In a small while she imagined herserlf having a headache, though with many many years under her belt and the agile body of someone in their mid twenties, she figured she would be able to handle it. Iesus? Where had she heard that before. Wasn't they part of the inquisitors who had taken her, tortured her, and after they failed to kill her went home with their tails between their legs? All in all she didn't really know. She looked at the guard, and approached him, her crimson eyes flashing slightly, not in anger or rage, but for some other reason.

"I've had these wings before their people were created. They are natural..." How to describe the fact that she was a seraphic was beyond her, and she didn't want to draw a lot of attention to herself. The fangs on her lower lip was another story. "My name is Ravelyn Shentavo, former empress of the Three United Empires." If they hadn't heard passing stories from when before she disappeared, she would be suprised. Whether it was good or bad she didn't know. It was rather if they supported inquisitors or not. If they did, she was in no mood to fight. This was supposed to be a vacation, not an attack on her race.

All she wanted to do was find a quiet corner, wait for Goor if he chose to show up, and enjoy the company. She didn't want to be announced like the others. She just wanted to be a fly on the wall.

Dysaryn dismounted his Puma gunjeep with a practiced little hop -- the remnant of his party was inside the RDS White Peregrine groundcar (which was an interesting name, as it floated...) and went to meet Arnran. If he was in the least unnerved by the Necron's nature, he didn't show it...

He offered the Necron his hand in greeting, left hand, in the Ascended fashion...and wasn't he just the height of Ascended fashion at the moment, dressed all in black with a coat that fell to mid-knee and a white cape secured to the coat with hourglass-shaped clasps. Of course, Heartsflame was present, slung over his shoulder for comfort and also to keep any dramatic billowing from the cape to a minimum. Interestingly, the Warblade was secured to its scabbard with a length of cord (colored Stark White, of course) knotted rather intricately. It wasn't strictly necessary, hadn't been required, but on the one hand, it was a gesture, and on the other, it was probably as close to 'decoration' as was possible with a Warblade.

Beyond the usual blacks, Dysaryn had a single silver earclasp, a ring set with a black stone of some sort into which was engraved an interesting little High Ascended rune, and a rather festive red hat that was instantly identifiable by the majority of Earthlings as a 'Santa Hat.'

Now, while Dysaryn was greeting, or being greeted, or whatever, the remnant of the Revenian 'Delegation' was offloading from the Peregrine. First out was...a wolf. A rather large, white and gray-furred wolf with eyes that betrayed intelligence far, far greater than an animal should possess. Which was true enough -- Arys was one of the so-called 'Magus Critters' that had been created by the Ascended Supremacy, originally, primarily, as companions for children.

Aerys, looking rather bemused at his present attire -- a hat not dissimilar to the one being worn by Dysaryn -- still managed to look distinguished as he led the rest of the party from the luxury hovercar over to where Dysaryn was standing...

The rest of the party consisting of: Rel Markinsen, Administrator for Sol Sector, dressed in the white robes of an administrator and carrying the Tri-Staff that was the most recognizable symbol of that profession; Averly Crane, younger sister of Sir Jerrin Crane, who was firstly notable for being the second most prominent individual within the Sero Relaren's Daggerstar Party, which was, for the moment, the majority party within the Grand Council; and, surprisingly, Vysarian Stark, Dysaryn's seldom-seen cousin, leaning heavily on his cane as he walked. Vysarian was lame in one leg, and thus had never been as given to the physical pursuits so common within his family. On the other hand, his start-up, RevTek, was one of Revenia's most successful corporations, though Vysarian had stepped down from leadership of the company some time ago to focus more on the R&D efforts that were his passion and RevTek's life's blood.

The Freestians moved into the halls in a loose party, Clodius with Sempero in his shadow, followed by the current and heir apparent holder of the Freestian Premiership. Clodius was humanform now, standing just over six foot on a muscular, war forged frame, his face a map of scars, from burns and blades and bullets, beneath short black hair. His dress was the standard blue-black humanform uniform of the Navarrok Guard, spartan decoration save for the collection of medals and epaulets, and by his side hung the ceremonial cleaver. Tooth chains hung from his neck and the handle of the weapon, displaying a collection of claws and teeth from various foes, an almost bohemian decoration compared to the symmetry of the rest of the uniform.

Barham had gone with simple business fashion, a black coat, long and well-tailored, hung over his shoulders unbuttoned over a equally well-made business suit. A red tie with the golden Olympia torch sat straight and narrow down his chest. Short against the others and noticeably old, he seemed surprisingly cheery, basking in the final days of his office with significant aplomb. He was merely human after all, and in places like this that made him almost…unique, considering the guest list.

Farahind in turn wore distinct Freestian wear, and wore a formal desert robe, the unofficial attire of ceremony for Desert Cadre veterans, several layers of semi-translucent, straight-edged light blue material layered over her frame, completed by a cloak of similar colour that dropped to just above the floor. It wasn’t the most revealing of outfits, to say the least, and even her almost silvery blonde hair was neatly tied back and restrained with a plain headband. At 6’4 she was the tallest of the party, and unlike the surrounding elves she had a fairly stocky and voluptuous build, and though attractive (admittedly marred by the crescent scar that ran down the left side of her face) she also carried the rough air of a Freestian soldier, direct and formal.

And Sempero was, well, Sempero. His humanform, unlike Clodius, had been refined for show, and he took on a taller, more lither frame than Clodius did. Like his fellow vampire, he wore the uniform of the Navarrok Guard, accompanied by the fixture cleaver and tooth chains, though unlike his superior Sempero had obviously spent a little time rearranging them for symmetry. A cluster of Ork ‘teef’ sat amongst them. He maintained the pretty boy look of course, sculpting his hair to be almost silvery from its ivory/black mixture and far longer than any of his comrades, almost seeming to try and emulate the surrounding pointies. Compared to the scarred visage of Clodius, he had smoothed his skin save for one or two well placed ‘war wounds’. It was personal vanity, but Sempero was young for both his station and his position in society, and had taken a laid back attitude for most things. Clodius at least took pyrrhic satisfaction in that he hadn’t put mistletoe in his belt buckle again.

The hall was impressive, as was the number of fellow guests. Sempero excused himself early, off in search of refreshments, leaving Clodius, Farahind and Barham to start conversation with the human that had joined them. The vampire along with Farahind bowed, Barham offered a hand tentatively, the notion of the C’tani security apparatus still giving him some anxiety.

“Clodius Maxilimus at your service” he introduced formally, “Lord of Navarrok as our hosts kindly pointed out. Allow me to introduce Sir Theodore Barham, current Prime Minister of the Commonwealth, and Dame Sarah Farahind, leader of the opposition, and, between you and me the most likely next premier of the nation.”

“But not just yet.” Barham proffered as his handshake was returned. “Of course, I feel ashamed I left it till this point in my career to make a visit. I daresay so far it has been a breathtaking display.” Farahind merely smiled next to him, bowing her head as she was introduced. Barham continued slowly. “Of course, you will forgive me for being slightly wary of coming, given certain events.” He grinned, the comment was more in jest than seriousness. “But in all honesty after past mistakes I wouldn’t have missed this opportunity for the world.”

Unlike the other guests in attendance, Chairman Jack O’Neill felt overcome with thoughts of hope yet dread as he entered the hall. He certainly did not hate Christmas; it was his most favorite season of the year. But after last year’s Christmas party that he and his wife hosted, he dreaded that the fiasco that ensured – fights, threats, near bloodshed, and one man having a heart attack and another passing out – would happen once more. Though, after his eyes had quickly given the expansive hall a once over just to see who all was in attendance thus far, he felt somewhat relieved and relaxed. None of the culprits had made an attempt to be here, and he certainly hoped that none would, otherwise the situation would become rather…tense.

A gentle tug on Jack’s arm distracted his thoughts long enough for him to realize that, yes, he should be enjoying himself instead of worrying. There was nothing more he could do about his situation if something did happen, except leave, but he could not do that to his hosts, now could he? That would be the same reaction as some at his party had done and the very thing that irritated him about the whole affair.

His eyes then turned towards his elven wife, who was clutching his arm. Contrary to his rather drab dark blue military uniform that was accented only by the combat medals on his chest and the five stars on his shoulder boards, Siri appeared vibrant in an ankle-length forest green dress with gold leaves hand-embroidered along the lower half that appeared to flutter with every step. He smiled and pushed away her long blond hair away from her cheek to give her a kiss.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he complimented.

Siri grinned and clutched his arm a little tighter. “Thank you, dear.”

As the Grummian group walked amongst the other guests, they soon found themselves approached by the two Menelmacari elves. Jack, of course, was the first to offer a handshake in greeting and responded to them.

“This is one impressive party you all have here - the hall even more so, especially those walls. I don’t think I’ve ever seen something that amazingly well done. I wouldn’t mind having one of those put up back at home. Must be a bit pricey though,” he laughed. “I must say, Menelmacar has certainly not spared a single expense here.”

Jack glanced around himself at the hall once more. “Heating’s got to be a pain in the…”

His wife gave him an elbow to the side and cut in on his rambling. “Yes, Jack…well…I had better introduce the other members of our little group, before they start feeling left out. And I know their names were called, but it can get rather confusing to tell just who is who in our mish-mash of different races here…on the other side of my husband, we have our son, Alakantar…

The drow smiled and politely bowed his head in response. As one could clearly see, he chose to don a black traditional human three piece business suit to this event, declining robes or other elven formalwear. He was the governor over a colony of almost two million and he felt the need to wear what he usually wears there, as a representative of his citizenry.

“…and behind me, we have Vice Chairman Naelthasser…”

Shiran, instead of just his head, proceeded to go into a full bow at the waist. He was a humble Noldor and preferred to be as such, which one could see was evident by his demeanor and clothing. He was dressed comfortably in simple tan robes fastened to his waist by a belt – nothing flashy, no intricate designs, no brighter colors – and certainly did not appear to be the second in command of a conglomerate.

“…and finally, beside him, we have Chief Advisor Aleanrahel.”

“A pleasure,” the drow female flatly responded with nothing more than an emotionless stare. One would think that she was angry or irritated, but that was simply not the case. This was the way she always was, and mostly likely would be. Seemingly bored by the whole situation, she then turned her attention to her grey robes and gently brushed a sliver of wood from her staff off of it, paying no more attention to the Chairman and Chairwoman.

The elf looking at the Scolopendrans smiled, “Good evening sir, I’m Alatádae Sirithiliel.”

Mustn’t pounce the Kzin… she thought to herself, as she calmly shook their hands; her grip not particularly notable in any way, and smiled a little as Magnus almost-sortof-not-quite kissed her hand. “I hope you don’t mind my attentions. I’ve always been interested Scolopendra,” she left unsaid, ‘in Scolopendran aesthetic styles,’ “and I’d simply love to spend the evening with you; again, if you don’t mind…” Wow… I could really have phrased that better….


Kasterairin Seidacaun, the governor of Indiastan, a fairly sprawling place dotted around the Indian ocean, smiled at the Tarasovkan delegation, sauntering over, and making the usual pleasantries and formalities of greeting.

Prince Celebrimbor smiled at the Austar Union delegation, shaking the president’s hand, tempted to kiss it, but deciding against that, on this occasion. He’d left the multi –functioned cane he sometimes carried at home, today, and wore a crimson and silver outfit with teal buckles and sashes, “This isn’t really the biggest, but it’s a fairly nice show so far. Of course, we haven’t really got going yet. I usually find that the best bit of any event like this is the food, but I hear they’ve been trying something different this year,” he shook the general’s hand, “I’m not sure what it is, mind, but it might be impressive.”


Meanwhile, elsewhere, the ‘officers club’ aboard the Finarfin class transport given the inspiring name of The Ship of Novice Pilots by its crew, was large, a deck down from the large open air ‘glass’ covered decks that looked out on the stars. It was also the home of a rather active party at the minute, for, as well as the usual celebrations, it was currently home to a minor celebration of a wedding between two of the officers, Othaherucáno Máraharno, and Ciryatári Elwen nos Fingolfin, head of the fleet’s marine division, and captain of the Din-sûl.


Josef and the other guests from the Hack were announced, followed by the Yafor delegation. But a few moments later, the ‘hosts’ arrived in person, from the other end of the room, which distracted most attention from them. Ranisath and Sirithil were both dressed in slightly sparkling robes,

“Thank you all for coming,” Sirithil said. “And of course, welcome. We hope that everyone will enjoy themselves, and we’re certain the best way to go about that isn’t through giving rambling speeches about how glad we are this that and the other…”

He frowned at her, “And I had such a nice one written too…” he said playfully.

“As such, I hope to get a chance to speak with everyone,” Siri said, “and more importantly, hope that everyone enjoys themselves…”


At about the same time, the Yvressi and Serren delegations arrived. The Yvressi were likely quite familiar with the palace; or at least some of them were, Darvins, who being a farseer, surely arrived in time with the others, regardless of his means of travel, was not a frequent visitor, nor was his companion, but Iyanna at least, was. In comparison, the Serren delegation were quite new, and where therefore likely given a scenic flight route down the straits through most of the city, before landing just outside the palace, where they were taken on a slightly more circuitous route through the gardens, arriving just in time to see the Elentári arrive. The Serren guests attracted some attention – they were after all, new and interesting looking people – but not immediately.


Meanwhile, for Ravelyn Shentavo, things were quite different. A few more of the black and white clad guards arrived, standing in silence, shifting their weight now and then, rather professionally, and a sky-blue vessel with forward swept wings landed nearby, at a slight angle, its rear hatch yawning open to reveal a somewhat cramped interior designed for twenty people and a quartet of large drones, that sat in charging racks in the slightly widened centre of the ship. The ten soldiers (and two of the drones) who stepped out were clad in more ostentatious, golden-coloured armour. The senior one, whose larger black and white on blue rank insignia presumably indicated seniority, threw a crisp salute, “Miss Shentavo,” the arch-looking leader of the golden clad guards said, “It appears you are not authorised to be here. You will please come with us to await clearing. No permanent harm will come to you, and you will not be detained for longer than necessary for clearance purposes. Nonetheless, you are classified as a security risk. Please place your hands behind your back, err, under your wings,” she said, taking something that looked not terribly unlike a roll of some kind of sticky tape from under the dark blue cloak she wore.

OOC: Not as good as I’d have liked. I had to go out (there’s this silly thing called Christmas) a few times today. Rev will, alas, have to wait for tomorrow. Apologies to Tara, Ser and Tor for not doing more, too. We’ll get onto that ASAP too.

The elf looking at the Scolopendrans smiled, “Good evening sir, I’m Alatádae Sirithiliel.” ... “I hope you don’t mind my attentions. I’ve always been interested Scolopendra ... and I’d simply love to spend the evening with you; again, if you don’t mind…”
On the one hand, Speaker has seen that sort of 'ooh, he looks just wike a big snoogum-woogum teddy bear' look before, and he is sufficiently used to it to just let it slide. Nathi may have gotten away with an impulse-hug, but he does have a public perception to think of, and it really doesn't help the Race of Heroes' self-image to see (or hear of) its Patriarch being snuggled like some sort of fuzzy plush toy. On the other hand, an elf uncertain of herself is decidedly uncommon, and a perfect opportunity for the old diplomat to try his hand at his trade.

Magnus, however, apparently gets a higher score on his initiative roll. "I know I for one would love to spend the evening with you, m'lady," he announces with his usual mix of manly charm, boyish scampishness, and derring-do. Rhiannon once again finds herself resisting the urge to make some sign of tired disdain for her father's tendency towards turns of phrase intended to be taken multiple ways.

Speaker's used to that, too. "We only hope that we can sufficiently attend to your interest and curiosity," he appends to the elder Hesche's statement, to which Magnus parries with a slight grin and quirk of the eyebrows to the words 'interest' and 'curiosity.'

"I've been curious about Menelmacar for a while, ma'am," Rhiannon plunges into the fray in a valiant attempt to bolster the side of social grace in the epic struggle between Propriety and Magnus, "and if nothing else we can trade questions and answers." She has to think of a question, and glances around the room to steal some time. "I guess I know a little about the occasion, but could you tell me more about it? Are you an invitee as well, or helping to officiate?" She stops herself before she starts into a proper barrage of well-meaning but probably increasingly curious questions.

H'zta chuckles at the interplay between Ranisath and Sirithil, leaning over to her consort. "They seem to get along much like we do," she murmurs quietly, in Arabic. The Hero's Tongue is a harsh language and Scolopendran diplomats had noted that the Menelmacari tended to equate it with the Black Speech, which tended to be counterproductive to friendly appearances.

"They should," is the 'tosh's quiet reply, in the same language. He looks around the room in the kind of way one only sees in nature specials and war movies: not predatory, but rather a sort of instinctual strategic look, waiting to see the situation break up from its segmented clumping and reform into various mixes of alliance, people making the rounds, and others simply being friendly. Tactically, in the back of his mind, he knows that the cohesion of his party depends mostly on Alatádae and how they adapt to be friendly to her; one person dominating her attention would lead to the group splintering and mixing; otherwise, they would probably stay together out of politeness to their local hostess. Both possibilities held advantages and disadvantages, and he's certainly not judging them at this point. Speaker is simply keeping them in his mind, no more and no less.

Josef nodded to Ranisath and Sirithil, grinning slightly, "Never one for speeches myself. That's why I hired Elisa." Elisa and Vermi dutifully rolled their eyes; Josef may have been known for lame jokes, but he was barely even trying with that tripe.

Vermi gave a little smile as she looked around the large, impressive hall, "Ah... this brings back memories... it's very nice, and thank you for inviting us to your hall and home."

Josef nodded, "Well, we probably shouldn't keep you for too long. Again, thank you for inviting us, and perhaps we'll get a chance to speak later." He smiled to the two women with him, "Now then... shall we mingle?"

The Kajali trio gave a rather traditional greeting to Ms. Frost, which is to say, they anachronistically bowed slightly, before exchanging brief handshakes. Ilunaia seemed to have something more of an idea of who she was than either Lirella or Derin, though she had been studying Kajali law for several years.

It takes a little prodding by Ilunaia to get Derin to actually introduce himself, and as he does so, he fails to mention that he's the current Kajali Prime Minister Ilunaia mentions this, of course, and he just gives a small shrug.

"Titles aside, we are most honored to be here. I've always found the city and the grounds quite wondrous," Lirella interjects. She's sounding perhaps a little slinky, and she does know that by the end of the night, there'll probably be some faux-pas between Derin and someone from a haughtier nation that'll need some smoothing over. With that, though, she seems to spot someone familiar, or at the least, someone she's more interested in at the moment, and quietly excuses herself to go over and introduce herself.

Derin and Ilunaia, meanwhile, attempt to start a conversation with their immediate host concerning the oddities of older Kajali law. Lirella would very much like to go and introduce herself to Speaker-Rrit, though simply barging in wouldn't do at all. She'll get back to them at a more opportune moment.

When Siri and Ranisath make their little address, she deftly begins weaving through the crowd towards the couple. She was, among other things, quite close with the two of them.

The Taraskovyan Vasilevs and his sister of a Grand Duchess returned the usual pleasantries and formalities of greeting. Vethara engaged into the conversation quite freely, the two women soon discussing all sorts of things. Vethara, after all, knew the Noldor-Necrontyr union much better than her brother.

The Emperor, on the other hand... Well... It did not show upon his face or in his behaviour, but Mikhail was rather amused to being greeted in the hall by a... regional governor, of all people. The Taraskovyan Monarch, who himself had a cohort of governors in all sorts of titles and ranks and capacities, did somehow expect to be greeted by someone of Imperial level, be it a minister, a personal advisor or the speaker of parliament. Ironically, he knew that he would not be the only Emperor around, for the title was in hyper inflation on the international arena, the same hyperinflation which caused tremendous amounts of drama back in the Grand Duchy when the Imperial Reform was debated. Many Taraskovyans did not want to "join the herd", as many said back then. But eventually the proponents of the Empire gained the upper hand over those who wanted to be apart and unique.

As a consensus, a rather unique style was chosen for the monarch. And so His Most August Majesty, the Vasilevs of all Taraskovya, now stood and listened to two women chattering about this and that, making a comment here and there.


OOC: Lest I suffer too much from hangover and have missed anyone else talking to my Emperor, this is all I can muster of a reply.

Ravelyn looked at the guards. Great... She came very close to rolling her eyes, turning on her heels, and leaving. She had cosen this one invitation to take to get out of Haraki's nation and have some fun. Unfortunately her fiance had business to attend to with his side of the family, so she reluctantly let him go. If you thought I would be a security risk given my reputation, why the fuck did you invite me... Inside she boiled, and she was careful to not let that show. She was a dangerous person indeed, but she couldn't help being what she was. This little interlude seemed a lot like inquisitor business. Considering her past with that group, she was not up to being taken again, and would rather take as many down as possible and get the hell out of her. Her body instinctively tensed up.

"Listen, if you thought I would be a threat in any way, maybe you shouldn't have invited me. It's rather rude to invite someone then attempt to restrain them for no particular reason." She handed over the invitation. She didn't want to fight, but would if she had to. She was a weapon. Many militaries wanted to use her. She wasn't, however, without reason, and was a good soul. Never had she destroyed something or someone innocent. She handed over the invitation, but did not give over her wrists. Her touch was extremely cold; like ice. Her body was preparing itself for defense. Her wings extended outward slightly as her crimson eyes scanned those who stood around her. Fight in this dress? Are you serious? Yet she may have to. God these people can't be serious. I just want to relax.

She was an intelligent woman. She hadn't brought any weapons with her, not even an electronical device. Of course, she had never needed it. Ravelyn's strengths lay within her physical strength, agility, intelligence, and control over fire. Her true name was Azrael, of course, which translated into the angel of death. She was revered throughout her nation despite that association as the best empress the nation had ever had. She hid her fangs behind her lips, and blinked her beautiful scarlet eyes. Her dark auburn hair was dark against her pale skin and was styled brilliantly. Someone so beautiful, so dangerous. But her days of fighting she had put away. She had wanted a break. She didn't want to have to deal with this right now.

"I can leave if you wish, but this incident reflects rather poorly on your nation's hospitality," Even her voice sounded like honey. "But I will not give you my wrists or otherwise. I am not a criminal nor have I made any threats. I left my home for the first time in a long time for social reasons; like fun. This is not my idea of that."

Letters both real and there electronic form falling endlessly through the lump filled stew of the sophont generated information sphere made even more complex by a multi species fractal reality and the endless trollish data produced by sub sentient bots going about there insufferable tasks of filling your in tray with the financial product you wanted to buy this week or trying to sell your aged grandmother sixty four types of pie slice.

Megacity One, Earth

Claude pressed the print button on the Desk. It deserved a capital D, massive and somewhat looming the unwieldy mass of black mahogany and chrome, carefully maintained since the 20th century. On one side it was strangely scorched black, the shadow of it inscribed upon its inner supports. The size of a dinner table it dominated the white marble room like a led weight in a cloud. Ancient hard copy in trays inlaid with the thick old polished chrome acted like battlements and panels of black marble topped it off, while a positively ancient rococo version of the logo in foot high engraved letters that suited the spirit of 1920 sat at its front covering the foot well.

Behind it sat an individual that was certainly not an ordinary occupant but doing a very ordinary thing, namely prodding his meal. The Happy Jappy foods inc Instant self heating steak (contains no cow! but one hundred percent more beefy goodness!) sat sizzling in the self heating can in front of Claude Henry Peterson. It smelled like steak, it looked like steak it even dripped like steak, it did not however absolutely taste like steak. He ignored it as much as possible something more important had landed in his virtual in tray, something that he felt the need to actually print off. Claude glared at the watermark as he held it up to the light “INSTANT PAPER FROM SPAAACE!” lay visible against the light as the glossy paper rolled out. Claude shuddered, he really must discuss this with that marketing division, though sometimes these systems had a sub sentient life of there own, generations of spam marketing softer gaining an almost sentient ability to worm there way into the depths of the incorporated states produce and infrastructure. ( such as an unfortunate case the previous year when the Arcstreet bypass megway section had mysteriously been cut into fourteen peoples homes before someone stopped the assembly system from turning the road into a giant add for Doctor slants hybrid foot balm and mascara)

So Claude investigated, his mind reaching out and tracing the paper to its origins.

Stark and silent and with all the grace and form of a potatoes the filthy chemical ice filled comet had been falling for half the life time of a star. Its surface covered in seven billion years of filth, craters and fault lines. It unlike many of its brethren was never due to make planet bound sentient ooh and ahh as it did a swan dive into sol, no this unwieldy unwanted lump was to forever sit in the cold abyss, looping endlessly outsize the life zones of half a dozen systems before going on a long slow trip into the intergalactic night. It had never felt the touch of life and if the universe had been empty of such never would. Its lonely sojourn would have outlasted stars and even galaxies if left unperturbed but it simply was not to be.

The mile wide gantry studded garishly yellow and black paneled warning light covered maw of a city sized industrial processing platform had begun to slice it into cubes the size of matchboxes. Sorted neatly, handled like the finest crystal by a thousand grapnel field generators before being shunted into a seemingly endlessly complex series of sorting systems, vaporized chemicals pouring through refinery towers set inside huge centrifuges, gas and sludge separated, stored or processed by the waiting machinery. An endless line of items was produced at the end of all of this, labeled, boxed crated, containerized and loaded onto relatively slow transports that plodded between this metal behemoth and more ..lucrative space. Within this hold had lain roll after roll of what really could not be called paper but was more accurately a plastic none the less demand being what it was…

He was not happy about this, but he was also ecstatic, she was presiding over a tribunal but at the same time he was skiing on simulated snow slopes in one of the cities pleasure domes, it and it preferred it was sifting through a thousand incoming analysis reports, while she was bringing her daughter on a tour of the Baltic islands on earth.

Claude Henry Peterson was a member of the gestalt, a group mind that included the recorded thoughts and skills of the past gestalt members and the brute processing and analysis power of a dreadnought sized energy state AI core, thus his thoughts as much as they were his were ..complicated. But now mostly they were on how to get his personnel assistant to put on his bow tie while he checked his catalogue of possible seasonal gifts for something appropriate and get half his section of tech ninja back from detached duty to do the pre flight checks on the angular black form of the somewhat exteriorly antique Z1 aerodyne limo. Even now that item was being cranked up to its launch platform, an ancient ram sabre hybrid rocket craft, its massive angular intakes already sneering at the sky, there innards long ago replaced with gravitic impellors and fuel tanks converted to liquid amour reserves, though for traditions sake a set of flaming black smokeing afterburners were still provided for take of and landing.

Erika Silaco, President of the Republic of Sunset, and her daughter Katrina stepped off the shuttle that had delivered them to Fëanor Palace and made their way inside. After she presented her invitation the two stepped inside and went about the task of saying hello to nearly everyone. Some, like Speaker-Rrit, were the recipients of a more formal introduction and greeting while others, say the Chairman of Northrop-Grumman, were given a less formal 'Hello, Erika... Very well... My daughter Katrina...' before the two moved on though never too hastily.

Neither were much for parties really. Diplomatic discussions, trade negotiations... Those were their thing. Still, once they were done making the rounds both sought out a nice spot not too close to a wall and not quite in the center of the room and made themselves available for anyone who wanted to chat.

Both women wore nearly the same outfit: A shoulder-less white floor-length dress with a long scalloped v-neckline dusted at neckline, waist, and floor with snowflakes that certainly looked real. Katrina's neckline went a little lower than her mother's and the side-slits of her dress, cut to look like icicles, went higher and were less nearly opaque as well. Both wore gold-set crystal earrings shaped like icicles and diamond necklaces and bracelets with icicle pendants and charms.

Alessa smiled nervously as she looked around the room. Beside her, her archchancellor, who hadn't stopped talking the entire trip to Sol, was finally gone, having wandered off with a guard escort shortly after their arrival. Her own guards had been dismissed, a fact she was regretting more and more as she looked around. She realised, quite suddenly, that she didn't recognise anyone there. And not only that, but that she was probably, by a fair margin, the smallest person there. For a moment she contemplated turning her glamour to full power, but then she thought otherwise.

Like most Roanians, Alessa rarely felt comfortable on her own in a crowd of foreigners, and her presence at this party was starting to seem like a mistake. She gently bit down on her lower lips, her fangs flashing in the light. Her favourite outfit, with its generous midriff and short sleeves, was starting to seem a bit small, and it was with relief that she latched upon the people meeting her, the light in her eyes flashing in pleasure. "Um." She pondered for a moment. She had rarely had much contact with female foreigners, and even less, her eyes flashed to one of the necron's aides, with human foreigners.

She accepted their greeting, pleased by their near-perfect understanding of Imperial greeting, and curtsied slightly in return, her staff hovering in the air waiting for her to recover it upon her return. "Hello!" Alessa finally managed, finding comfort in being pleasant, starting to project a minor glamour field in order to keep her confidence high. "It's very nice to meet you!"

Alatádae Sirithiliel smiled, and seemed to latch onto Rhiannon, “Well, if you’ve any questions, feel free to ask,” she said. “I’m sure I can answer them. Or here at least, point you in the direction of someone who can, in this crowd at least. I suppose you could say I’m a guest. Although I do live here, or at least, I have rooms here,” she said with an enigmatic little smile.

Ranisath bowed a little to acknowledge Josef, and then smiled at the Kajali, stepping forwards to hug Lirella firmly, “Hello, dear,” he said. He reserved ‘dearest’ for his wife. “Lirella. I hear you’re getting married. Who’s so bold?” he added, with mock sternness.

To be entirely fair, the Taraskovyans were not merely greeted by a ‘mundane’ governor, as in a political regional head, but by the supreme mistress of a state apparatus encompassing billions, along with sizable quasi-independent military forces. The only reason she could not style herself as a Vicereine was due to an entirely separate title of Queen existing, held by someone else. Nonetheless, Kasterairin, additionally, denoted by the form of the golden hexagonal pin at the top of her robe, bearing a variant of the national symbol, was a member of the ‘Office of the Elenaran’ a semi-official plenipotentiary agency that existed at roughly the same tier as ministers, and consisted of under twenty agents generally tasked with overseeing high priority secret projects and operations. It was common practice for governors of foreign territories to be selected from agents of this office, and even those who hadn’t ever been members were given its membership.

Of course, all that was not particularly relevant, and Kasterairin seemed deeply interested in talking to Vethara, and seemed surprisingly well informed about the day-to-day events in Zoria, in particular.

----

Elsewhere, a pair of grey-clad elves watched the ZMI leader disembark, one supervising an automated docking system in that bay, the other, ostensibly there to manage the next landing bay. “Well, that’s a sight,” the former said, “I didn’t think ‘Zeppers’ ever really came to these things.”

“Well. Their leaders spend most of their time ensconced in some bunker somewhere, watching stock market tickers or whatever it is they do…” the other one replied, glancing out of his window to the retracting open-air landing pad on which the Sunset shuttle had set down.

The delegation that had come with President Silaco were welcomed and escorted by a similarly clad guide, though he wore an outdoor-cloak over his grey robes, done up with an elaborate silver dagger-star pin that was perhaps an indicator of rank, or perhaps simple ostentation.

Alessa, meanwhile, didn’t seem to have much effect on the person talking to her; it was rather difficult to intimidate someone like the towering Necrontyr woman, especially when you came up to maybe, her chest, and more importantly, that person had a job that required occasional exposure and resistance to, enchantments. But that probably didn’t affect the Roanian’s confidence, as for now, the blue-blooded woman was being quite pleasant, smiling, “Arshaw Miraglariel. C’tani Minister for Advancement and Oversight of Developing Peoples and Menelmacari Prefect of Xenocultural Development,” she said, which perhaps betrayed her reason for being so interested. She was also the only person to officially hold a position in both governments, overseeing all efforts and interaction with a certain list of persons and nations (on which Roania did not appear, but many of their subject races surely would, were they separate polities).

----

Meanwhile, the Menelmacari guard leader took Rave’s invitation, and looked at it, boggling a little, before passing it to her second. “Nathicana?? Wow. The postal service really did a number on this one, didn’t they?” she asked in Quenya.

The other elf nodded, responding in the same language as he looked over the invitation. “What do we do with her?”

The leader frowned briefly. “She’s not from a hostile country. She’s no threat, really, and certainly can’t harm a fly in the hall with that field, or the Lady’s wards, up, even if she was.”

The other guard nodded. “I agree. Still, the authorization…”

The leader pondered briefly. “Ah! Give her a tourist visa and we’ll be done with it.”

Then she switched back to English. “Miss Shentavo, the problem is, this invitation isn’t addressed to you. We honestly don’t know how you got it. I’m not sure we even have an address for you on file. We are, however, quite certain that you’re not actually to blame. Which is why – along with the spirit of the season, of course – we would like to demonstrate the extreme quality of our hospitality by allowing you, (after some security checks) to attend anyway. This won’t take more than a minute,” she said. “Please stand still for a moment…”

The following security checks do indeed seem at first glance to be quite cursory. The second guard scanned her briefly with a small handheld device, simply running it down from head to toe and back up again, a line of golden light following the unit’s movement down and then up Rave’s body. Assuming she cooperates, she is also asked to sign a tablet using a stylus to get a signature sample, and to press her left thumb to a small reader, gathering DNA and the thumbprint. There’s the usual short list of boilerplate customs questions, aside from the ones they already know the answers to.

By the time this is done, the small fabber next to a nearby computer emits a satisfied-sounding musical tone, and a card, made of an oddly flexible metallic-ish material that returns to its original shape when bent, drops into a little tray, which the guard leader hands to Rave. Like all Menelmacari visas, on the front was the eagle-and-daggerstar informal crest of Menelmacar, along with a very real-seeming holographic picture of Rave, and her name and home nation printed in Quenya. Under the picture was a random-seeming series of colored dots. On the back was the thumbprint and signature, along with the issue date and expiry date of the visa. Naturally, inside the card was considerably more information than just this.

“This is your visa, it is good for seventy-two hours counting from now, please retain it at all times. The dropship to your left–” The officer indicates the blue vessel, and offers a truly winning smile. “–will take you to Fëanor Palace, where the party is being held. Have a wonderful Yule and enjoy your stay in Menelmacar.”

"I hate these things."
"I'm sorry?"
"Leave me alone woman, I'm trying to mutter here."

Arwen cocks her head, raises a perfect brow and looks the blue-tuniced, black-trousered and, for once, circlet-wearing King of Men up and down in the most insulting and supercilious manner she can manage.
Being an elf, this is pretty damned supercilious.
"You've called artillery down on yourself, fought zombies and giant weasel-men with your bare hands and stood for your principles in every case it's become necessary. Why are you being such a wimp about a little party?"
The King looks shifty.

(Or at least tries. House Warwick's body-type is very much opposed to any sort of posture that doesn't give nearby peons the urge to follow and if necessary, charge.)

"I just don't like parties. Never have."
"From what you mentioned about Wolfram...oh."
The Queen looks pensive, graceful even with her lips pursed and brow wrinkled, gliding to a halt, doubtless irritating the majordomo, looking Owen in the eye.
"I forget sometimes just how weird humans are."
The King blinks storm-gray eyes and Arwen smiles slightly back, confident in her own analysis, tall and brightly beautiful in a stormy blue that matche's Owen's House Uniform without being a mere reflection of it.
"The longer I spend with you the more I find that, for all the cultural overlay, Elves just don't tick the same way. Feeling guilt over the results of a completely random incident, just because you were involved in it tangentially, is not something we do."

She reaches up to cup her husband's face in a cool white hand, the touch of it like chilled water on a hot day.
"It's not something you need to do either my love. You are a noble man, I know this in truth. I'm my own proof after all."
She smiles blindingly at the King, who mirrors her expression.
"I suppose."

Arwen grins, an urchin expression compared to the blinding nature of her smile, takes his hand and the King follows, the two moving in perfect step almost eerie in their matched pace, a smooth progression through their being announced towards their interception by the pony-tailed elf.

Arwen looks her up and down, mouth open in delight, then she releases the King's hand to snatch the other woman up in a bear-hug, doubtless leading to some startlement there.
"Sister!"

The King smiles benignly at this, then goes looking for a drink. Arwen and a newly-met clone-sister is a recipe for conversational monopolisation.

[got invited to accompany Rave days ago... didn't check my TGs]

A long shadow cast itself as a tall humanoid stepped near the guards near Ravelyn. Dull scales, dull and missing teeth and a slowness of step all indicated advanced age in the reptilian, but the eyes were full of life and vigor. He was dressed in the garments of a tribal warrior, with bones and furs and blades of all types decorating his form. Looking positively barbaric compared to Ravelyn, he let out a low, annoyed sound. Where he had been lurking about was anyone's guess...

He spoke softly, voice like gravel on a chalkboard. "Perhaps you gentlemen would be so kind as to treat a retired world leader with a tad more respect. Besides... if she wanted to be a threat, you'd all be very dead right now." He chuckled and announced himself before they could demand it. "I am Goor. Two o's and no e. I am defender of what she defends and protector of her realm and person. Where she goes, I will go." If they refused... well, all those blades were good for something other than decoration.

Anybody's guess, of course, except the guards, who had been cheerfully willing to let the big lizard think he was hiding. The guard leader looks up, apparently entirely unfazed. "Oh, hello, already," she said cheerily. "Welcome to Menelmacar, mister, uh, Goor. If you are protector of her realm and her person, your time would be more productively spent protecting her realm, for her person is completely safe here. If you wish to stay regardless, you may request a visa like any other traveller."

"However, if you wish to attend the Elentári's Yule celebration you will need to produce an invitation." She spoke with an air of finality and certainly didn't seem at all intimidated. But then, her confidence was entirely founded. Very few people actually got away with challenging officials of the Menelmacari customs service - especially right at their posts.

---

OOC: I should warn you. Attempting to fight your way into Menelmacar, alone, is probably somewhere just below 'diving into a black hole' and just above 'shoving a glass rod up your wang and smashing it with a hammer' on the list of things that only seem like good ideas when you're drunk.

The Seraphim transport was one of the smaller vessels belonging to that order, a hundred-meter finned wedge of armour covered with the accretions and repairs of millennia. In the angles between fins and hull, where such decoration would not disrupt the airflow, the metal was raised in elaborate scarification and ornamentation. Where the air must flow smoothly the ornamentation trailed out in curlicues and whorls of paint, encircling the bright cartouches bearing the stars-and-wings of the Seraphim, the sunburst-crescent flag of the Serrenes, and the ancient, ancient glyphs of the House of Tiénáire.

Overflying the city, the Seraph's ancient engines (maintained with ritual through the dark ages, when science had been lost) shed burning sparks which twinkled and went out, stardust falling upon the homes and businesses of the elves below. It landed with a coughing roar of drives and settled onto the landing platform, ticking as it cooled.

First out of the transport were a squad of troopers, anonymous within white-and-gold powered armour of similarly antique provenance, who formed a double line flanking the airlock. After them was a woman with hair the dark brown of rich chocolate, her skin aristocratically pale. She wore a flowing gown of deep red, bound at waist and neck and forearms with interlaced sashes and scarves of black and gold, stiff with glyphs in golden thread - the same glyphs upon the Seraph, marking her as one of the blood of Tiénáire and of Tiénosáine, the Heir to the Carnic Throne.

Her Imperial Highness Her Majesty Katarin Tiénáire, Artenian's heir and Queen of Lohandin, stepped forward onto Elven soil. Following her was a younger woman with lighter hair and similar features, dressed in a gown of silvery-grey silk that flashed blue and green in the sunlight, shot through as it was with metallic threads of those colours. The scarves lacing her were a similar black and gold, the same glyphs pointing out that this was Athrín Tiénáire, Queen of Sveria and a Princess of the Imperial blood.

Next off was an older woman - in her early thirties, perhaps, with smile lines beginning to etch themselves around her mouth and at the corners of her eyes - more practically dressed in a long grey silk coat with silver braid. A sword was belted at her waist, and she bore a tall staff of black wood, bound with silver rings. This, of course, was Beige Paisley, raised up from common origins to become Aeon, Adept, Lady-Commander, and Castellaine.

Bringing up the rear was a tall, wiry man perhaps a hale sixty years old; his narrow, angular face was scored with age and scars and his hair was white. But when he moved it was with a fluid, predatory grace, an impression underlain by the fingers which ended in sharp claws, and the flash of pointed teeth when he grinned at something the Aeon had said. He wore a voluminous cloak of pale tan leather, and his neck was encircled with a great many cords bearing strings of teeth. A pair of swords were bound across his waist, samurai-style, and a much longer blade across his back, its hilt within easy reach above his shoulder. For now, however, the swords were bound into their sheathes with red cord; he might be one of the most dangerous men in the Empire, but Mordred Var Sanghari wasn't here on business this day.

The white-armoured troopers handed their charges over to Menelmacari security with due ceremony, and the four Serrenes made their way through the palace gardens - Katarin with supercilious regal disregard, Athrín with suppressed interest, Beige with casual disinterest, and Mordred with constant, silent regard for cover, lines of fire, and possible threats. That was what the Sanghari had been made for, after all.

As a group they reached the great hall, and were announced.

‘You see, it’s just as I told you... we’re not late at all,’ the Lady Protector remarked, looked rather pleased and smiling widely, her cheek still slightly flushed after taking the final short distance at a brisk march. ‘Besides, everyone’s either drinking or talking,’ she added without taking a breath, eyes darting around, ‘I doubt our absence was even noticed.’

The Xirniumite delegation, if it could even be called that, was extremely small. Due in no small part to the fact that most Xirniumites would rather have remained at home, with their families, over the winter solstice period, which marked the most important festival in the Eternal Republic’s calendar, the Menelmacari invitation had not exactly produced a great rush of volunteers. The Prime Minister had politely made her excuses and the Foreign Minister had flatly lied (‘Oh, you know, I would, I would... but there’s a disaster brewing in Kaitan-Leagran, I’m afraid I can’t make it’).

In the end the burden had fallen on the one person without ewither the power or authority to refuse it, ironically the titular head of the Eternal Republic. She was the Marquise Victória Kathàrina á Aumalême zée Seriendé, Lady Protector of Xirnium.

‘Anyway, they’re elves,’ continued the Lady Protector, more to reassure herself than the bored countess at her side. ‘They live for, like, ten thousand years and more, don’t they? So half an hour must seem like the briefest of moments to them.’

The only problem with taking her fingerprint was that, well, she didn't have a signature. I suppose that separated her out from the rest there though. Her DNA was always changing, which was part of her seraphic nature. Rave was more than relieved to see Goor. She put a cold hand on his shoulder. He was loyal to her to the last, even when he was not of her nation. She remembered him long ago, when he first came to the academy. Time had changed them both. Please Goor... she said silently to him, her crimson eyes meeting him. I was prepared to turn away rather than be handcuffed. They'll have a fun time trying to analyze my DNA though, and I must say, that in itself is amusing. She gave him a smile, exposing her double set of fangs.

After Goor had received his own Visa, Ravelyn had taken him as quickly as possible to the transport the woman had pointed out. "Glad that is over..." she said with a sigh. "Not everyone knows me here, Goor. I'd be suprised if some do, and if they do I hope they like me. I don't need any more inquisitor business. They just keep taking more and more time out of their lives when I have a cursed eternity to live out." She sighed once more, shifting her long auburn hair over one shoulder and tousseling the waves. She looked at the race line on the "visa" which was left blank. Angelic or vampire would have done the trick, but they apparently were a little short in their database.

"Thank you for coming," she said after a while, while they were headed towards the palace. "We didn't really get the time to catch up in Turnika. I had to deal with the newly awakened seraphic and seal the chamber. To think I was quite enjoying myself along the coast in Haraki." So that's where she had been all this time. They entered the palace.

She was announced as Miss Ravelyn Shentavo, former empress of the Three United Empires. Looking only twenty six, but being many times that, the angelic kept her wings outward a little bit. They really were beautiful; black feathers soft to the touch with a stunning texture. The bone structure was flawless, as if they were made by God just for her. They were natural, but how many times she had to explain this to foreigners was beyond her. In her nation she was revered, but here, she had to pass security checks not because they knew she was dangerous, but because they didn't know who she was. Now that was a first, but there is a first time for everything.

[OOC: Such... colorful metaphors.]

Goor tilts his head. "I will accept a visa, but I have no invitation. I accompany Ravelyn as part of her entourage." Apparently that 'part' was 100% of it.

He was in no real position to fight and, while he toyed with doing it anyway, decided that words would do better. When handed his visa, he looked at it. Lizard? "Normally, I'd find this specist, but my species is more or less dead anyway, so I don't really care." he slipped it into one of his many furs.

If they do indeed allow him to proceed, he remains silent through much of the trip, speaking only for brief moments. He didn't like so many faces he did not know around them, within earshot. "They know of you, Ravelyn. Perhaps not as you are now, but as you were at the beginning... And I do not intend t o let you slip away like that again. Even though you will anyway. At least I got one last adventure out of it."

He himself would be a security nightmare. He was carrying at least ten different bladed weapons on his form, only a few of them metallic. From the large warblade strapped to his back, to the small bone dagger on his belt, he was armed to the teeth... literally, with his fangs and claws able to be used as weapons as well. This... will be interesting.

This is a party, Goor, Ravelyn chuckled. He was set in his own ways. Before he entered his weapons would most likely be removed, and though he would not like it, she soothed him. Honestly, Goor...I will protect you without your weapons. Don't worry... She knew that he only wanted to protect her. She was joking with him of course. Will you promise to have some fun tonight... She said silently, her hand slipping to his shoulder like it normally did. It was a familiar touch.

Though the two were quite mismatched in appearance, they were very close. It was a bond forged between the professors which had survived, and the students which were still living and in touch.

Alessa smiled and tilted her head up at the large woman. "That sounds interesting." The young queen said. "What does a Prefect of..." Her lips framed the coming word unsurely. "Xenocultural Development, do?" She backed up slightly in order to get a better glimpse of her conversation partner's face. "That sounds interesting."

It was a parody of putting someone at their ease, of course. In this instance, the woman who wasn't on her ease was Alessa, though.

Sempero idly swung between patrons, smiling at anything that caught his eye, glass of some Elvish wine in one hand and the other clamped firmly to his side in the packed hall. He browsed, so to speak, taking note of the various visiting cultures penchant for excessive cleavage and corsetry. The night was young and noncommittal so like the good hunter and more importantly the lecherous pervert that he was, it was important he felt to make a decent running assessment as he made his way back to the Freestian party. The other participants seemed the usual pretty ethereal bunch, the collection of pointy supermodels and their androgynous male partners. More than once he found himself firmly impressed by the owner of a shapely backside and beautifully long hair only for the target to turn around and force the vampire to question his sexuality. Which being Freestian and pretty much open to anything was an impressive enough feat by itself.

Then there were the more unusual occupants. Lizards, humans and what he assumed was some sort of horrendous fancy dress participant which turned out be a reasonably attractive woman with fangs and a moderately sized anthropomorphic reptilian in tow. He had seen the Salamandri on the way in (admittedly the only other cold-bloodied humanoids he had ever respected, namely for being the ones actually propping the Roanians up single-handedly) and had assumed at first this was another of them, but on closer inspection this wasn’t the case. He wasn’t going to stare though, and instead used his sense of smell to try and discern him only to cough bitterly as wave after wave of food and drink smells, flowery shampoos and conditioners and the horrendous stench of combined perfumes made it seem a bad idea as he turned slightly pale. He looked around, still confused by the woman, species wise though.

And tangentially speaking of wings.

“Alessa”, he said to himself, grinning suddenly as some rather pleasant memories came to the fore as he finally espied the tiny Roanian across the hall. He shifted over, pondered but deciding against dropping some aggressive pheromones in Goor’s general direction, and walked, well, sauntered, up behind the winged mage. He saw her conversing with an elf as he got closer, and hanged back for a moment whilst they finished, taking the time to assess whether or not Alessa had been toning or put on weight whilst sipping on the drink. The conversation finished, he stepped up.

“You know, I may be somewhat old-fashioned, but if I remember correctly its generally traditional to come to these sorts of things wearing more than, you know, pretty underwear.” He said in what to anyone else would be a curious voice.

Alessa jumped, her wings angling downwards as she did so, nearly propelling herself into the air before she remembered where she was and retracted them. "Sempero?" She managed, turning around to face him as she landed. The young woman hit the drake in the chest gently, taking the opportunity to gently remind herself just how strong he was. "You scared the Dark out of me!"

She stood there, staring up at him, her chest gently settling back into a more normal rythym as her instincts settled. Smiling lightly, she tilted her head on its side, her lips gently parting to show her fangs in a definite smile. The light in Alessa's eyes twinkled, and she stood there, just waiting for something.

Semp smiled a smug grin as Alessa jumped, before leaning back from the resulting blow in mock shock. The breeze fluttered his hair back as he nodded at the 'Sempero', and took a quick sip of his as she restored her dignity.

"Sorry about that. Just...well, not surprised to see you here. Just expected you to have more company." He peered round, smiling before turning back to see her smile, and he grinned again, flashing his own fangs briefly. He leant forward and wrapped his arms around her, hugging as tightly as he dared without crushing the girl, before leaning back, seeing her take on a more seductive expression and leaned forward again to kiss her fully but briefly on the lips.

"Missed you." He murmured as he felt her soft arms around his neck. Damn she smelt good.

Arnran waited for a few moments, looking around at something and then firmly shook the Revenian’s hand, having to switch over first, in order to take the left hand. He reached down with the liberated right hand to pet – apparently showing no hesitation – to pet Arys, “Welcome. I hope your trip was pleasant,” he said, glancing past Dys at the others present, “I believe you wanted extra drink,” he said with a little smile, holding up a bottle of something that looked a lot like malt whiskey, “Velyshaan ‘Scotch’ Whisky. Latest and slightly improved recipe. The owner would appreciate an opinion, I’m told, he’s over there,” he added, nodding towards the grey haired man over by the Freestians.

Ravelyn’s pass actually gave her species as an even more unflattering ‘Unclassified Chimera / Extradimensional.’ Rave’s polymorphic DNA, was actually quite easily analysed. There were at least two other species with such a thing, to greater or lesser degrees, present. Both of which had a record of interaction with Menelmacar. While it was puzzling, and a re-sample was taken, it was quickly determined to be a minimal threat. The card, it seemed, changed its text depending on whoever viewed it, using some subtle magic. The elves were assuming she couldn’t read it anyway, as most people without signatures were traditionally illiterate. They did try to persuade her to ‘make her mark’ though. The elf woman looked at Goor, and at Revelyn, “Ma’am. We’re all immortal here, enjoy your stay,” she added, stepping into the dropship, perched almost like a crouched bird, on the runway, behind her, and the guests, the ramp folded up, and without the slightest sense of movement, the vehicle had crossed the miles to the palace, exterior screens in the centre of the dropship showing the lofty cityscape zip past as the craft – somehow – travelled along far faster than sound.

In a few seconds, they were at the palace, and half a minute from that, they were led into the hall and being announced. At no point were Goor’s swords removed, because, as has already been stated, precautions involving neither disarmament nor peace bonding had been taken that would prevent the use of weapons (or even too energetic fists) within the palace.

Meanwhile, the Xirniumite leader was, after the usual announcement, met by a suspiciously familiar looking blonde-haired elf in a high ranking military uniform, recently arrived, with a tall, apparently elven woman in tow. “Greetings, Lady Seriendé,” he said, “Prince Glorfindel Laurëalótë,” he gave by way of introduction, with a faintly archaic phrasing, speaking in otherwise perfect Xirnian with an aristocratic accent, attached, followed by, “Lady Asine’rin,” for his escort, who bowed more deeply, than he had, “I think we may have met at some point, I recently visited your fair country…”

Meanwhile, Arwen as busy cuddling, and after a moment, being cuddled by, Nimdae, who, like her sister over with also used the ‘house’ or surname of Sirithiliel, “You’re Arwen aren’t you?” she said, laughing, and patiently waiting for the other elf to put her down, “I’ve heard quite a bit about you!” she said.

Alessa crushed tightly against him, her eyes closing. She heard him tell her he had missed her and pushed closer to his chest. A couple of tears gently trickled down her face as she looked up tat him. "I missed you too." She wiped the tears away and smiled a little. "I'm glad you missed me, though... I didn't think I'd ever see you again..."

She blushed, suddenly, and looked down at her feet. "I mean..." and then she collapsed against him and closed her eyes, hugging him tight.

Sunset, I am coming for you

The joyous conversation in between the two not at all mundane, but none the less regional governors went on happily, on matters concerning Zoria and United Indiastan and on the local affairs and all sorts of things which, in the end, came to be quite boring for the Vasilevs. Mikhail excused himself, leaving the two women to their happy conversation, and went on a reconnaissance tour through the hall.

His gaze was soon caught by two women standing by a wall. More exactly, by the younger of the two women. The other one and the eldest was recognized as Erika Silaco, President of Sunset. A democratic nation on Mars, a republic, minimal interaction with the Empire, member of Yut. All in all, in between bumping into somebody well known, the Taraskovyan monarch decided to engage into conversation with somebody new, for it was always more interesting to find new things than rediscover the old ones.

“President Silaco, Republic of Sunset, lest I be mistaken?” The Vasilevs of all Taraskovya inclined his head politely in sign of greeting, to first the President and then to the President’s daughter (or so he assumed).

"Damn. Steady girl, not going anywhere any time too soon." Definitely not he thought as he felt her chest push against his sternum. It wasn't a bad feeling. The ego boost as well was certainly appreciated, Sempero, you magnificent bastard. He carried on the hug for a few seconds, taking in the body heat as well as the sensation of literally having an angel fall all over you. Eventually he pulled away and looked down at her, moving one hand up to her face to wipe away the tear.

"Well, how could I ever forget you? The bite marks haven't even faded yet." He grinned anew. In fact he hadn't really stopped grinning in the last couple of minutes. He probably wasn't going to stop for a litte while either. Looking down as Alessa's height required, he placed his hands on her hips lightly, sneaked a quick peak down her top with a sly grin and looked back into her eyes.

"So, as I was saying." Unsubtle fake cough. "How have you been? Radmiel and Daray still doing the inept bastard act?" Raised eyebrows. Oh well.

"Anyway!" He declared after Alessa's response. "Care for a drink? They have an excellent selection. Thorough buggers these elves are, Ill give 'em that." He turned against her side, his uniform brushing her and the (lack of) dress, and put his arm around her shoulder, down between her wings and settled his hand firmly on the top of her backside. "I was right, you have been toning. Anyway, to the bar,... drinks table...thing!"

Oh I love being me.

Alessa raised a delicate eyebrow as Sempero looked down her top. With a seductive little tug, her top fell even farther down her chest, giving him a better view. She pushed even closer against him and gently played his hands along his chest and back, before smiling up at him. "You know, Sempero..." She murmured. Her voice was a gentle purr as he she felt his hand trail down her back, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were planning to take advantage of me."

She wriggled back against his hand and torso, her soft body melting against his hard one and fitting perfectly into the space where she'd been placed. A gentle turn of the head and she kissed him on the chest, looking up at him and smiling. "I'd love a drink." The little expression on her face made it obvious she'd love to be taken advantage of, too.

"Your dress is highly inappropriate..."

"Says you, the over-dressed one."

"You look like a Clar Karond courtesan!"

"And you look like an oversized toy soldier!"

The two druchii turned and grinned at each other as they each tried to supress a laugh. Konrad Sykin, the tall and lean male with sharp, hawkish features and a thin scar bisecting his left cheek and lips, sighed at the shorter female.

"Ah cousin... what would I do without you?" he laughed, turning his head to survey the surroundings, along with the quartet of guards they'd aquired at the entrance.

"Probably go mad on account of that harpy of a wife of yours, I should think," his young cousin, Aeselle Colthique, a slender wisp of an elf with fine features and bright crimson eyes, replied with a grin.

"You didn't even wear a mail shirt under that, and I can tell because that dress is too tight to hide one. Not even a personal shield! What's gotten into you?" he asked, changing the subject away from the slightly sore topic of his wife..

"Have you spent any time off of the ship since we got here? This place is safer then Malekith's fortress..."

"Don't blaspheme, cousin," he said softly, casually flexing his grip on the hilt of one of the highborn swords. The pair of them each wore a set of longswords cinched tightly at the belt, as this was the mark of their status. When he caught the eye of one of the escorts, he eased his grip off. "And I've been meaning to talk to you about that. What's this I hear that you've taken a lover from amongst the local fauna? And that you're pregnant, too?" his stern glare seemed to speak more of concern then scorn, but she resented it anyways.

It had been some months since last she'd seen her cousin, but he seemed remarkably well-informed. Too well-informed forr her liking. "Having me followed, dear cousin? I didn't take you for the jealous type. I'll thank you to leave my business to me from now on, Konrad," she hissed, almost reaching for her own blade before realizing what a stupid idea that was. She only knew enough bladecraft to avoid embarassing herself, while Konrad was skilled beyond compare. She'd know, as he'd taught her.

"Besides, I like my dress. It is, as I've heard, festive." Indeed, the strapless floor-length crimson gown was quite nice, and when combined with the dark green laces in the front and back that held it tight to Aeselle's fine figure, and the white fur trim along the hem and bust lines, it was quite in spirit of things. "I went to great lengths to research the proper colours. Unlike you..." she glared at his traditional indigo kheitan-robes, which were covered with his fine mail coat and shining silver breasplate.

Konrad grumbled quietly as the din of the main hall was now quite near. The two stopped with their escort at the threshold and turned to face each other.

"Lord Sykin, after you please," Aeselle said in perfect sindarin, so the escorts could understand, though her sibilant accent was still, just, apparent. It was refreshing to talk to someone in druhir again, despite how overbearing her cousin was at times.

"I insist, Lady Colthique, after you," he replied, his sindarin rough and heavily accented. The both bowed to each other, and Aeselle took the lead as they headed in...

It had been an... interesting voyage for the Shogunate delegation. Firefury Amahira herself had needed to decline the invitation, having business to attend to on the Shogunate's Ring colony, Dosei. The Lady Shogun's usual stand-in, Tsume, had exercised his often-derelict privilege to take some time off work, citing that Firefury owed him one after he'd had to step up temporarily as Lord Shogun while she'd been knocked out due to still-unknown paranormal wackiness.

How exactly that resulted in the trio attending in Firefury's stead, nobody knows.

The Diplomatic Corps carrier, RPDC-Zeroel had spent the better part of the past year over at Camp R on the Ring, the ship and its captain Sierra Menolimi undergoing considerable examination after both ship and captain had been caught up in the aforementioned paranormal wackiness. Now however, the red and white craft glides in on its gravetics to its assigned landing spot, discharging a trio of people about as radically different as humanly (Or non-humanly, all things considered) possible.

The first off the ship is Zeroel himself (the humanoid in the lower left) (http://rpstudios.ian-justman.com/junk/CGgoods/dart-tsume-zeroel.JPG), the shipmind's avatar armored in red and white matching the carrier. Typical of Shogunate mechanoid design, Zeroel's of an average height, but slightly bulky. The only weapons he has are a pair of retractable arm blades; though one could consider the entire mechanoid a weapon, since a boot to the head would probably hurt rather a lot.

Next off, and about as far from science-fiction mechanoid as possible is Najoedo, Eldest of the Keepers of the Goddess Blades (http://rpstudios.ian-justman.com/junk/CGgoods/Najoedo-1.JPG). While the Keepers often forgo clothing due to the simple inconvenience of maneuvering wings and a tail into anything decent, the Eldest is dressed in formal robes in earthy colors (quite contrasting the milky white of his scales and wings), a complex drapery arrangement adorned with intricate metalwork so that he rattles almost musically with each step. Carried on his sash is his weapon, an elegant sword that is certainly functional, as is the ancient man's mystic skills.

The last of the group to disembark is almost normal in comparison. Well toned and wearing a green suit just dark enough not to be tacky, a crisp white tie with a festive holiday print completing the outfit. Bright blue eyes twinkling, the last of the delegation surveys the area, carefully nudging well-kept black hair from getting in the way. Of the trio, this last fellow is completely unarmed, though gladly volunteering to be subjected to a full body search. Both Zeroel and Najoedo look uncomfortable; the former just embarrassed and the latter thinking his companion just wants to get felt up by the guards.

Once inside, the trio splits up almost immediately; Zeroel seeking the company of someone he knows, Najoedo angling for whomever catches his interest, and Maxmillian Patrick Christof the Fourth (but that's a mouthful, so just "Max" is fine!) looking for anything female.

Semp smiled as Alessa’s body pressed against his. He loved women like this, prim and proper and acting so innocent and yet just below the surface…his grin got wider. And damnit she could wiggle in just the right way to keep his attention. Her size and curviness certainly attracted several feelings, some of protectiveness, some of lust, some of wondering how the dress actually stayed on which conjured up a whole new set of imagery best left to the puerile mind of a teenager. And she was attractive, even by the almost ethereal standards of the room. Maybe it was the physical beauty combined with the shortness and nervousness and underlying rampancy that all just combined nicely into one cute package that did it.

“Take advantage my dear?” He put on a mock offended tone. “Why, what do you take me for? Some sort of single minded ruffian? Why, I am a perfect gentlemen. I shall endeavour at all costs to make sure you and I are both are both completely inebriated and only then will the advantage and taking of be discussed.“ He then slipped back into his normal Freestian accent with a playful wink. “The night is young.”

They slipped away into the crowd through to the bar on the other side of the room. Amazed to be able to get a proper pint of Mainland Pale Ale (the original stuff too. Showy bastards) along with whatever it was Roanians drunk (obviously something classy and expensive), he rested at the counter before being dragged back into a secluded corner.

MEANWHILE[/b] title card here - [I]ED ]

Barham meanwhile had excused himself and Farahind from Clodius’s interesting conversation with the local Intel head in pursuit of actual semi-serious business. The arrival of the ZMI delegation had presented a chance to speak sooner than planned with the powers that be in ZMI, and there was, how could it be said, an impressive opportunity for them both. He shuffled, Farahind behind and walking taller, over to the arriving ZMI body. Passing slowly through the watchful ring of tech ninjas, he approached Claude with a friendly and smiling manner.

“Claude Peterson, I presume?” Barham proffered a hand. “Glad to meet you, finally. I must admit my encounters with your nation have been far too limited in the past.” He paused and smiled, then shook his head. “Sorry, I am getting ahead of myself. Sir Theodore Barham, Prime Minister of the Freethinker Commonwealth, and the leader of the opposition, Dame Sarah Farahind at your service.”

“Anyway, I hope not to be too rude or blatant, but there is a matter I need to discuss with. A commercial and societal opportunity of impressive potential. Can’t go into too much detail given who will be watching.” Barham was realistic, even the most unobtrusive scanning would easily pick up the conversation. “We need a little help on a colonisation expedition.”

“I'm telling you, the Matron has ordered both of us to go.”

“All I'm saying, Admiral, is that I don't like going out into the outside world, to be ambassador to a group of people who should be our inferiors!”

“And what I'm saying, ambassador, is that our orders are our orders, and that I expect you to not insult anyone who might later be useful to the house, and the nation.” The Drow female addresses the other in a tone of practiced distaste, as if this was not the first time they had had this conversation. She is wearing most unmilitary clothing; an almost translucent silver dress, that seems to move around the Drow as she walks, almost of its own accord. It is opaque enough to not give a clear idea of what is underneath it, but it is transparent enough to provide ample food for any active imagination.

The other drow, the ambassador, is wearing a black dress with silver spun through it in a spider-web pattern. The dress is much more modest than her counterparts, and would be considered overly modest by most Drow. Of course, 'modest' to a Drow has a far different connotation than that which most sane cultures have. It is fitted to her body nicely, and shows off her curves. She is not as traditionally pretty as he military escort, but has a certain aristocratic charm in her personality.

The two Drow are seated opposite each other in a beautifully appointed state room of a Kephalian diplomatic cruiser that was leisurely making it's way towards the Menelmacari landing area nearest to the celebration. The ship itself has a long central fuselage with eight blades radiating from it, and pointing towards the bow at a sharply acute angle.

The vessel itself is no doubt one of the only non-space vessels landing in Menelmacar. It is still a work of art however, and advanced masterpiece of aeronautical engineering, with bladed wings covered in anti-gravity and gravity creation fields to lift the ship above the tall mountains that surrounded Kephalia, and a hull covered in a material to absorb sunlight to augment the ships internal reactors and increase her range.

The vessel lands gracefully, the pilot is a master at his craft, fit for the delegation of an Admiral and a Matron's daughter, and the two disembark, heading into the area where the celebrations are. Neither of them are unarmed, in fact, both carry sizable amounts of armament, from the Ambassador's thin, pointy, metal rods that pin her hair in an oriental style, to the Admiral's sword. In fact, the admirals sword and pistol are the only two weapons that are visible, the rest are concealed.

It would be a mistake to say that these two are unusually armed, especially for Drow, in fact, the Admiral seems to be very light on armaments, again, for a Drow. The ambassador, not so much. They walk in, the Admiral smiling and nodding to the various guards and staff that they pass. The Ambassador does seem less than pleased with this entire situation, “Admiral Myrica, you seem far too at ease with these inferiors.”

The Admiral sighs, “And you're the one wearing that dress, Ambassador Rhylmyr. I've spent time amongst these people before, and I can assure you, that even their males are a match for us. Now please, let us stop this bickering and enter.”

And with that, the two Drow made their way in.

Goor entered two steps behind Ravelyn and eyed those that were present. Politicians. There had damn well better be good food here. he thought as he followed. "My weapons aren't for protection, Ravelyn. They are worn to honor the dead of my clan."

At the mention of 'fun', he smirked and spoke softly. "I'm getting too old for the fun I used to have, when I was your pupil. That last adventure proved as much... Perhaps something here will gain my interest."

Alatádae Sirithiliel smiled, and seemed to latch onto Rhiannon, “Well, if you’ve any questions, feel free to ask,” she said. “I’m sure I can answer them. Or here at least, point you in the direction of someone who can, in this crowd at least. I suppose you could say I’m a guest. Although I do live here, or at least, I have rooms here,” she said with an enigmatic little smile.
"Very cryptic," Rhiannon replies with a broad yet close-lipped grin with just enough mischief in the corners to suggest it held a few things as well. "Although it's not really fair, begging the question like that. Who is a guest that also lives, at least part time, in the place she lives?"

Magnus, glad to see that his daughter has already made a friend, smiles to himself. Whether or not he'll grin in front of kzinti is usually a fifty-fifty proposition; this time, it's simply a jovial, fatherly, totally inoffensive smile with no bared teeth to speak of. "I told her she'd meet interesting people," he says to Alatádae when he can fit a word in edgewise, "and it's been my pleasure to meet you, ma'am. Now, if I can hopefully be excused..." He bows again, with a bit of flair and fluidity which makes the usual rigid standardized gesture somewhat more that what it was before. "Perhaps we can talk some more... later, but if I know one thing about my daughter it's that it's best if my conversations not really compete with her own."

Rhiannon raises a slight eyebrow, managing a look somewhere between a teenager once again finding shame in her parent's social demeanor and a schoolmarm who's just noticed someone has blotted his copybook. Perhaps mostly the former, given the slight change in the red saturation of her ears. "You're not trying to make me feel unfilial, are you?" Again, it's a mixture of half-hurt, half-embarrassed, and half-that's-not-cricket. While her DNA doesn't really shift except when she wants it to, the young woman is more than meets the eye and thus can qualify for as many halves as she likes. She is a Hesche, after all.

"Of course not, bahiyya," the blonde-haired man replies with just enough apology in his voice to make the statement actually contrite, "I just know that you'd rather, now that you're dressed up and at your very first big important party, that you'd prefer not to try and make sure I live up to the standards of proper chastity to which all polite conversation should optimally conform. After all, I needn't remind you about the homecoming da--"

Rhiannon's voice immediately drops to both a very quiet and very bass hiss, so it still carries. People a few meters away may wonder why their viscera inside their ribcages is moving in that funny way; maybe there's a rave going on just outside of earshot. "You were hitting on all the teachers. Even the married ones."

"See? And so, m'lady," another swooping bow to Alatádae, coupled with a slightly self-deprecating smirk and a wink, "I hope we can speak again at another time." With that, he saunters off into the crowd, into a nice place where he can scope out the room and all the pretties. This is, after all, one of his favorite forms of entertainment. Tall ones, short ones, skinny ones, plump ones, blondes, brunettes, redheads, furred, scaled, or whatever, everyone with dual X-chromosomes holds some sort of pleasantness to watch and interact with. Sometimes, admittedly, it's extremely hard to see, even with a large benefit of the doubt offered, but Magnus just sees that as one of many fun and exciting challenges in his life. Thus scanning the room with the keenly trained eye of the professional flirt, he does some casual sorting in his head. There's one girl--pardon, very short woman--with wings, who seems to be enjoying the company of that Freestian over there. Really, she doesn't need the false plusses of the pretty-field around her or the decidedly limited surface area of her garb; she's nice enough on the inside (as a person, not the other way, you pervert) but just needs some help up from that low self-image... and she's being taken well care of at the moment. No worries there; the Mage Queen of Roania is being well taken care of. Then there's someone else with wings, the necessary black wings to the white wings. Okay, athletic build, hanging out with some sort of reptilian--always cool--but... wait, that's Rave. He'd heard about her; most of the boys down at the Office had, usually after asking a HELLSING officer what exactly were those badly melted portrait photos on the firing ranges. It wasn't that she was evil so much as a chaotic agent, and one of the worst kind, the one where the Mike Sierra Index was off the scale and fiddling around with the electron microscopes. The haughty visage, something in the eyes, does it. She's making up for something but doesn't realize it. She certainly must have had a practically intentionally hard, disturbing, painful life where if she were to write a poem about it the word 'miasma' and synonyms for 'lack of light' would mingle freely and repeat in ways that makes Omar Khayyam's use of wine as a metaphor seem positively miserly. Rather dull and overdone, actually... No, Magnus can do better than that as a first-off... oh, there's Max. Good old Max. Really messed with people's heads, they did, that time two of the most notorious flirts in the Triumvirate were on the same ship. Of course, Max was a bit more -ine at the time, but those are Reploids for you.

He wonders for a moment why Nathi isn't around. She's always fun, and there's still a matter of the Great Segments-Dominion Innuendo War not being conclusively over. Even after his grand strategic victory with his "what's your favorite instrument?" line whilst wrestling and talking about band at the same time. Ahh, the Aelosian Craftworld, what a nice place. He'd have to nip on over to Mars and see how Aleinna's doing sometime after this.

Finally, Magnus sees someone he doesn't recognize and starts sauntering that way. It's not that she's providing structural support to some sort of extremely stable surface, but she may as well be, staying out of the crowd and otherwise looking alone in a busy room. More importantly, it doesn't look like she wants to be alone. One of the advantages to being a professional flirt and a nice guy whose occasional bouts of chauvinism are purely assumed is that Magnus is an expert at picking up feminine cues, running against the usual stereotype. Inspired out of a mix of curiosity, a sense of responsibility, generally being a nice sort of guy, but not at all out of pity, he makes his way towards the location of who he would probably soon learn to be Amalris Godarian, Yafor 2's ambassador to Tiburon. He introduces himself with his traditional low bow and, if he can get away with it, chivalric hand-taking and not-quite kissing. "Good evening, ma'am; I am Magnus Hesche of the Federated Segments of Scolopendra." Winning grin. "How are you doing this fine evening?"

Meanwhile, Speaker and H'zta also bow politely but shortly to Alatádae, taking their leave as well. "We hope you don't mind," H'zta says, "but my consort always sees these things in terms of international diplomacy..."

"And you business," the kzintosh banters back with a flick of his ears.

"Fair enough," she murmurs with a sly sideways looks. "We will be back. Honorable Rhiannon, maintain the honor of the Federated Segments."

"Of course, ma'am," the blond-haired replies with a respectful bow. "I will do my best."

"You will do excellently," Speaker offers with a thin-lipped smile, the only kind of honest smile his physiology can offer. "Simply consider it a different kind of quest."

Rhiannon lets a Sure thing, Uncle! pass through her mind without saying it, but she smiles a bit more brightly at the thought. Now that's not a proper thing to think. I'm getting as bad as my dad. Instead, she simply nods. "Yes, sir."

The two kzinti split off and make a few calculations of their own, based mostly on finding people they don't recognize and introducing themselves. They decide on the couple of New Naggoroth; half because this means matching numbers and, well, people wearing swords tend not to be overly disturbed when two large felinids with sharp teeth, no matter how civilized-looking, show up. Well, actually, it's about a fifty-fifty chance, but that's why this is a friendly party. With protection assured, of course. They announce themselves with short bows which make them slightly less towering, and steps back to prevent anyone from having to crane their neck. The 'tosh leads the introductions. "Good evening," he says with a smile and a flick of his bat-wing ears, "I am Supreme Emperor Speaker-Rrit of the Federated Segments of Scolopendra, and this is my consort H'zta, CEO of H'zta and Kraah Industries." The kzinrret manages, surprisingly enough, a graceful curtsy. This is surprising because curtsies are not common in the Segments, and Speaker's slightly furred brow tends to indicate this.

H'zta shrugs gently. "It just seemed the right thing to do at the time," she replies with a sly smile.

“President Silaco, Republic of Sunset, lest I be mistaken?” The Vasilevs of all Taraskovya inclined his head politely in sign of greeting, to first the President and then to the President’s daughter (or so he assumed).

'Did we miss him?'

'He must have come in after...'

"Emperor..."

Erika nodded slightly in return and turned to the young woman next to her.

"Katrina, this is Mikhail Vasilevs, Emperor of Taraskovya. Emperor Vasilevs, may I introduce my daughter Katrina..."

Katrina gave a small curtsy and then extended a hand in greeting.

"Emperor Vasilevs..."

While Katrina introduced herself Erika gave the room a quick scan for other approaching guests and then logged into the Palace's network to keep an eye on the guest list for new arriv...

'Katrina!'

Erika gave her the electronic equivalent of an elbow to the ribs before looking pointedly through the crowd to a particularly dressed Reploid.

'It's him! It. Whatever.'

Katrina looked back up and casually looked over the Emperor's shoulder for a second. If they could have, her eyes would have widened involuntarily but as it was she looked back to the Emperor then over his other shoulder for another instant.

'Magnus Hesche? He's not an it...'

'No - behind him! Dark green suit, white tie...'

Erika mentally 'pushed' Katrina a personnel file and she leafed through it in an instant.

'Ooh, it's...'

Katrina swung to the side, looping her arm through his as well as turning her back to the Reploid.

"Emperor, why don't you come with me? I could use a little refreshment..."

Erika breathed a sigh of relief as Katrina led the Vasilevs off towards the bar before straightening back up and trying to look available for someone looking to chat.

One could notice quite clearly that the Chief Advisor was becoming increasingly bored with the ‘small talk’ that was occurring between the Grummian ruling couple and the Menelmacari businesspeople. She seemed to stare forward with nigh a blink and grind the end of her wooden staff into the marble flooring. Alakantar noted it out of the corner of his eye and not being one who cared to interfere with his parents’ affairs of state, took a step back next to drow female.

“You don’t particularly care for parties, do you?” he whispered, trying not to draw too much attention.

“Nau,” Ire’arra responded without even a turn. “These proceedings, in particular, serve no distinct purpose for an individual such as myself. I have not a need to engage in conversation that I have come across to be tiresome and archaic. There are more beneficial uses for my time.”

Alakantar’s eyes looked inquisitively upon her. “Archaic? How can you say that? There’s a world of new things out there.”

“My existence has spanned ten thousand, three hundred, and forty-nine years, and in that extensive period, I have observed the waxing and waning of numerous civilizations, the ceasing of trillions of living beings upon this world, and the advancement and regression of technology. The universe is an ever constant cycle. Every event that has happened will occur once more.”

“I see…” Alakantar responded with a slight rub of his eyes of tiredness. “That doesn’t mean you can’t be friendly though. It’s better than to stand around...staring at things and who knows, it might make you a few friends. And…Eh….if anything, maybe you can find yourself a kid to harass like you did last year.” Dropping his hand, he caught the glimpse of the two drow females that had just arrived and blinked once, then twice, and raised an eyebrow. “…or maybe we could go talk to them.”

“Must we?”

“Yes, we must,” he grinned widely and began to walk that way, motioning for her to follow him away from the rest of the Grummian group. “It’ll give us something to do, at least.”

Sighing rather loudly, Ire’arra gradually stepped in that direction – staff in hand – hoping that at least the young Alakantar would show some tact in this situation. And that, he tried to do the best he could. But this was one of those situations where he didn’t know the foreign country’s protocol and did not know how these drow females would react to him. Then again, since they were at a party full of foreigners, they had to be somewhat more tolerant…right?

“Good evening,” he started with a respectful bow of his head and decided to go into the longer title for himself. “I am Alakantar Aleanrahel O’Neill, Northrop-Grumman’s Governor of the Martian Colony of Valacirca, and First Son of the First House of Shal’Thassan-nal.”

Ire’arra stepped up beside him and also gave a bow of her head. “And I am Ire’arra Aleanrahel, Chief Advisor to the Chairman and Chairwoman of Northrop-Grumman and the Matron Queen of the First House of Shal’Thassan-Nal.”

“It’s a pleasure and, I could say, an oddity to find fellow drow here. I rarely, if ever, see more of our kind around these parts,” Alakantar continued. “If I may ask, from what part of the universe do you both hail from?”

Prince Celebrimbor smiled at the Austar Union delegation, shaking the president’s hand, tempted to kiss it, but deciding against that, on this occasion. He’d left the multi –functioned cane he sometimes carried at home, today, and wore a crimson and silver outfit with teal buckles and sashes, “This isn’t really the biggest, but it’s a fairly nice show so far. Of course, we haven’t really got going yet. I usually find that the best bit of any event like this is the food, but I hear they’ve been trying something different this year,” he shook the general’s hand, “I’m not sure what it is, mind, but it might be impressive.”

The Secretary-General smiled, " Well I'm always open to trying new things. That's what makes life interesting, no? In any case, we're both looking forward to the celebrations; I guess we'll have to wait to see what Lady Sirithil and her husband Lord Ranisath* have prepared for the event to come. "

" I haven't actually had the opportunity to meet with them, " He chuckled. " Our last opportunity for contact was during the founding of VERITAS, to which my predecessor Lord Indigo Blue attended. "

Taking a moment to pause Carmine nodded respectfully to the Prince, " So what's been happening in Menelmacar as of late? I get so busy sometimes with all of our own interests that I seldom get a moment to really appreciate the finer details of even my own allies. Last time I heard though, there was a recent expansion of Carnil; to incorporate parts of Eniqcir, am I right? "

* Just presume I've got the titles right. A little bit added since I last posted to assist with flow and such.

"Good evening," he says with a smile and a flick of his bat-wing ears, "I am Supreme Emperor Speaker-Rrit of the Federated Segments of Scolopendra, and this is my consort H'zta, CEO of H'zta and Kraah Industries."

Both Aeselle and Konrad were rather surprised that anyone would see fit to approach them; they were certain that the opposite would be required, as they were little more then ambassadors from some little-known backwater empire. But it was a welcome surprise, for the much more tactful and pleasant Lady Colthique at any rate.

"Greetings Dread Lord and Lady," Aeselle replies in fluent English, as the two of them bowed formally to the two tall kzin. "It is a pleasure to make both of your acquaintances. I am Lady Aeselle sar-haeth Colthique of Karond Kar, and this is my cousin, Konrad vilaeth Sykin, also of Karond Kar," Some resemblance was obvious as they both had very similar straight black hair, though Aeselle wore hers down to her neck while Konrad's was only a few inches long. Each stood around six feet tall as well, and had the pale complexions of a people who were not used to seeing natural sunlight. That, combined with the ruby-red of their eyes might have marked them out in some cultures, but they were really as common to the druchii as brown eyes were to humans. "We are both attending in the role of ambassadors to the Sol system, as appointed by the Witch King..." she trails off, and furrows her brow, realizing that she'd just addressed them as if they were druchii lords. She wasn't quite sure how this would sit with them, but she hoped that it wouldn't be noticed.

It was Konrad that bailed her out as she tried to think of what next to say. Like his sindarin, his english was rough and fairly heavily accented, putting more emphasis on the 's' of their words.. "Perhaps you would like drinks? I'm told there is quite a selection..."

"Yes, a drink!" Aeselle smiles warmly, while Konrad came to the sudden realization he'd be about to take all of their orders. "An excellent idea, cousin. What would our honoured friends find to their tastes?"

The Vasilevs was quite surprised by the turn of events, which made him erupt into a hearty laughter as he and Katrina approached the bar. A composed, calm laughter, of course.

“Ah, I admit that was quite refreshing,” he said pensively, before looking at his newly found company.

And as the two ordered their drinks, the Emperor going for a white Russian, Mikhail also had to correct a little misunderstanding.

“I just have to dissipate a certain confusion I have sensed. My dynasty’s name is Shakhovskoy. Vasilevs is the Imperial title, not a name,” he said with a smile. “A Rossified version of the Byzantine Basileus, if you will. And yes, it can be confusing, but then again us Taraskovyans are known to be a rather confusing lot.”

Politics, eh? Ravelyn sighed. Seems like I can never get away from them. She looked at Goor carefully with her scarlet eyes. I have an offer for you if you want to take it. As you know, Charmaine, my daughter, has taken over as empress in my absense and it is a permanent position until she gives it to someone else and so on and so forth. Her, boyfriend, would you call it?, Mathias was a military mastermind of D.F.D. and has taken up a position as a strategist. I need someone to train my armies. Many were lost in the war and we have a new wave of recruits coming in. I need someone to train my elites as well. I fear that I cannot give them the training that they need because I have never relied on physical strength and skill. I've always had my ether to rely on.

She walked amongst the people, taking Goor with her in tow. She was really grateful for him. For all those who had betrayed her, or left her side, he never did. She couldn't help but to smile, and soften her demeanor; lost in a silent reverie.

"Well, do you want a position? Comes with obviously whatever you want..." she finally said outloud. Everyone else in the room was foreign to her. She supposed she should start meeting people, but no one seemed to approach her. She was okay with that too.

Goor followed, without answering Rave for some time. He was thinking. Finally, he spoke softly. "Ravelyn... I'm nearly three hundred years old. And unlike yourself, I do age. If I was a century and a half younger, I would accept without hesitation. Despite the glowing reports from that last adventure, I am not my old self. I was on stimulants and other forms of combat enhancers... I cannot accept your offer." He shakes his head. "Enough of that for now, you don't want to hear about my personal problems in the middle of a party. We're supposed to be enjoying ourselves."

He looks around slowly, wondering why no one had approached the two.

"Then I will give you back your youth," Ravelyn said softly. She touched his hand. "There were many things I discovered when I was away from my nation. As time grows on I lose more and more of the ones I care about, and yet I am cursed to remain the same forever. Accept my offer, Goor... I grow old as well in spirit, and I don't like not getting what I want. You know this..." Stubborn and prideful to the last, and he knew this well. He knew her well.

Finally, Magnus sees someone he doesn't recognize and starts sauntering that way. It's not that she's providing structural support to some sort of extremely stable surface, but she may as well be, staying out of the crowd and otherwise looking alone in a busy room. More importantly, it doesn't look like she wants to be alone. One of the advantages to being a professional flirt and a nice guy whose occasional bouts of chauvinism are purely assumed is that Magnus is an expert at picking up feminine cues, running against the usual stereotype. Inspired out of a mix of curiosity, a sense of responsibility, generally being a nice sort of guy, but not at all out of pity, he makes his way towards the location of who he would probably soon learn to be Amalris Godarian, Yafor 2's ambassador to Tiburon. He introduces himself with his traditional low bow and, if he can get away with it, chivalric hand-taking and not-quite kissing. "Good evening, ma'am; I am Magnus Hesche of the Federated Segments of Scolopendra." Winning grin. "How are you doing this fine evening?"

Amalria Godarian twirled the cup of fruit juice in her hands, staring thoughtfully into its depths. The purple swirled slightly, sinuously twisting its shape from one contortion to another. It was one of the few perks (or, as many would think, problems) for Jakallans that they did not drink. Jakallanism had always been a morally rigid religions, which suited most Yaforites just fine. Yaforites tended to be rigid with themselves. Amalria was no exception. She, like almost any other good Yaforite, tried to keep herself under control, stopping herself from doing anything that broke her religion or her religious ideals. Naturally, though, Jakallanism was an easy religion to do this with. After all, there was no holy text or writ from Juhamda that limited the use of the body in any way. If anything, almost all prohibitions that the religions placed upon people were via their choices of food and drink. That, Amalria was fine with. That she could bare.

It was to her surprise, then, that a stunningly-good-looking man, soon to introduce himself as "Magnus Hesche", came over to engage her in conversation. It had been mildly surprising to Amalria to even be at this gathering - she had been removed from her position in Tiburon especially for the purpose. Amalria was glad for the opportunity, though, as strange as it seemed. Even though Yaforites were often rigidly meritocratic, it was astonishing that someone of her age (she was in her late twenties) and experience (she had had only a few years in the Foreign Ministry, before her perplexing appointment as Ambassador to Tiburon, an excellent job for one her age), but she took a certain amount of pride that the Foreign Minister himself had chosen her especially for this task. This was, after all, a rather large diplomatic undertaking.

"Good evening, Mr Hesche." Amalria spoke, trying as hard as she could to act mysterious, a small smile floating onto her lips. "Stop being distracted!" she thought furiously at herself. "The only reason you are here is because of how hard you work! Now stop this and start paying attention to what is happening!" Naturally, she ignored that voice, instead choosing to listen to the voice that told her that this was only a harmless diplomatic gathering. Of course, the latter was more true that the former, but Amalria continued to try to dissuade herself. Not that she was accomplishing much success. "I'm Amalria Godarian, ambassador for the Grand Democratic Duchy of Yafor 2 to the United Solaris Federation of Tiburon." The pompous tone came naturally to her voice - it was simply how she spoke, most of the time.

She let Magnus Hesche take her hand and almost-kiss it. "How are you doing on this fine evening?" he asked her, his voice the same as usual - confident, husky, and alluring. "I think it would be a bit presumptuous to call this evening "fine", Mr. Hesche. After all, the delegates have scarcely arrived." Inside her head, Amalria found herself incredulous. Where had that come from? "I am a diplomat, I know how to talk!" she shouted at herself, willing herself to move back to safer territory. "And you, Mr. Hesche? What exactly do you...do, for Scolopendra? After all, we know little of your nation, despite being in close friendship with it, via the Alliance of Progressive Nations, of course." The second phrase had little to do with the first, and Amalria found herself shouting at herself again after uttering it.

Meanwhile, as Amalria struggled with a simple conversation, Yaforite Foreign Minister Jyorin Kiamelar found himself wandering around the room, circulating from meaningless conversation to meaningless conversation. Moving to the wall, Jyorin faced the assembled members of nations throughout the world. He did not mind not being engaged in a conversation himself. This was his preferred position. After all, there was much more one could gain from watching than from actually participating.

[OOC: Not a great post, but all I can manage for the time being.]

Zeroel spies a face he hasn't seen in forever and a day, the reploid making his way through the crowd to Josef of the Hack. The shipmind owes the man a great deal; not only was Zeroel's creation possible thanks to assistance from GMC and the Hack, but Josef had been a voice of reason and an anchor in the traumatic wake of the Mankind Against Nonhumans plot that had resulted in the deaths of his original crew. Well, with the exception of the captain, but that was a whole long story of paranormal wackiness and not a fond memory for the guy.

Though the bastard responsible for the slaughter certainly deserved the brutal gravetic-assisted death that the traumatized shipmind had dished out at the time.

"Josef! It's been forever, how've you been doing?"
---

The flutter of wings briefly draws Najoedo's eye, but a brief sampling of the area with his sixth and seventh senses turns the Keeper off from approaching. The entire area is thick with what his kind calls the Arts- stuff that everyone else calls things like magic, mystic power, ki, chi, or paranormal wackiness.

Instead, the ancient man zeros in on a vaguely more familiar face, and the ambient energies near said person. In short, he jangles his way over to join Speaker and the intriguing two dark-haired people the ratcat is speaking with; it's clear that despite their humanoid appearance that the pair are anything but.

"Please pardon my intrusion." Najoedo slips in at an opportune break in the conversation, his voice pleasant and lightly accented. Not even ten thousand years and learning countless languages has been enough to wipe out his archaic accent. He's about to smile widely, but remembers what he'd been told about k'zin and toothy grins and keeps his teeth covered. "Ocoskot Nuhceht Speaker-Rrit, I have heard much of you but have yet the occasion to make your acquaintance."

He turns to address Aeselle and Konrad, offering the pair a polite bow, the motion accented by a slight spread of his white wings. "My lord and lady, I fear I haven't a name to put to yourselves. I am Najoedo, Eldest of the Keepers. It is always a pleasure to meet new people and discover new knowledge."
---

Meanwhile, Max's gaze stops dead on Ravelyn, blue eyes lighting up as they sweep the woman's figure, drinking in her appearance. Grinning brightly (but not quite as brightly, say, Magnus and his signal-mirror grin,) the green-suited diplomat makes a swift trip across the room to be introduced to the dark-winged vision of loveliness and her scaly companion.

"My lady!" As soon as Max is arrived, the diplomat falls to one knee with a flourish before Ravelyn, offering Goor a winning smile and nod of acknowledgment. "And lord. It is my deepest pleasure to make your acquaintances. It seems nigh criminal that here we are at this delightful elfy party, and it seems these people are so boorish as to ignore such visages of elegance!"

To the paranormally attuned, the diplomat registers as completely harmless, and to the observant, Max is clearly unarmed. "I am but a humble diplomat in the service of the Lady Shogun Firefury Amahira; Maxmillian Patrick Christof the Fourth. But please, call me Max;" A flourish feigning distress. "I fear I get 'Maxmillian'ed and 'Mr. Christof'ed to death at work as is."

"Greetings Dread Lord and Lady," Aeselle replies in fluent English, as the two of them bowed formally to the two tall kzin. "It is a pleasure to make both of your acquaintances. I am Lady Aeselle sar-haeth Colthique of Karond Kar, and this is my cousin, Konrad vilaeth Sykin, also of Karond Kar... We are both attending in the role of ambassadors to the Sol system, as appointed by the Witch King..."

It was Konrad that bailed her out ... "Perhaps you would like drinks? I'm told there is quite a selection..."

"Yes, a drink! ... An excellent idea, cousin. What would our honoured friends find to their tastes?"
As far as the titles 'dread lord' and 'dread lady' are concerned, the 'Pendrans have heard them before. Well, the latter one, and only associated with one person. A family friend, certainly--which makes the institutional differences a bit more challenging, yes--but lords and ladies don't exist in the Segments in general. At any rate, don't worry about the words, worry about the sentiment behind them, and the sentiment seems nothing but polite respect. This is something the top kzinti can certainly tolerate. "We are honored to make your acquaintances, Your Excellencies, and hope your station here does not drain overmuch. Sol can be rather... hectic at times." Speaker again smiles thinly and flicks his ears. Hopefully the international standard titles of diplomats will do; if not, there will be corrections, and apologies for ignorance, and things will be set straight. No reason to worry, none at all. "We were both diplomats around here before our careers shifted. If you have any questions, we can hopefully help."

"He was the better one," H'zta says simply, with a staged sagely nod.

Speaker-Rrit grumbles good-naturedly, glancing slyly towards his consort. Humility is not a virtue to the Race of Heroes, but neither is being put on a pedestal outside of one's skillset... which leads back to a sort of humility in a sense of strictly defined pride. "I suppose it depends. You are certainly better when it comes to the economic side of diplomacy and politics."

H'zta returns the sly glance back. "I suppose I am. Between the two of us, then, we could be quite helpful. And drinks?" She ponders, glancing for a moment at her surroundings. "A sort of heated brandy would be nice, don't you think?"

The kzintosh nods. "Yes, it would." It fits with the setting more than mead or something vodka-based, at the very least.

"Please pardon my intrusion. ... Ocoskot Nuhceht Speaker-Rrit, I have heard much of you but have yet the occasion to make your acquaintance."
Speaker bows to Naj, and casually introduces H'zta, who bows in turn. "We are honored, Keeper Najoedo. It is not often we meet one of your skill."

Magnus doesn't count.

* - * - *

"Good evening, Mr Hesche." Amalria spoke, trying as hard as she could to act mysterious, a small smile floating onto her lips... "I'm Amalria Godarian, ambassador for the Grand Democratic Duchy of Yafor 2 to the United Solaris Federation of Tiburon."

"I think it would be a bit presumptuous to call this evening "fine", Mr. Hesche. After all, the delegates have scarcely arrived. ... And you, Mr. Hesche? What exactly do you...do, for Scolopendra? After all, we know little of your nation, despite being in close friendship with it, via the Alliance of Progressive Nations, of course."
Magnus grins broadly. While Amalria may be going for the secret feminine smile, Magnus... well... Magnus is Magnus and what one sees is, quite apparently, what one gets with him, at least when it comes to matters of personality. What's more, it all seems quite natural to him. "How could it not be a fine evening?" It's a boyish rhetorical question without a hint of rebuke as he looks over the crowd. "Many new and interesting people to meet,"--wink back at Godarian--"wonderful decor, free drinks, probably free food at some point... maybe some dancing, who knows? There's life just waiting to be lived, and that's what makes it fine to me." He grins, yet again.

"As for what I do... well, I'm a diplomat of sorts too. The 'Envoy to New Worlds' title was originally in jest but ended up sticking, I guess. Besides the diplomacy there's a bit of acting, and a lot of derring-do. Actually, so much of the last that it's essentially my profession now... but seriously, who believes it when someone says they're a professional adventurer, hm?" He grins. He looks the part, at least. "I did some business along that vein recently around this part of the world... well, north of it, actually, but it was still a part of Menelmacar's extended domains... and so I was able to convince the boss to let me come. The slightly shorter of the two very bright orange ones there." He indicates the kzintosh with his eyes. "I'm looking forward to it as a social experience... and if I may ask, ma'am, how are you looking forward to this particular get-together? A matter of business, or pleasure?"

He doesn't actually emphasize that last word, not more than maybe a twitch of the corner of his mouth and the slightest jog of an eyebrow. He's a flirt, not sleaze.

43rd Block Tower
Malev, Kandarin

"Buh." Rachel Penteleimon, Eldar Lady Primary of House Honist, Foreign Minister of the Kandarin Federation, and quiet manager of the Federation's general policies since its inception, nearly dropped the gold-fringed letter when it arrived. Not at her office in the Citadel, but at her residence...where she'd instructed, long ago, for any letters from this particular source to go.

"Siri...I never thought I'd hear from her again. Never thought I'd get to talk to her again. Actually, come to think of it, I don't think I ever did..."

"You're monologuing again." The sharp voice of her assigned Adjutant cut in from the sole other room of the tiny, plain apartment. "Stop it."

"Thank you, Jade." Siri. Interesting. I was right...the Realm Gate counters the Veil, just as the Influx Gates do. If that's the case, then what else... Rachel cut off her internal monologue with a note just as harsh as that for the external one. Now was simply not the time. There was simply no refusing such an offer. Even though stepping out into the world was dangerous, she'd done it before, and if anyone could guarantee safety, Siri could.

Rising from her tiny desk, Rachel looked at herself in the tall mirror that hung from the plain wall. A check, as it were, for respectability. She was a little tall, with obsidian-black hair draped every which way, conveniently covering slight elven ears. Many outsiders might have found her to be quite beautiful, but to another Kandarinese dark elf the feeling she exuded would be quite different. Practicality, wisdom, maybe even a little madness- these were the traits that served an Eldar Lady well, not seductive and radiant beauty. In any case, dark elven men had the habit of being insulted, not impressed, by attempts at the latter.

Her attire was the same thing she wore every day and to every event: A long, pearly white furisode-kimono-like thing, exceedingly modest partly for reasons of climate and partly for the purpose of having a large number of pockets. She decided that it would do, and sat down to pen a response.

To Sirithil Nalosaurawen Finlaurë Aineldalië Minyavendë and Ranisath Cuilahîr Cuilévaher,

May the wisdom of Eru go with you!

Your missive does indeed find us well, and all that we know indicates that it will remain so. I thank you for your courteous invitation, and plan to attend the celebration. Regrettably, most of my family are away or busy on some errand or another, so my party will consist solely of myself and my niece.

I regret that my countrymen have provided so scarce communication for so long. The reasons for this are too numerous to be explained in this letter. Hopefully, all will be explained when I arrive.

May the One show favor to you in all your ways,
Rachel Penteleimon

Rachel double-checked her Quenya, handed the letter off to the Adjutant, and typed up another invitation.

Shiro Aerospace Akademi
Tilden, Free Pacific States

From: Rachel DeVries Penteleimon
CC: Anna Rachel Khaz
Re:Re:Re:Re:And so forth:Invitation

Re: Elvenqueen throwing party in few weeks. I said we would be coming. Even though I've already shoehorned you into this by promises I can't keep, so you'll be coming even if I have to stuff you into a cat carrier and drag you, do you want to come?

"Tata Rachel, you're a horrible, evil person. I love you." Anna dumped the message that had arrived by archaic email into the equally archaic trashbin of her incredibly archaic (by Federation standards) computer. Of course she would have to accept. It sounded like a good idea, and wasn't worth the risk that her aunt wasn't kidding about the cat carrier. She hadn't been kidding about the sun-glaciers, either.

It was likely another test, and she knew it. Eldar Lords loved tests, and they especially loved heaping them on their heirs, no matter how young they were. As it was, the human girl who typed up a hasty response appeared no more than eight or nine years old, with messy dirty-blond hair.

It was all a lie. Specifically, it was a damned lie, edging toward becoming a statistic. But the thing that lived under Anna's skin-deep disguise didn't mind. Half the time, it didn't know or care. It was altogether too happy to play- no, to become - Lady Rachel's precious little apprentice until Lord Khaz died and the time came to play the mastermind itself. The disguise was more pleasant than the truth, and more fun, so it had taken a liking to it until the truth was but a distant, nagging memory banished to eternal irrelevence in the back of Anna's mind.

The palace of the Elvenqueen! She had only seen dark elves. The ones in the glittering worlds above were supposed to be prettier and grander, with cities that were more beautiful than even Malev. Who could refuse?

Looking slightly surprised, and mostly amused, the Lady Protector á Aumalême zée Seriendé bowed, half-ironically, in reply, less deeply than either elf. Taking the arms of each in turn she greeted the two with informal, lipstick-heavy kisses, and then introduced her retinue, which did not take all that long.

When she finally replied to the handsome elven lord the Lady Protector chose not to use the same language that she had been greeted in, mostly because she felt it would look unseemly for a noble of the Eternal Republic (and of House Seriendé, no less!) to demonstrate a grasp of her motherland’s ancient tongue inferior to that of a foreigner. And it certainly was inferior, indeed Victória felt both shocked and impressed with Glorfindel’s mastery in equal measure.

Ostensibly though, of course, the real reason she spoke in English and not the ancient tongue was because the Lady Protector very politely wished to include the elven lord’s companion, who mercifully thus far had yet to embarrass Victória with her fluency in Xirnian. The Marquise would not wait to give her that chance.

‘I do believe we are acquainted, yes,’ the Lady Protector said to the elven lord, in a tone slightly lower than normal, and with feigned familiarity, although in truth she could not be sure. Victória had never caught Glorfindel’s surname, and she didn’t know if the elf that she had met in Neúvenärta had been a Laurëalótë (but then, weren’t all elves uniquely named?).

Even so, Menelmacar surely would not have sent two Glorfindels to visit Xirnium, and both which such striking golden hair!

‘Pray forgive my frightfully indecorous curiosity,’ Victória continued after a moment, smiling friendlily at the Lady Asine’rin, ‘but I’m rather fascinated by your lovely name. Might it be necrontyr...? I’ve never met... well you understand.’ She merely smiled at the elf once more, baring teeth of the most brilliant white enamel (curious that so obviously predatory a gesture could be used to put people at ease).

Glorfindel’s companion certainly didn’t look much like a necrontyr though, at least not to the Marquise. Where was all that gleaming metal and those supposedly terrifying and ghastly, incandescent laser eyes?

“I just have to dissipate a certain confusion I have sensed. My dynasty’s name is Shakhovskoy. Vasilevs is the Imperial title, not a name,” he said with a smile. “A Rossified version of the Byzantine Basileus, if you will. And yes, it can be confusing, but then again us Taraskovyans are known to be a rather confusing lot.”

"Really?"

Katrina pointed to the rather lonely looking bottle on the end of the row. It was clear glass and had no label other than a crudely melted jagged lightning bolt.

"What's that? Nevermind, I'll have some of whatever it is." She turned back to Mikhail, "I'll confess you're the first Taraskovyan I've ever spoken with directly. I spend most of my time on the fringe. Not a lot of your subjects out there apparently."

A shot glass was placed on the bar and Katrina picked it up and looked carefully at it.

"Kinda small... Cheers!"

Raising it slightly in salute she tossed the clear alcohol down her throat and placed the shot glass back on the bar.

"Another? So tell me Mikhail - what else do Taraskovyan's do that is so confusing?"

"We are honored to make your acquaintances, Your Excellencies, and hope your station here does not drain overmuch. Sol can be rather... hectic at times." Speaker again smiles thinly and flicks his ears. Hopefully the international standard titles of diplomats will do; if not, there will be corrections, and apologies for ignorance, and things will be set straight. No reason to worry, none at all. "We were both diplomats around here before our careers shifted. If you have any questions, we can hopefully help."

...

"A sort of heated brandy would be nice, don't you think?"

The kzintosh nods. "Yes, it would." It fits with the setting more than mead or something vodka-based, at the very least.


With another polite bow, Konrad took his leave to fetch drinks, deciding that their choice was a good one, good enough for himself and his cousin as well.

"I appreciate your openness, my lords!" Aeselle smiles, blushing a little as she smiles, "I would like to return the favour. We have only been stationed aboard our cruiser near Mars for about six solar months, so we have had little time to meet many of the representatives of the local states, let alone their heads! Thankfully, there are eight of us stationed aboard the Darkstar, so we have managed to make steady progress..." she seems a little intimidated without her broader cousin, who seems to have vanished into the crowd.

"So... perhaps you could tell me... more about your people? We have met humans and other elves before... but never ones as... splendid as yourselves!" She seems a little unsure just what to say; her inexperience really starting to show. But she was sure that 'alien' wouldn't be the best thing...

“Admiral, look, it appears that there are other Drow here.”

The admiral in question, Myrica, sighs, speaking as if to a moronic child, “Yes dear. What, you thought we were the only Drow in the world? What did your wonderful matron mother teach you?”

Shooting a nasty glare at the admiral, Rhylmyr seems to recover herself from a moment of slack-jawed amazement, “Admiral! I would like to remind you who has seniority here!”

“And Ambassador,” Myrica says, an impish smile spreading across her features, “I would like to remind you who provides the ride.”

Either this comment, or the approach of the two others stops the conversation and their attention turns to the newcomers.

Rhylmyr seems to completely ignore the male, and instead bows deeply to Ire’arra , “Queen Mother, I am ambassador Rhylmyr, daughter of Matron Mother Olintyrr. It is truly a pleasure to meet you.” She rises and smiles, “We hail from the kingdom of Kephalia, a land a little distant from here, but still on this planet. We have only recently made contact with the world outside of our island kingdom.

It has been a long time” she says, “since we have encountered other Drow outside of our kingdom, and I believe that it will be quite refreshing to see how our sister nations have developed as time as gone on.” Even though she is addressing the male's question, she seems to be speaking directly to the Queen Mother.

The admiral, who is standing behind the Ambassador, seems visibly aghast at the behavior of the Ambassador, and seems to be turning over in her mind exactly how improper Rhylmyr's actions are. She finally steps around the Ambassador to directly face the governor, and addresses him directly,

“The simple answer to your question governor, is that we are located here on this planet, and we are relatively close to this place, as distances go, but that we are far enough removed from everyone else to remain unconnected. You see, our small continent is surrounded by massive mountains, the work of an ancient shaping. These mountains are tall, cold, and relatively impassable by all but our airships. To further make matters more difficult, they are filled with all manner of strange creatures, some who live in the very storm clouds that almost always surround the mountain peaks.

As such, we have never made contact with outside powers, and it was not until recently that we made contact with the C'tan Empire, and by extension, the Menelmacari. I was sent here, along with Ambassador Rhylmyr, to secure Kephalia's position within the international community, strengthen our ties with our new allies, and make some new friends.”

She smiles and winks, “That's the official line, unofficially, I came to have a good time.”

"I appreciate your openness, my lords!" Aeselle smiles, blushing a little as she smiles, "I would like to return the favour. We have only been stationed aboard our cruiser near Mars for about six solar months, so we have had little time to meet many of the representatives of the local states, let alone their heads! Thankfully, there are eight of us stationed aboard the Darkstar, so we have managed to make steady progress..." she seems a little intimidated without her broader cousin, who seems to have vanished into the crowd.

"So... perhaps you could tell me... more about your people? We have met humans and other elves before... but never ones as... splendid as yourselves!" She seems a little unsure just what to say; her inexperience really starting to show. But she was sure that 'alien' wouldn't be the best thing...
The large, hulking kzintosh, filled with carnivore's teeth and sharp obsidian claws, simply smiles good-naturedly and chuckles. The whiffing nostrils are natural; the sort of grumbly rock-grinding noise emulating a human chuckle is affected via habit to translate his more natural body language to humanoid standards. "Yes, we are rather different. One could even say 'alien.'" He makes a dismissive yet friendly gesture with one massive hand. "Please do not worry, Your Excellency. When you have done this as long as we have, it becomes very difficult to get offended."

"To be fair to her," H'zta offers, "the other possibility with old diplomats is they get even more cantankerous, bull-headed and thin-skinned." She smiles slyly. "You know, the kind that take out their existential angst on younger diplomats."

Speaker sighs theatrically. Apparently this sort of banter is standard for them. "Yes, but we are comfortable enough with ourselves."

"And comfortable enough not to play good-cop bad-cop, my lorrrrrrrrrd Patriach?" The kzinrret is a dab hand at a sultry purrumble.

"Please forgive my consort. Since leaving the Federal Service, her sense of humor has lowered. I think corporatism does that to people."

"You know full well, Speaker-Rrit, that my sense of humor has always been this low." It parses like a rebuke, but sounds like a joke. She then turns to smile at Aeselle with a bow. "My apologies. Actually, we only make up about a tenth of the Federated Segments. The large majority are humans, like honorable Hesche and his daughter"--she nods over at the white-tuxedoed Magnus and the red-sari'd Rhiannon--"and others you may find more... usual than us." She shrugs fluidly and chuckles. "As for our people... would you like to tell the tale, my Patriarch?"

"We are something of a... meritocratic species united by nearly going extinct twice." Speaker manages a wry look. "I also happen to be its elected... rrr... autocratic leader."

"Indeed His Holiness is." H'zta flicks her bat-wing ears.

"It is... long and complicated."

"Being equivalent to a president of a country and the Pope of a racial religion simultaneously would be." H'zta nods sagely.

Speaker raises himself up in a Stoic, Heroic, almost Magnus...ic way. "I would say 'see what I have to deal with?' but I accept my burdens with a Heroic smile."

"Never mind him, Your Excellency; His Holiness has standards to live up to."

While he did not particularly care for being ignored on this occasion, Alakantar’s facial expression did not betray his thoughts. He neither appeared disappointed nor made any attempt to address the response – or lack thereof – he had gotten from the Kepthalian ambassador. No, this was not the time to make a scene about it and possibly give her ammunition to use against him, claiming that he was an unstable male or some such. Instead, he directed his response to the one who seems to be a bit more open minded about everything, the admiral.

“Ah! As are we, really. These parties, as fun as it is to relax for once, are an excellent way to get away from home and see who all is out in the universe. You never know who you might stumble across…whether it be old allies from long ago or someone entirely new, such as yourself,” he replied, still holding his usual smile. “And, like you, we are also from this very planet, albeit a considerable distance away from here. The Corporation currently sits on a rather large continent, that is, for the most part, all to itself, and is easily accessible by sea or air. The only notable mountain range spans the core of the nation, but isn’t dangerous enough to present a problem with transcontinental travel.

The governor paused briefly and considered his words before he continued onward. “Now, before we run off on some tangent of misunderstanding, which seems to be common for me, the Chief Advisor and I are the only drow with citizenship in Northrop-Grumman right now. Ninety-eight percent of the known population is human with the rest being made up of a few kinds of elves, nothing spectacular though. But to explain the reason why she and I are here. See, as of now, underneath an island south of the Grummian mainland, is an entirely drow nation. It is inaccessible by any means because of some sort of shielding…or maybe magic that is keeping anyone from landing on that island. The only thing we can do is teleport people off the surface. That’s about it…now, to tell you how we got out…”

The Chief Advisor seemed to know exactly what he was speaking of and promptly cut off what he was saying before he even had a chance. “I existed prior to the founding of this nation and a majority of the human world. However, I physically perished long ago and continued onward for ten thousand years primarily as a being of energy, until I assumed the body of the human chairman of this nation. Then, I was soon granted this newer body by entities with greater powers than I.”

“Right…” Alakantar could say nothing more at the moment because of that strange explanation that Ire’arra had given. It was the truth, of course, but he had not wanted to freak these new people out over something like this. Then again, the old drow could not help herself. Being stuck alone in an abandoned city for ten millennia would dampen ones social skills…considerably.

“…as for myself…my biological family is dead at this point. All I have are those that saved my life when I was a mere infant, the current Chairman and Chairwoman of the Corporation, who subsequently adopted me.” He gave a slight nod over in the direction of a human male in a military uniform and his elven wife next to him. But then, his attention turned back – not to the admiral, but instead the ambassador – and appeared more somber. “As you might have guessed, I was never raised under your social system, and I doubt I ever will. I cannot expect you to treat me as I believe one should any person. That is ultimately your choice, and I respect that, and I understand that...”

A grin once again crept across his face as he addressed the admiral once more and gestured towards the bar. “Now that I’ve completely filled all your heads with information and rambled far more than I should, I think it’s time for a drink. What do you say…er…hrm…I believe I must have missed your name somewhere in there…”

'Blessed mother of night!' Aeselle thought to herself, smiling softly and listening to the two tall kzin, 'What have I gotten myself into? I can't be qualified for this!'

"Most fascinating my lords!" she listens intently, soaking in the particulars of their speech and body language. She's reassured to no end that they're being quite nice and open, which is very rare when dealing with her own kind. They'd been rather willing to overlook her inexperienced stumbling, too, which was always a nice bonus.

"Amongst our people, the church is kept quite separate from the courts of the Six Cities, by the decree of Malekith," she pauses, a slight look of concern crossing her fine features, then she bows again.

"I'm sorry, I wonder where my cousin has wandered off to. His delay is..." she trails off, muttering something in her native language. With a sigh, she runs her fingers through her short hair, brushing it back. " It is unacceptable. But you have many different people living together, in one nation? Amazing..."

---

Konrad, of course, was taking his time. The big catlike people had unnerved him, as would most things who possessed claws and teeth the size of daggers. He took the scenic route, passing by and actually smiling at groups of people when they turned to look at him. He was doing his best to be diplomatic, as he didn't want to embarrass himself, after all. It would be a shame to return home next year for the Hanil Kar and be forced to tell his father that he'd failed to even establish himself as a lowly ambassador to some far-flung Solar nation.

The bar seemed rather busy after he placed his order, so he decided to loiter, sure that his cousin would have fun with the big... foreigners. Then he spotted a group of rather interesting females nearby who bore a striking resemblance to his own people, save for the fact their hair and skin tones were inverted by comparison. With a grin, he decided they might make some interesting conversation while he waited for service, so he approached to introduce himself...

(Ha, druchii meets some drow... yay dark elves. :P)

"This place is bigger than the Citadel." Anna's observation was blatantly obvious. The entire process of landing had hammered the sheer scale of the Palace into the minds of the small Kandarinese delegation. The hallway in which they now stood was alone enough to comfortably fit many thousands of people.

"Yeah, but ours is taller." Rachel added. "Not least because these people built on the ground. We insisted on having something to bolt it to all the way up. Anyway, we're about to meet a lot of very important people, and some others who are just self-important. Try to be civil."

"What makes you think I won't?" Anna said defensively.

"Experience." The Eldar Lady's voice briefly changed to a tone with all the cheeriness of a very slow violin solo. "A lot of these things collapse into debauchery after a few hours. It's not that I don't trust you, but nobody's civil when that happens."

"Okay. So that's when we leave?"

"Normally, that's when we forge press badges. I don't think that'll work here, so yes, that may be when we go to plan B." Rachel patted her niece on the head reassuringly. "But don't worry, it won't be that bad. You'll like it. We might even meet a few old friends."

And so, a few minutes, a wrong turn and a few embarassed requests for directions later, the Kandarinese arrived at the main hall.

"Most fascinating my lords!" she listens intently, soaking in the particulars of their speech and body language. ... "Amongst our people, the church is kept quite separate from the courts of the Six Cities, by the decree of Malekith," she pauses, a slight look of concern crossing her fine features, then she bows again.

"I'm sorry, I wonder where my cousin has wandered off to. His delay is... It is unacceptable. But you have many different people living together, in one nation? Amazing..."
When one's lived amongst any alien culture for as many yedecemi as Speaker has (maybe a good forty to fifty by his own persrec), one learns to affect their habits and body language. In this case, the elected 'Supreme Emperor' manages, with a physiology never adapted to the gesture, to simulate a rather good attempt at a human wry smirk. Not grin, mind you; the kzinti habit of never exposing their teeth never died out, to the point that now the humans don't grin with bared teeth unless they are attempting a kzingrin of their own.

Except for Magnus.

He doesn't count.

"Curiously enough, Your Excellency, the separation of church and state is also a matter of the laws of the Segments. Pragmatism does force us to at least admit the possibility of some mixing," the ratcat explains. "As the Segments used to be an Islamic majority and is still an Islamic plurality, things like timing the day with prayer cycles--right now would be Maghreb--are commonplace. We are allowed to display the trappings of religion so long as we do not endorse it; our government is decidedly secular, but made of spiritual people. We have a small department for religious policy, solely to arrange how best to navigate with all the various religions in the Segments. We are not always successful, but..." He shrugs his broad shoulders. "My own position of Patriarch is quite controversial. I have done my best to keep the two separate and have been honest in my decisions where they conflict. We are... a nation built on controversy. Even if not everyone is appeased, they can usually tolerate whatever it is they disagree with." He glances slyly at his consort. "After all, it is not like I asked to be Patriarch. Meddlesome kzinrret."

"Guilty!" H'zta gloats through a sly prideful smile, the pride diffusing through her entire body language.

"Not that I could have ever made Patriarch without the support of a full-name," Speaker quips. At least, it seems like a quip.

"Bah." H'zta swats Speaker's bicep without force. "You rightfully take more pride in your half-name than any dozen full-names do with their random set of syllables. All I needed to do was provide a distraction." Was that a sort of slinky sinuous motion ending with a flick of her tufted tail? No. Couldn't be. Not from highly respected leaders in public.

"And distract you did. Rrrrrowr. At any length, Your Excellency," he returns his attention to Aeselle, "there is nothing requiring forgiveness." Stretching up a bit, Speaker peeks over the heads of the crowd and quickly spots the wandering Konrad before returning to slouching comfortably. "He may still be a few minutes, not that he can be blamed." He fears the Kzin. In this is no need for apology. "Still, as allies and very good friends of the host, we would be remiss in not aiding the Elentari in her hospitality. Is there any drink I can get you, Your Excellency?"

The little flick, which might have gone unnoticed by those of less acute senses, made the young noblewoman playing at diplomat smile fondly. She was getting more comfortable with the two of them, surprised that for all their outwardly alien appearance, they were actually quite like most other sentient beings out there.

"It would seem that our systems of governance are more similar, perhaps, then I thought. The Witch King presides over the Six Cities, the Black Arks, and the Temple of Khaine. My uncle, actually, is the drachau of Karond Kar, and so is second only to Malekith Himself, and the other five drachau, in authority. Likewise, the Temple's High Queen is kept strictly in her place, in order to keep the... old brand of worship from returning. Though the populace is still devout, the old traditions have been changed down the centuries to reflect modern needs and concerns..."

She thought she was getting the hang of this, in spite of the massive size difference and slight strain in her neck from keeping a professional level of eye contact. She was even starting to like them, especially their rather playful attitudes (which she assumed she was only privileged to see because of the light and festive atmosphere).

At least until Speaker offered to fetch her a drink. Then she almost did a double-take.

Not that she didn't want a drink. It was just, in her mind, a serious breach of protocol for her to allow a lord of such high standing to stoop so low as to fetch her a drink. It was far beyond her station (to her own people, at any rate) for them to be bothering addressing her like they did, but finally she couldn't help but say something!

"Nn... no no, my lord! Please, do not trouble yourself on my lowly account!" she tumbles out, before looking at them wide-eyed as she realized she'd just blurted that out in druhir. Trying to cover for herself, she quickly repeated herself in english, though with more embarrassed stammering!

I hope I didn't just blow my chance at getting that permanent position... was all she could think as she cringed inwardly...

"It would seem that our systems of governance are more similar, perhaps, then I thought. The Witch King presides over the Six Cities, the Black Arks, and the Temple of Khaine. My uncle, actually, is the drachau of Karond Kar, and so is second only to Malekith Himself, and the other five drachau, in authority. Likewise, the Temple's High Queen is kept strictly in her place, in order to keep the... old brand of worship from returning. Though the populace is still devout, the old traditions have been changed down the centuries to reflect modern needs and concerns..."

She thought she was getting the hang of this, in spite of the massive size difference and slight strain in her neck from keeping a professional level of eye contact.
At the first signs of neck strain, the kzinti step back smoothly. It's just something they've adapted to over time. They listen attentively, and to their credit recognize but make no comment concerning Khaine. Reports from Tor Yvresse, logs from Menelmacar and Aelosia, and various other places told them all they needed to know, although given how they worship the One Fanged God with whom good Heroes hunt for all eternity, well... they can't say too much.

At least until Speaker offered to fetch her a drink. Then she almost did a double-take.

"Nn... no no, my lord! Please, do not trouble yourself on my lowly account!"
The kzinti glance at each other, and smile good-naturedly. "Your Excellency," Speaker says gently, "it is a matter of our culture that we don't really think of people as high or lowly. There is a Noldo carrying a tray just a few paces away."--his paces are apparently or can apparently be quite long--"It would not take me but a moment. I would not be troubled but, if the thought makes you uncomfortable, I will abstain." He smiles good-naturedly, with another slow wink of his ears. "This is just the learning curve. We must all adapt to new cultures in our line of business."

"You know I'm no good at parties," Tsaraine's venerable-in-fact if not venerable-in-form Arkhora grumbles. "I only agreed to come to avoid Ksandakt Ktohr back home." Rene Seingult, in deference to her position and long tradition, is dressed in her usual unrelieved black. In grudging acknowledgement of the festive season and of the concept of fashion, the traditional long vlrsiradt coat is a rather nice silk brocade (albeit, of course, entirely black) and cut rather closer to the body than is traditional. There's even a little embroidered braid (silver) on the high mandarin collar.

"Practice, O Great and Powerful Leader." Ysarika Tanekazrai bends to make a minute adjustment to the twin klrsukali blades hanging at Rene's waist. "Besides," she grins, "Elisa Day will be here ..."

Rene stands straighter, and smiles, and clamps down the smile into a neutral line. Elisa Day is ... a complication, an accursed and blessed and most wonderful complication, a knot that she is still trying to work out. Things are less complicated than they were, ainra eka Ruki, but still.

Ysarika regards it all as gloriously uncomplicated, but then the Lady Protector's Kynaraikh citizenry are descended from peasant stock, and ruled with disinterested disdain for many centuries by the Kymnari; their notions of courtship, romance, and propriety are scandalously liberal by Tsarainese standards, even if far from those of the dangerously libertine Hackers. The two states make uneasy bedfellows, despite the political arrangements which have rendered Kynarai a Palatinate, an at least nominal dependency of the Greater Ascendancy.

The Lady Protector wears a long, snugly-fitting halterneck dress of some glossy white fabric, a similar shade to her platinum-blonde hair. She fills it out quite well, as do most of her Hyazinari ethnicity, who tend to curve more than the taller, more angular Tsakh.

On her other side, young Erin Ingreidt (one quarter Rene's age, about one-twentieth her cynicism, and an infinitesimal fraction of Ysarika's worldliness) is blushing furiously, her face much the same colour as her Rukine priestess' robes and her hair. The young Aren and the Lady Protector are odd companions, far removed from the dead or sundered friends of her youth, and it still surprises Rene at times that she likes these people with whom she has so little in common.

"Well," she says, as they pause outside the great hall, "Let us go in."

Iyanna spent a few more minutes deep in conversation with Nais before leaving the Ambassador with a slight smile, before making her own way through the room. For a moment she felt alone even surrounded by people and a slight tilt came to her head followed by a more relaxed posture, her missing companion was it appeared dozing happily in her rooms, although she had no doubt the Gryinx would appear when food was brought out. After only a brief circle of the room she at last spotted another familiar face, beyond that of her hosts, who where no doubt rather occupied, a face that was growing increasingly familiar these days.

With what passed for mischievous look on her face she approached the ‘young’ ambassador from behind as she looked lost in conversation before at last speaking up. ‘Ambassador Aeselle, I am pleased to see you once more.’ For a second the eyes seemed to look a little deeper than expected and a true smile broke out on her face. ’I trust my friend was able to produce the results looked for?’ A teasing tone entered her voice there before settling back into a more formal style. ‘In either case could you do me the honour of formally introducing me to your companions?’ The look for the briefest of seconds was a lot warmer than her tone suggested.

Meanwhile, Max's gaze stops dead on Ravelyn, blue eyes lighting up as they sweep the woman's figure, drinking in her appearance. Grinning brightly (but not quite as brightly, say, Magnus and his signal-mirror grin,) the green-suited diplomat makes a swift trip across the room to be introduced to the dark-winged vision of loveliness and her scaly companion.

"My lady!" As soon as Max is arrived, the diplomat falls to one knee with a flourish before Ravelyn, offering Goor a winning smile and nod of acknowledgment. "And lord. It is my deepest pleasure to make your acquaintances. It seems nigh criminal that here we are at this delightful elfy party, and it seems these people are so boorish as to ignore such visages of elegance!"

To the paranormally attuned, the diplomat registers as completely harmless, and to the observant, Max is clearly unarmed. "I am but a humble diplomat in the service of the Lady Shogun Firefury Amahira; Maxmillian Patrick Christof the Fourth. But please, call me Max;" A flourish feigning distress. "I fear I get 'Maxmillian'ed and 'Mr. Christof'ed to death at work as is."

Goor eyed the man kneeling before the two of them with a bit of amusement, before nodding. "I am Goor. Two o's and no e." he doesn't introduce Rave as, well... she's more than capable. "I do not recognize your ruler's name, I'm afraid. Been secluded for too many decades, I suppose."

I am afraid we will have to continue this conversation later, dear friend, she communicated to him silently as another man in a green suit approached them. She shifted her gaze to him, her crimson eyes burning as they normally, like small pools of red wine. Her eyes were lined with dark lashes the same chocolate auburn color as her hair. While the red in her hair didnt' show inside, in the sun it would glimmer. In the artificial light provided by the palace, it was darker. Her skin was very pale in this light or otherwise, and seemed ethereal, as did her prescence, and it had every right to be.

"Every right to be ignored when you don't really know anyone here. The realm of the elves is normally too far from my nation to have had prior interactions with. I don't suppose they have had contact with anyone of my...kind before either," she explained. She understood, and wondered if the man had any idea, or was just taking her for a pretty face. She offered her hand; it was cold, as was the rest of her skin. However, in being Azrael, it could get heated quite quickly as could her temper. Over the years she had learned to control it. As she spoke, glimpses of her fangs were visible, but not overly so. She shifted her black wings outward a bit. They were not just for show; they were formally functional. She introduced herself.

"I am Ravelyn Shentavo, former Empress of the Three United Empires," She wondered silently if this man was human or not. She scanned him quickly with those smoldering crimson eyes. He was harmless; to her and Goor that was, but she couldn't figure out if there was something more behind that smile. She hated not knowing. She sensed something else within his eyes. Attraction? Could it be? Or admiration? Either way, 'harmless' wasn't the sort that attracted the seraphic. If you were harmless, you had no hopes of keeping up, or peeking her interest. Vaughn, before he died, nearly got both of them killed. Did, actually, in a way. Corothisia had his own mess of issues. Now one was dead, and the other hadn't contacted her in a very very long time. Who knows, she could meet someone here. No one here seemed particularly interesting though, and only one had approached her for an introduction. It was to be expected though.

"Mmm..." Alessa murmured from the dark corner where Sempero was busy doing as many wonderful things to her as he could without either of them getting undressed. "That feels amazing..." She murmured breathily into his chest, clinging tightly to him, her wings wrapped around them to provide some additional modesty. A couple of other thoughts occured to her as he worked on her, but she stifled them by biting his skin as gently as she could manage. Then she stiffened and rolled her eyes. "No, not now..."

"Your Majesty!" The voice called. "I have something to tell you!"

"Oh god...hide me..." She retracted her wings and pushed closer against Semp, dragging him around to face against the wall and push her tight between the wall and his body. Her eyes closed as being in such a pleasant situation registered with her, but she had no opportunity to enjoy it as she quickly began to devise a spell to render herself invisible to...

"Oh! Your Majesty!"

Too late. The Archchancellor had found her. "Your Majesty! I've found the greatest library I've ever seen! I estimate..." He tilted his head and viewed Alessa's predicament. "Am I interrupting something? Your face is flushed, your heartbeat appears to have increased, and your..."

"Yes, Kouran, you are." Alessa hissed, quickly preventing him from finishing his thought and pulling Semp's arm up to a more strategic spot. "Look, is this really important? Please? Have you received a comm from the shuttle that Daray and Radmiel have started waging war on eachother? Are we being invaded by Orks?"

The Archancellor looked shocked. "Of course not! No, I just wanted to tell you that I found the most incredible library! Not even like the ones at home! You can actually just go into this! Anyone... Your majesty..." Kouran began, looking at his feet. "Your shoe-heel appears to be pressing into my feet."

Alessa frowned, and then tried to stomp up and down again. She groaned and cursed. "Stupid...suppression...field..."

"Yes, it is rather a curious magical field. Similar, I believe, in effect to the one in the old temple of the light in Adytum. Did I ever tell you about the time..."

"Oh! Oh my! Look over there!" Alessa pointed over his shoulder. "It's a real live eldar lord! With a soulcrystal! And a vampire! Go study them for me, won't you?"

"Al right, but it is really a very nice..." He turned around to look, but when he turned back to finish his speech neither Alessa or Sempero were there anymore. "How odd."

"Lord Goor, Lady Shentavo... or may I be permitted to call you Lady Ravelyn?" Max practically oozes charm... and not all of it is directed just at Ravelyn, either; Goor receives nearly as many appreciative glances. While not nearly as exotic in appearance as the pair; with nicely chiseled features, neatly kept dark hair and brilliant blue eyes, the diplomat isn't bad looking by human standards. "It is my deepest pleasure to speak with you both."

At Ravelyn's comment about not knowing anyone at the party, Max gets back upright and makes a tsk noise in the direction of the other party-goers before raising the offered hand briefly to his lips for a polite kiss. "Ah, but is merely the not knowing someone any excuse for rudeness?"

It seems Max is utterly unfazed by the flutter of wings or sight of fangs... but considering the diplomat arrived originally in the company of an armored mechanoid and a winged, scaly half-dragon looking creature, perhaps things not human are simply commonplace. "It is a diplomat's duty, a nigh-sacred mission to meet with the unknown head-on!... often over drinks and light snacks." A wry wink accompanies the statement and Max briefly scans the nearby area.

"I've dealt with our elfy hosts on other occasions, shall we seize generous advantage of their hospitality?" The diplomat apparently considers most of the world with an amused air and energetic patience. "While they do sometimes get rather.... stuffy.... the food and wine is usually of excellent quality."

He indicates the refreshments and the promise of feasting to come. "It is perhaps for the best that the Lady Shogun was unable to attend tonight. She is a reploid, a machine; and thus such lavishness is rather wasted on her." Max gives Ravelyn and Goor a secretive, jesting wink. "But then, in my experience, she tends to be ill-suited to such events anyway."

"Yes, you may call me as such," she commented. A brief pause.

“Unfortunately the food and wine taste as nothing to me,” she sighed softly, seeming a bit sad. She had not even gotten the chance to taste the foods of the world before she was taken by vampiric embrace against her will so many millennia ago. She was caught in the silent memory of what food and liquor used to taste like. She could, of course drink it, but it would give her no pleasure. It was a true shame that the angel had fallen in that manner, but she had become stronger because of it. Even so, Ravelyn accompanies Max along with Goor to the refreshments. Her friend might like some of it. She picks a fine red wine, pours herself a glass, and sips it slowly. At least the color was right. Internally she sighed. While she wasn’t hungry, as ancients generally master their hunger and can go a long time without blood, she secretly craved it. She had not tasted blood in a rather long time, especially not from a living being. Normally it came from her bloodstone; artificially created. She didn’t expect to get any soon, either, so she dealt with her red wine which reflected in her sanguine colored eyes.

He was a little two sugary for her liking, in demeanor that is, for her to be completely at ease. At least he was polite, but part of him seemed fake. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what was driving her so mad. She would be polite in response, however, and had been very agreeable so far. At least it was someone to talk to. Those blue eyes of his, reminded her of Vaughn. Was that what was bothering her?

"Of course, my lord," Aeselle said, slowly, to make sure she's speaking the correct language. She bows again, unable to help herself. "It is... difficult for me, I think, but it will become easier in time. One doesn't throw off a few centuries of tradition overnight..."

‘Ambassador Aeselle, I am pleased to see you once more.’ ... ‘In either case could you do me the honour of formally introducing me to your companions?’

Blinking, a little, perhaps in shock, Aeselle just smiled when she finally sees Iyanna. It took a moment for her training to assert itself, which caused her to bow to the delicate eldar. She seems to be doing that a lot.

"Iyanna! An unexpected pleasure. Please, join us, I.. I was just having a most enlightening conversation with His Holiness, Emperor Speaker-Rrit, and his very charming companion Lady H'zta. Please, join us..." she smiles, trying not to look too shell-shocked. It was going to be a long night for the young noblewoman...

"Your Holiness, this is a close friend of mine, Iyanna Arienal, seer of Tor Yvresse," she hopes she'd remembered everyone's proper titles and not fouled the pronunciation too badly. It got rather confusing when you started throwing in honourifics and names in languages that you'd never heard of just a few hours before...

Okay, so a faux pas. But the poor thing is already quailing with overexertion on the 'I must do everything right' angle, and so there's no real reason to get picky about how the Holiness title and the Supreme Emperor title don't go toge... th..

Holiness?

Speaker's left ear twitches a little bit, then he bows to the recently approached Eldar. "Honored, Seer Iyanna Arienal." The kzinti put a lot of shrift on names. "Padishah Speaker-Rrit at your service, if the 'Supreme Emperor' title is too unwieldy." He glances over at H'zta to assign a bit of blame over the 'Holiness' title popping up. First Nathi, and now her. Yes, it is accurate. No, it doesn't fit at all with his secular title.

H'zta takes the glance with a pause. "My apologies," she says directed to both the Seer and the junior diplomat, "but I seem to have caused some confusion concerning my consort's titles. The 'Holiness' form of address is only really used with any seriousness in... rrr... theological circles. Otherwise, it's usually just me or the Dread Lady Nathicana teasing him." She smiles just apologetically enough to get the contrition across.

"With that sorted out," Speaker says in a theatrically long-suffering way (did he just wink and shrug at Aeselle? No. Couldn't have. Fancy-schmancy leaders don't do that sort of thing), "I understand how tradition can be hard to shake. I was just about to go for drinks, Seer; would you like anything?"

Sempero would happily like to admit he was good at this, although one would expect him to be given he wasn't exactly lacking in experience. Still, every little soft moan was pleasing to his ears and his ego, and he took every little opportunity he could to make her squirm, playing a game between modesty and ludeness that he was just about winning, especially with the help of the squirming little angel beneath him.

Then the rolling eyes and hesitating comment. At first thinking he had misstepped, he spun round to see the approaching Roanian. He could do little but listen to the conversation Alessa had next to his shoulder, surprise turning to bemusement, then to smirking, then to outright laughter as Alessa pulled him away in the small diversion created by one of the most interesting 'look over there' jokes he had heard in a while.

They moved back out into the hall, Alessa dragging the not particularly unwilling Sempero by the hand as they found another cozy and out the way spot.

"I'm sorry about...him" she seemed to mutter as she shoved him back into position.

"No need," he grinned, putting arms with biceps as thick as the Roanian's waist around her protectively, and just held her close for a moment. "I actually kinda like him. You have to admit that was pretty funny."

"Ah, a thousand pardons, m'lady." Sorrow clouds those shining blue eyes briefly. "It's saddens me to know that one so lovely to the eyes cannot know the pleasures of the tongue."

Suddenly solemn, Max selects a a similar wine and opts to abstain from the food available. "I shall abstain for the time being then. It would be unseemly for a gentleman to partake in the presence of a lady who cannot likewise enjoy it."

Now, if one were to call the diplomat sugary aloud, the response would likely be a grin and a wink followed by an offer for a taste test to verify the claim. Luckily Max isn't some sort of mindreader, so the diplomat is mercifully oblivious to Ravelyn's mental assessment. Instead Max lifts the goblet in a toast, a shadow of that earlier smile surfacing again. "To that which was, that which cannot be, and... perhaps to that which may yet happen."

I know that pleasure, she sighed internally once more. "Drink, eat...please. I've had many lifetimes to enjoy such," she implored him. She toasted and took another sip, which finished off that glass of wine. "Don't worry about me." If only to find a dark brooding male who didn't want company and could enjoy the darkness, if only that were Max, and Max were Vaughn, she would have been all set. The two looked so very much alike despite the different demeanors. But Max wasn't Vaughn, he was human; a charming one at that, and not dark. So many thoughts in one mind made her stare at him for a split second, before she could apologize saying that he reminded her of someone else from a long time ago.

"You really are a bit...sugary for a diplomat, if that is what you would term it as. Nothing against your character or everything, but it seems out of place. Then again, diplomats have to please everyone."

Goor follows the pair and seems amused, still. "You can call me Goor... I hold no official rank."

He takes a sip of the drink and moves behind Ravelyn to the food, taking slightly more than was appropriate for such a gathering and munches away, even though he clearly heard the diplomat's words. Why did he do it? To amuse himself, watching whatever reaction might come. Goor never claimed to be a gentleman, after all. Not with all those furs and weapons.

The food was what he expected... decent, but not what he would have chosen. Then again, a pile of meat that bleeds when you poke it probably wouldn't be suitable for the occasion.

He further proves his lack of gentlemanliness by turning towards the man and smirking a tad. "I'm just wondering... do you talk to everyone like this, or only dignitaries? You sound like you're trying to court us or something." He chuckles.

Max chuckles at Ravelyn's remark and offers up one wrist with the suit cuff nudged back slightly to expose the tanned skin of the wrist and arm. "I have been called many things m'lady, though sugary is perhaps a new one." Another wink- the diplomat is clearly joking. "I would offer a taste test to ascertain just how sugary I am, though I suppose that's already been established to be ineffective."

Another chuckle at Goor's comment, though Max seems again unfazed by the reptilian's behavior. "Ah, you've caught me out! It's... something of a habit. After all, the job of diplomat and the job of a... suitor... are uncannily similar, are they not? Both must try to please others for a living." The diplomat winks at Goor. "If my demeanor is a bit too up and perky for your liking, I shall strive to behave more appropriately."

Max sips at the wine, deciding it might be a good time to shift to conversation. "I fear I am as ignorant of you and your nation as you are of mine. Unfortunately I'm not permitted to travel in my work as much as I would like; the Diplomatic Corps seems to think my greatest skill is pushing paperwork." A theatrical sigh escapes Max's lips. "My coworkers in international relations tend to feel... threatened... by my presence, and often seem to conspire to keep me rooted to the home office, as it were."

Ranisath smiled, to one side, conferring with Ilyatur and a dark haired, violet-eyed druchii princess in a long, slinky dress patterned after a view from a dust nebula somewhere, diamonds and purple gemstones covering it, with an Ithilmar torc like band around her neck, in the fashion of almost all druchii above a certain social station (visible tokens of being under some house or person’s protection were… valuable). “Nearly ready?” he asked.

“Almost,” Ilyatur replied, “Some of the things require more extensive preparation, and some are cooling, or rising to room temperature…”

“Humm,” Ranisath said, “I’ll announce it in five minutes,” he said, nodding to Ilyatur and walking away, with the druchii princess following with him demurely, as Sirithil went to check on something else; he thought it might have been something security related.


Sirithil, meanwhile, was talking to a woman a touch shorter than her, in the white and black armour of the Mornahossë, “Well. If you can’t resolve it easily, let it slide, and just have the staff keep an eye on the girl,” she was saying. Idhrindiel nodded, and took a step back, to stand nonchalantly in a small arch made by a branch in one of the great pullars.


Looking at Barham, de Vere smiled thinly. “Yes,” he said, giving the man a slight stare. Of course, despite looking ‘merely’ human, ‘Paul’ had a stare whose intense quality had been known to terrify alligators into turning tail, and his handshake spoke of surprising strength for, well, anything short of an industrial stamping machine, though he didn’t make it his intention to break any bones, “past…mistakes. And I’m sure there’ll be lots of interesting people to see, here later.”

Celebrimbor smiled, “I think we can probably get to talk to one or the other now, if you like,” he said, “And yes. But that’s just Mars. I don’t think we’ve actually done much other than quarantine and sterilise the area yet. I suppose someone might put a space elevator on it, but really, we elves can come up with much better crazy vanity projects than that.

Meanwhile, Asine’rin smiled at the Xirniumite guest, “Yes,” she said, in Sindarin, though she could speak any language she pleased, it wasn’t from simply learning it the ‘proper’ way. “It translates to ‘Great Lady,’” she said, “I am of course, not a necrontyr,” she nodded over at Arnran almost imperceptibly, “though. I’m actually a C’tan…”

The Vasilevs

Calling an Emperor by his first name, in a clear violation of all known protocols and etiquette was something that many would take an offense at. Mikhail, however, somehow did not. In fact, it amused him more than it annoyed him, a certain freshness from all the “Your Most August Majesty”, “Your Majesty”, “Sire” and other proper styles of address.

“Well, Ekaterina,” the Vasilevs addressed the lady from Sunset in the Russian version of her name, “first of all there is a whole confusing protocol at how to correctly address the Vasilevs of all Taraskovya. But let us just say that I gave you the duly and proper authorization to call me by my first name only.”



The Velikaya Kniajna

The talk between the Grand Duchess of Taraskovya and the Governor of United Indiastan continues.

Ravelyn looked at his wrist and raised a brow. "I can certainly taste blood..." she drifted off. That was the only thing she could really taste, apart from a few other things. She listened to him talk, and couldn't help but to chuckle. "Find you threatening?" She couldn't supress a wide smile, wide enough to show that she had a double set of fangs; two uppers right next to each other. She had many experiences with diplomacy in her time, and she was a very intimidating woman, even though she wasn't empress any more. It had never been the fact that she was empress that she was feared in many places.

"I'm afraid I'm known for my negotiations and military experience," as well as my bite. She shrugged lightly, which shifted the waist long waves slightly. Her diamond choker caught the light beautifully.

"How could it not be a fine evening? Many new and interesting people to meet, wonderful decor, free drinks, probably free food at some point... maybe some dancing, who knows? There's life just waiting to be lived, and that's what makes it fine to me."

Amalria smiled, somewhat, as he winked at her, more as a response than agreement with anything that he had said. As she began to settle back into the rhythm of his voice, she felt herself more at ease, and her earlier attempts at responding, her earlier nervousness began to lift from her. She was here, she realized, as a diplomat, an equal to all who were here, and, moreover, she deserved to be here. For a brief second she smiled again, this time much more of an inward smile, to herself. This was, indeed, her choice. She was as good as anyone else here - better than many, she guessed - and her youth would be no bar to her success. As for now, it was simply a discussion with an interesting man from Scolopendra. A very interesting man, in fact.

"That's an idealistic vision, Mr. Hesche." Her voice was cool, and there was the hint of a jest around its edges. Taking life as it came? He must have been, well, insane! Cocking her head to the side, her short-cut black hair framing her face as she did so, she continued. "Unfortunately, life isn't always like that, is it? Fine to you, it may be, but, after all, this is work." She pondered the choice of the words as she delivered them. Perhaps "work" hadn't been the correct choice. Perhaps "business" would have been a better choice. Or something else entirely. "Though, I admit, a spot of dancing might be quite pleasurable indeed." Now she smiled ever-so-slightly, almost charmingly. "Let him think of that as it is," she thought to herself, silently grinning inside of her head, as well.

"As for what I do... well, I'm a diplomat of sorts too. The 'Envoy to New Worlds' title was originally in jest but ended up sticking, I guess. Besides the diplomacy there's a bit of acting, and a lot of derring-do. Actually, so much of the last that it's essentially my profession now... but seriously, who believes it when someone says they're a professional adventurer, hm? I did some business along that vein recently around this part of the world... well, north of it, actually, but it was still a part of Menelmacar's extended domains... and so I was able to convince the boss to let me come. The slightly shorter of the two very bright orange ones there. I'm looking forward to it as a social experience... and if I may ask, ma'am, how are you looking forward to this particular get-together? A matter of business, or pleasure?"

At the last, Amalria broke into laughter. It was an audacious question, a very bold one, but one that she would have expected from the man across from her. So, he was a "professional adventurer". It didn't come as a surprise. Had Amalria been born in a more worldly and less isolationist country, she might have perhaps assumed it from his gait and walk. As it was, there were few men like Magnus Hesche in Yafor 2 (as Amalria would soon come to know, Magnus Hesche was the only one of his kind in the world) , but she had gaged him as far as she would ever end up gaging him. As Amalria would later know very well, a question such as the one that had just been delivered was not simply commonplace Magnus Hesche - it was purely Magnus Hesche. It was a question that only he could deliver, in that incomparable way, with that smile, and that...subtle something-else attached. He was, after all, Magnus Hesche.

"A professional adventurer, eh?" Her smile was far brighter than any other that she had made through the conversation. "I'm not surprised. You seem the...type." Her continued grin indicated that there was not meant to be any sort of insult or message there - she was simply saying what she had said. Most likely the extraordinarily-perceptive Magnus Hesche would have easily understood that. "I can understand why you might want a social experience, here. This is, after all, a party, of a sort." At what she had said, Amalria quickly colored and attempted to further explain what she had meant. "In fact, it's quite an interesting party. Lots of, uhm, interesting people." Amalria colored some more as she realized her subterfuge was going, well, nowhere. Changing the subject would have to do the trick. Hopefully, her blushing had not been visible on her brown skin tone. Hopefully, but unlikely, nonetheless.

"I'm here on business, myself. Ambassador to Tiburon, never thought I'd be here, come to think of it. But Jyorin Kiamelar - that's our Foreign Minister," she quickly hastened to say, in case he didn't know the Foreign Minister (which, she realized later, was all too likely) " - he picked me up, and here I am. Working, of course. I'm supposed to be working." She quickly regained herself, and replaced, on her face, the mysterious smile that had been there previously. "But, after all, there's nothing wrong with a bit of pleasure at a party, is there?"

Goor chuckled. "Tempting a vampire with veins and arteries? You're a risk taker, I'll grant you that much. Even I won't do something like that."

He didn't comment on his intimidating factor, thinking Rave had done a well enough job on that front.

Max nods knowingly at Ravelyn's remark about blood. "I hadn't realized a lady of your standing would have a fondness for such. It is a nice enough taste every now and again." The diplomat smiles again; not the beaming grin from before, but a milder, slightly less flamboyant smile that seems in keeping with his offer to tone it down some. "And yes, it baffles me as well. I am there to merely perform a task, and to perform it to the best of my ability. Yet the very act of doing so seems to prick at fragile egos. Rather vexing, really."

Goor's comment finally gets a reaction out of Max other than bemused cheer, one eyebrow lifting in slightly flustered surprise as the diplomat looks between the vampire and her guard. "Ah, m'lady, I fear I must beg your pardon yet again! The thought hadn't occurred to me that you were a lady of the night, so to speak. I apologize most profusely if I have caused offense in my ignorance."

Not quite the sort of spaz someone might expect to see in response to learning that 'Oh, by the way, this person you've been chatting with is a blood sucking dark creature out of myth.' Perhaps the Shogunate's mythos lacks that sort of social conditioning, or Max is quite good at masking such reactions; it's really hard to say.

Max does a commendable job of recovering quickly though. "I suppose then it's rather fortunate for me that I'm... ah... a bit bloodless myself."

And then another one of those smarmy winks.

“Well, Ekaterina,” the Vasilevs addressed the lady from Sunset in the Russian version of her name, “first of all there is a whole confusing protocol at how to correctly address the Vasilevs of all Taraskovya. But let us just say that I gave you the duly and proper authorization to call me by my first name only.”


Not that she would have given a damn anyway, but...

"Thank you, and Ekaterina is fine. I admit I'm not much one for diplomacy or diplomatic events. I'm an engineer and scientist by profession with a pass through officer's school. 'Mobilitas, Versatilis, Agnitio...' Perhaps she's brought me here to work on the Middle Latin."

She swallowed her next drink and thanked the bartender before taking Mikhail's arm again and moving back out into the crowd.

"Tell me a little bit about yourself then. Pretend I don't plan on reading your dossier when I get home..."

As the evening rolled on, the Grummian group seemed to gradually splinter as each member wandered off and found someone more suitable to talk to. It was only natural; not everyone wanted to sit by and listen as the Chairman and Chairwoman prattled along with their business-talk, and of course, if one did find the topic interesting, one would never be able to get a word into the generally overpowering Grummian leaders.

Now, the last one to leave the group was the Vice Chairman, who had begun to wander aimlessly about the room, listening in on the various conversations that were being held amongst those in attendance. He had nothing better to do and found this event to be quite boring. In fact, all that he seemed to think about was the pile of paperwork to finish on his desk back at home. He would have rather worked through the holiday but he was pushed, or more accurately threatened with dismissal, if he didn’t take some time off to enjoy himself. But he wasn’t enjoying himself here, at the moment.

His attention was quickly drawn by the commotion created by the Roanians as he passed, and the Noldor stopped briefly, facing back towards the center of the hall, and listened intently to the conversation going on. “Hrmm…”

It was not until Alessa and Sempero disappeared before he approached the Archchancellor. “Ah, I see another shares my love for the knowledge contained within the universe’s greatest libraries. One never knows all that which is contained within. I could very well spend hours in such a place.” He then extended his hand for a handshake. “I am Vice Chairman Shiran Naelthasser of the Northrop-Grumman Corporation. It is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The Vasilevs stood still for a mere second, calming down the woman’s initiative a bit before the two proceeded into the crowd. Somehow, all this spontaneity was very new to him. Women he knew before went out of their skin to show off knowledge of court etiquette. The present situation was quite refreshing indeed.

“What to say about myself when all the needed information is already in books and articles and encyclopedias?” Mikhail said pensively. “Well, I am neither engineer nor scientist. I am an economist and soldier by education and upbringing. Served as private in the Airborne, got into the Leib-Guard , did some work as an accountant at what was then the Grand Ducal administration, ended up heading the Taraskovyan Department of Intelligence. I shall skip the details of the Plague, or the Aphyr Conflict as the foreigners call it. But then I lay in a coma, combat aftermath, for a decade while everybody thought I was dead. And then I suddenly popped back and there was much rejoicing.”

The Emperor gave a glance around the hall, but did not spot his sister.

“My younger sister is also here,” he said pensively. “But I am afraid I have lost her in the crowd for now. Vethara is her name, heard of her?”

Iyanna does something here not exactly in her character, she doesn’t correct Aeselle, for most people she wouldn’t have hesitated to correct them, even if they looked as flushed and nervous as Aeselle right now, but the Noblewoman was in a very short list of people she actually genuinely cared about for themselves. An extremely short list, and as such she wasn’t about to add to Aeselle’s worries right now. She suspected that the Speaker knew her more formal title anyway, and wouldn’t need to be corrected on the matter.

‘It is a pleasure to meet the speaker, strange through it is that we seem to have walked in the same circles for so long and never actually met, I do believe this is the first time.’ Smiling quite genuinely at Aeselle before looking back a second at the speaker. ‘Hmm a drink, something sweet, but not alcoholic I doubt somehow a drunken Seer would go down well with our hosts.’ laughing towards the end of that to make it seem in jest, in truth Iyanna was more than half serious, oh doubtless wards existed to prevent her doing harm should she get drunk here, but she hadn’t been drunk in countless years now. Had barely touched anything alcoholic in fact, she had a very low tolerance to the stuff by now. Although strangely she wasn’t adverse to other forms of stimulants, some drugs helped the Seer after all.

‘And you Aeselle, I take it you where not about to ask for something alcoholic…’ her tone turned very, well for want of a better term, clucking hen, at that. In truth Iyanna was unsure if it would cause any harm, but she wasn’t prepared to take a chance.

“The fangs didn’t tip you off?” she chuckled. “I wasn’t always like this, as you might have heard tales from other vampires of life as a human, though I was never human. I was a higher angel, not of this plane or realm for that matter. A seraphim.” Black wings shifted behind her like dark shadows. “When I was sent to this realm I did not know the reason I was there. I had somehow ended up in the hands of the military. I obviously broke free. I was near the ocean, too weak to fight because I had just come into this plane. I can barely remember what the other was like any ways.” She seemed to wander off a bit in her thoughts, and then snapped back to reality. Her past was long; far too much to tell in one sitting. “I was lucky that I escaped, unlucky that the man who found me did not have a good heart and was in fact a vampire. He kept me in my original form for a week before I was sired against my will. He wanted to possess me and he thought that making me a vampire would do that, and strengthen him in the bond we shared. I had no fondness for him, however.”

“Over time my skin grew paler and my white wings turned black. It was more fitting for the nature I had as seraphim, still I did not like it. I grew stronger day by day, worked on what powers as a seraphim I had and the new skills and curses gained by vampirism. I later killed my sire. During the great wars; a battle between two halves of the nation over religion broke out, I fought on the side of those who were in the right, as I was created to be a weapon it seemed, at least at that point it did. I rebuilt the nation and became empress three millennia ago. From that point until a few years ago, I ruled the nation, restructured everything. All our enemies have fallen before us, and my nation flourished. Mind you I am leaving out many details in the process of this short story.”

“In that time I had run an academy to train a select group of elites from different nations in order to call on them when I needed them for whatever purpose. Goor was one of those students, one of the best and most loyal to this day. Much time has passed since I ran the academy though. While I do not look over mid twenties, Max, I am a very old soul, and even souls grow tired. It is why I stepped down as empress and one of my daughters has taken up the throne. Time for rest and a bit of fun,” she smiled. “It’s why I accepted the invitation to this party. No diplomacy for me. I just want to have fun for once without someone trying to open up another hell dimension.”

“Now you know why I have fangs and these wings. As for my intimidation factor, despite my reputation in combat and wit, my real name is Azrael, the seraphim of death,” she smiled cutely. “Though only those very close to me get away with addressing me by that name. She looked to Goor for a brief moment, then back to Max, she shrugged, and poured herself another glass of red wine. “Cheers…” she winked, mimicking his wry smile, and took a sip.

Goor stood silent as Rave told her life story and mentally noted a few specific details left out. He nodded when she looked at him. "And those can probably be counted on one hand. It's what you get for vanishing for two centuries, though. I let you out of my sight for ten minutes and you're off somewhere, getting into trouble." He smirks. "You're like a five year old with wings and a scythe, sometimes... Not that I'm much better. Fighting golem at my age..." he shakes his head in amusement.

Then he turns to Max again. "Honestly, I assumed you knew... the name Shentavo is synonymous with 'vampire' and some legends of Ravelyn are floating around in most cultures." A pause. "The most amusing one said she was a Drow warrior who had more heads put on pikes than Vlad Dracul."

Claude personally was somewhat drawn aback by the citadel, not by its size, a denzine of a mega city saw structures of equal scale every day of there lives by definition, nor was it that art that seemed to embody any building elfin hands touched. No it was that under its formal lines, subtle architecture and vastness a certain plan for age and so much of it seemed to be engrained and indeed built into the very art itself. This palace of outward pleasure and high culture for all its high art was planned to last a great great deal of time beyond what most races would even consider for there monuments.

The Tech Ninja liked it, there subtle body language code showing it, not just the clear lanes of sight and impressive reputation for total security but the scale on which its art was wrought, something they were so often denied within there normal in nation duties.

Claude squashed the feed from the cold SI analyst side of his minds and took it in as just himself, eyes for a while at least looking at the world without the tracery of a thousand flickering pie charts.

As Barham approached the tech ninja circlet of five flowed open in a very open display of inhumanly unnatural grace and precision, the motion more that of a dance troupe of robots, or a music video than that of guards. On the approach the neon highlights to there suits blending in eye watering contrast as limbs overlapped to the oncoming viewer, there every motion a carefully balanced expression of the genetic art form of movement that pervaded each and every moment of there lives as they opened and closed around Barham like the petals of a flower.

A grin, a proffered hand met with one warm and dry and if one were to check smelling faintly of apricot. An open aspect to his face Claudes slightly French touched accent smoothing his words.

"Prime Minister Barham of course any long germ joint project which could build both co-operation and a possible new market is most agreeable to us".

With that Claudes left cuff suit button detached hovered and spat out a half halo of holos that flicked up star charts, demographic calculators and not a few rather touched up shots of possible colony world types all covered in somewhat flashy graphics and fade through displays and all nearly totally spurious. This all seemed a little to well prepared and if anyone had cared to cross reference the images with a ZMI school boy they would see the opening shots of the Gastins world colonisation program from some three hundred years ago and half a dozen other failed and successful minor colony shots from the states history. If anyone looked any closer at catalogues or was again indeed had the misfortune to have suffered it in a ZMI based education they would recognise with a sinking feeling the opening movie from a rather dull civics module.

"We do have some experience of such programs in the past"

Claude for the moment was far more than Claude and thus his voice was rich and utterly the accentless effected voice of eleven people speaking in synch.

"Please be assured we are Claude Peterson but we are also here in our full roll should it be required of us"

It was not a royal we. Just as suddenly as that rather inhuman voice coming from a very human looking source had begun it stopped.

The Tech Ninja broke up as Claude finished being something else and carefully plotted paths like millstones to none to subtlety get within range of the buffet table or any orbiting waiter, inhumanly enhanced combat based metabolisms taking there inevitable tole and being a great excuse to get a look at the great and good and inevitably feeding the little paranoid security demon chittering away in the back of each of there minds with close ups of the party goers. Occasionally they would exchange positions with the two left standing sentinel around Claude.

At the speaking of certain words which really to a baseline human should have been far from audible one tech ninja at a brief glance from Claude quite unsubtly made there way over to within 10 metres of the form of Goor, her happy little corporate name tag marking her as Bethany Altwaith. Her eyes tracking over him and his be winged compatriot in patterns that if analysed would precisely match those of a Mk.XIV naval infinite repeater installation not least as those same scanning algorithms beat down "Bethanys" exceedingly inhuman combat nerves, pure tech ninja resolve clamping down like the doors of a twentieth century nuclear bunker as she positioned herself with a mathematical certainty for the maximum acoustic pick up from the duo of the self proclaimed angel of death and the somewhat barbaric appearing Goor, the happy corporate cheerleader and rather human like personality of Bethany vanishing under a wash of generic ZMI gaurdian wet ware and more specialised tech ninja systems. She just looked and listened but very much in the same uncaring way a landmine or more precisely in this case a tape recorder does.

Badb really should learn a little thing called tact, and keeping out of peoples business but, well, that wasn’t her strong suit, prodding people was. It made her an odd choice for the Governor of Yvresse’s Martian territories but then again, well maybe not, Mars had at one point quite a reputation. She was a hold out from those days, and in any case beyond her dislike for those she considered inferior she could be charming. Still well, she really should perhaps learn some decorum.

It was perhaps mere coincidence that she passed the vampire although such was not as she would understand it. ‘Azrael you say, hmm I have oft wondered, but never been able to test what would happen if one knew the true name of a creature formally of, shall we say, an ethereal realm, would one have the same power over it as if I knew the true name of a creature still of that realm. You really would think such beings would take better care to guard their true names, one never knows when an Idain is passing by, an Idain with access to the universes largest library of, shall we say esoteric and Eldritch lore’ beside her, her companion smiled at Badb with a hint of exasperation and indulgence before quietly rebuking her. Of course it was in the tongue of the Kionash, so likely inaudible to those around them, leaving them only his tone to garner meaning.

Translation for those who actually speak Eldar
Badb sometimes… Sometimes I remember why I love you. Then of course he burst out in laughter.

((Sory Rave. Badb is a bit of a pain at times, and that just screamed for one of her comments.))

‘Ohh, I see now... a C’tan...’ replied the Marquise, her tongue rebelling a little at being called on to produce the unusual consonant cluster. Truly, she thought, what supposedly advanced and sophisticated a culture would ever place a plosive “t” after a sibilant “c”...

Victória could vaguely make out the general substance of Asine’rin’s comments, but really her command of Sindarin was rudimentary at best, relying mostly on some common roots with her own language and a few basic lessons that she had taken in elvish. The Lady Protector thus continued to speak in English and only hoped her hosts would soon get the message, all the while doing her best to keep up.

‘I understand it... My Lady,’ would that be My “Rin”? wondered the Lady Protector, ‘that the C’tan were traditionally a type of royal elite of the necrontyr people, weren’t they? The Elentári’s consort is a C’tan, is he not? Fascinating, fascinating... My Lord Prince, you certainly keep very interesting company.’

‘Might I venture to ask, My Lady, where it is you originally came from, a different world perhaps? If you told me our name for your star could I get an astronomer to show me where I might find it in the night sky? Or is it too far away?’

Victória smiled once more, suggested perhaps that they sit somewhere (which, she noted, her hosts should have hastened to have done), and called for wine (another neglected duty of her hosts, even more unforgivable than the first). ‘I find this is all rather peculiar and exciting,’ she confessed to Glorfindel.

((I forgive you but demand payment in vodka =) ))

“Ah but my name was never secret,” she said in return, turning to the one who had spoken. Ravelyn’s Slavic accent came out a bit. “It was written down and passed on before I ever came. As for that myth it normally deals with lesser demons that serve a master, never seraphim. You really should read up on the subject more, girl, before your tongue gets you into too much trouble.” It wasn’t a threat, or was it? It was so hard to tell from her emotionless face. She loved children, she really did. However, she truly did not like people picking apart her race from what they did not know. She could be considered many things in different cultures and different religions. The only thing, however, that mattered to her was her own religion, if you would call it that, and her own background. It mattered not to her what others believed or what they would say. It did bother her when someone not in the conversation suddenly chimes into something they really didn’t know much about.

Ravelyn sighed heavily, then took Max’s hand. “You sure you don’t want to join me for a drink?” Her hand grew warm. She couldn’t suppress the fond laughter which rose to her lips. She was enjoying teasing him. Oh! Something to amuse herself with.

‘A child it has been a while since any called me that.’ With that badb laughed and turned to leave smirking to herself. ‘Hmm it would appear you are not the type of Seraphim I was thinking off, those that’s serve the being known as Yahweh, for that I apologise.’ With a last laugh she wandered off with her companion, who shrugged as he turned to leave. As always my dear you certainly know how to make a… impact. Did she really call you a child, I don’t think even the Deamons of the warp would call you such, ah well; she was not know what an Idain is. Poor misguided fool.

The two would chuckle about the incident for days to come, well not exactly many days over the coming months would be spent chuckling over the incident, the relationship between these two was… complicated.

(Sorry bout the shortness, I had to pad to make it longer than a line;) )

Zeroel [...] "Josef! It's been forever, how've you been doing?"

The Hacker delegation had been talking with themselves for a few moments when Zeroel showed up. Josef smiled happily, "Zeroel, it certainly has. Feels almost like a lifetime." He clasped the reploid's hand in his, his metal hand cupping the outside. He smiled, "Introductions are certainly in order." He gestured to Elisa, "I'm sure you know Speaker Day by reputation if nothing else," he then gestured to the older woman, "And this is the lady Vermi. She... ah..." Vermi smiled cryptically as she shook the reploid's hand, "I knew Victor back when he was a child. I like to keep a couple fingers in things from time to time."

She smiled again, "Still, I should leave you and Josef to catch up. And you, dear," she smiled at Elisa, "I believe the Tsarainese delegation will be arriving soon. I'm sure you'd like to say 'hi'." Elisa coughed slightly and nodded. Both women excused themselves and struck out in separate directions: Elisa towards the entrance, Vermi deeper into the hall, looking for someone interesting; Najoedo in particular qualified as "interesting", but he seemed to be occupied. Vermi decided to get something to drink, instead.

Josef smiled at Zeroel, "Life has been interesting as it ever was, I suppose. People like Elisa and Vermi keep me on my toes. Seems the last time we talked was a... ah... less than festive time. I hope that life has been treating you better since then."

Anna was bedazzled. The entire room was too much to take in without more than a little awe. The golden domed ceiling, the drifting ribbons, the shimmering glass, and the unnumbered carvings and emblems all competed for her attention, and she could not stop to look at just one. Better still, the lights that danced and flowed and stretched into a faded infinity of mirrors. At some moments she was certain that the pattern of lights formed into a complete and perfect map of the galaxy, though this feeling always faded as suddenly as it came.

Other people would have gazed upon the expense, the artistry, the deeper message of the decorations. Anna saw the shining epitome of all shiny things. She didn't really need or want anything more.

Lady Rachel was concerned with other matters, even as she tugged her easily distracted niece through the hall. Here and there were leaders and dignitaries, faces old and new. A handful of some remote dark elven kindred, dressed and armed for the occasion, chatting with another lot of an all-too-familiar kindred. An Eldar, storming away from a Vampiress who seemed in some way to be strongly under the influence of her own charms. Could it be - Yes. Iyanna, even after all this time. Someone is favored well! Magnus Hesche...I never did see all of those movies. Maybe I should have. All in all, it was a very interesting collection...and Rachel Penteleimon had no idea where to start.

The reploid chuckles as the women depart. "That incident has had my schedule turned inside out for months at the least; I've only just returned to active duty with the DipCorps. Captain Menolimi is doing well and getting along with the new crew." He grins sheepishly. "I think she's as glad as I am to be back in action. After all the weirdness after that, they had us both at some research base on the Ring for examinations and tests and.... sheesh. I may be outfitted with thaumaturgic energy systems, but I'll be damned if I really understand the stuff."

His amber eyes sweep the room briefly, setting on Max. The reploid shudders involuntarily and indicates the green-suited diplomat across the room. "And I'd take care to avoid... him. Max had everyone on board antsy. Even Najoedo."
---

Max runs one hand through the carefully groomed dark hair, looking sheepish at Ravelyn's short history lesson and Goor's surprised not-quite-a-reprimand. "Ah, m'lady, friend Goor, when your direct superior is a six foot beast literally armed to the teeth and you treat regularly with odd fellows like him-" Max gestures with the goblet toward the white-scaled Keeper involved in a conversation across the room. "-I fear that fangs and wings become rather par for the course. Though I admit I've not had the chance to treat with a vampire prior to this evening."

When Ravelyn grasps the diplomat's hand, she will find it cool to the touch, but not cold; perhaps akin to someone who has been outdoors in cool weather a bit too long. The hand, much like the rest of Max, is finely shaped and smooth; fingers bearing only the faintest of calluses.

Max grins knowingly at her light tease, countering with a sly wink. "M'lady Ravelyn... though I do hope to perhaps earn the privilege of getting away with calling you some day by your more ethereal name-" Oh yes, definitely a sly, lightly teasing wink. "If it would bring a lovely smile again to your face, it would be my pleasure to... join you for a drink."

Whether the diplomat's last comment is meant to be taken literally, or as a clever bit of innuendo... perhaps it's both.

Alatádae smiled, holding off a moment while the interplay between Rhiannon and her father played out. Finally, when they were again alone, she answered Rhiannon's question. "Well, I live here, but it's not really my party, y'know? So, I'm also a guest."

Rhiannon chuckled, smirking in a way inherited from her father as she shook her head. "Well, no one ever said that mysteries needed fantastic solutions, neh? What's it like living in close proximity to the seat of government and all?"

Alatádae smiled brightly. "True enough! Actually, I don't live here much, actually. I do a lot of traveling, for my work... painting and sculpting. Big stuff, murals and such... often needs doing on site. Plus it's almost too much, here. You could get lost in a palace like this. Some lovely art to see here, though, and enough of it you could stay here for years and stumble on things you'd never found before." She pondered a moment. "How about you? Daughter of the famous Magnus Hesche?" She grinned.

"An artist then?" Rhiannon made a mental note to read up more on artists (rather than general art or schools of art) at some point, as she doesn't like being in a state of ignorance in the same way most people don't like being hungry. "I'd love to see some of your work sometime. And everything else." She smiled almost sheepishly. "What can I say, I'm a curious person. And me? Heh, yeah..." She glanced around. "I get that a lot. He's a great dad, although just a bit embarrassing in public. I've heard that's endemic, though. Occasionally we go adventuring together... I suppose it's become the family business."

Alátadae smiled again. "You should be very proud... I heard about the Moria thing. Let's see... my work... the FHG tower uptown has one of my murals in the lobby. I made a statue of King Finarfin for a public square in Silharthad. A fair bit of my smaller works are in private collections... most of my contemporaries have much larger bodies of work. I'm many times younger than my... progenitor? I suppose that's the right word." A quick glance over at Sirithil.

"I just look at it as plenty of time to match and surpass, at least in whatever suits you best," Rhiannon said with a smile and a diplomatic non-glance at the aforementioned Elentári. "We're all younger than who we came from. That's just how causality works, so long as time machines aren't involved."

"Well, that and relativistic travel, I suppose," Alatádae mused, sipping a little at her drink. "If you're interested in Menelmacari art, I could show you around some of the palace later this evening when things are winding down some. As I said, the palace is a veritable museum and I'm sure the Lady wouldn't mind."

"I'd be honored," Rhiannon replied with a smile that indicated the use of the word 'honor' was completely genuine. "I hope I haven't been monopolizing the questions... I do tend to get a bit inquisitive, sorry."

"Oh, that's fine!" Alatádae answered genuinely, very much encouraged by Rhi's acceptance of her invitation. "I'm sure if it was me asking the questions it'd be all about the adventures and such." She paused a moment, then she smiled. "I'm sure you've already talked about Moria until your face turned blue... what other sorts of places have you had adventures in with you father?"

"I guess that's the only official one so far," Rhiannon replied, "although there's a few others that are a bit more normal. Growing up, learning how to fly, those sorts of things... but there was that time with the space pirates, and the other with the rogue Zeppelin manufacturers, and looking for the lost treasures of the ancient Krell out in the Periphery..." She shrugged with just a hint of self-effacement, probably picked up from her dad. "Other than Moria, nothing else truly epic quite yet."

Alatadae smiled. "I'd like to hear about those sometime, too. I suppose I'm curious too-- wait, fly?"

Rhiannon quirked an eyebrow. "We're spacers. I had to learn VFR and IFR flight somehow."

"Oh! Yes, of course. That's true." The young elf blushed a little. "What's Moria like? I've never actually been there."

"Which part, the inhabited Dwarven parts or the dark tunnels of lurking horror below?" Rhiannon grinned just like her father.

Alatádae returned the smile. "Mmm... both?"

"The former is actually quite nice, sort of like the Caves of Steel on Titan... hmm... in a way." She smiled more sheepishly again. "I have to go with what I know. Vaulted architecture, large support columns, better lighting than one would expect, but it still has that enclosed ship-living feel to it. The people are friendly, of course. Underground... well, I don't recall if the movie's out yet but it's pretty accurate. Burrowed wormlike tunnels, spindly rock constructions in areas, lots of unearthly blue-glowing light. I sort of wish I could've seen it under better circumstances."

Alatádae listened, fascinated. "I hope to see it sometime soon myself. I haven't met many dwarves. Sometimes they come here to Vinyatírion or other Menelmacari cities on business or whatever but usually they keep to themselves."

"That's sad, really. They're really nice people." Being the good little Scolopendran egalitarian that she is, Rhiannon is decidedly a 'people is people' person. "I know there's a lot of history behind it, but that doesn't have to keep me from hoping things will someday be better. Is there not much tourism at all between the two, Menelmacar proper and Moria, I mean?"

"Oh, we" - by which she meant Menelmacari in general - "go there a fair bit, just less so the other way... and tourism and trade both ways is rising fairly quickly. There isn't the same friction between Menelmacar and Moria as seems traditional between elves and dwarves elsewhere. The Noldor, at least, have always been friendly with the dwarves, even if the Sindar and some of the other kin have been occasionally somewhat less so. It's less that they don't like us than that they tend to get focused on the digging and mining and building and whatnot."

Rhiannon recalled to herself what perspective this was coming from and nodded agreeably. She even stifled a little bit of teasing concerning how good elves are at digging and mining and building, if the Eternal Empire is any indication. "Well, that's good to hear at least."

Alatádae brought it up anyway! "Of course, we do a lot of crafting and building ourselves... which is part of why we've always gotten on with dwarves..." She smiled. "But yes, it's worked out quite well all round."

The blond-haired woman looked out the nearest window. "I'd say you do. Still, I've always found Vinyatírion's urbanization to be... ah... curious, as you don't plan cities quite like we do in that building floors aren't essentially Lego bricks to be assembled within strict engineering tolerances. Is there an old part of town, or does the city stack up on top of the older parts, or..." She decides to leave the concept of demolition politely unsaid. A couple dozen millennia of urbanization would suggest urban renewal to be occasionally necessary.

"Well... some of the very earliest buildings here aren't around anymore, as you might imagine, urban renewal becomes a pragmatic necessity at times despite our love for history. We keep detailed records, though, including blueprints, so we don't really lose anything. In some ways urban renewal became considerably easier when we developed gravitics."

This begged the question. "How so?"

Alatádae continued. "There have been many times where entire buildings or parts of them have literally been jacked upwards so additional floors could be built underneath. I think there's a tower in midtown where they're doing that now..." She glanced out the window herself, peering at the skyline, finally pointing out the building in question. The top quarter-mile of it was floating in mid-air while gravitic cranes, fabbers, and construction teams were busy at work underneath. "Ah, there it is... they've also done that twice on this very palace, in fact. Other times, newer structures are built around older ones, incorporating them, and other times, the older ones are relocated. Which, as you might imagine, is also considerably eased with gravitics."

Rhiannon followed the finger and peered. Keenly. Superhumanly so, as if that should come as a surprise. "I see." Quite literally, and her brick-philosophy engineering sensibilities elicited a shiver she immediately and expertly suppressed. "And of course all these systems are multiply redundant and such... and I hadn't thought about accretion."

Alatádae nodded. "Oh, certainly... of course, I don't know much about the specifics, I've not tried being an engineer yet. But if I were to guess," she added thoughtfully, "there'd be at least three - maybe four - independently powered gravysystems at work on that building right now."

"Probably of different manufacturers, too, just in case..." The young woman stated it more than said it, and peered some more. "Post-energy-scarcity is a wonderful place to be, neh?"

Alatádae nodded enthusiastically. "It certainly is. It certainly helps in my work, particularly in large sculptures. Alone I can do work that in times past would require hundreds, and it lets the creative vision flow into the finished work without interruption."

Rhiannon made no mention of the egoliths floating around in the Periphery, the Belt, and occasionally sitting on the Ring, where there's room. Never mind most of the space egoliths are made by bored starships. "I've tried my hand at painting and sculpting in school. I don't think I'm very good."

"Takes some practice, I think... but like you said, best to focus on what suits you best." She smiled again.

Rhiannon chuckled. "I suppose. I can admit I'm an inveterate overachiever, yes?"

Alatádae giggled. "Of course! None of us mind that sort of thing. Live long enough and overachievement becomes near-inevitable."

"Hmm, yes, but one has to wonder about the psychology of that sort of thing. As time goes to infinity, one would think that experience and achievement would sort of reach an asymptotic relationship of the physical limitations of one's existence." Rhiannon demonstrated the graph with her hands. "It stands to reason that the Noldorin capacity would be much higher than in humans, given that you were all... um... made for it, but infinity is a four-letter word."

"True enough. I'm honestly not entirely sure any of us will truly be eternal, though. There is lore that speaks of 'ten thousand centuries' as a general upper limit, but we're nowhere near that yet, and in practice accidents or violence become likelihoods, given enough time. Like the thing with infinite monkeys on infinite computers."

Rhi nodded. "Still, a million years of memory at a going rate of about a petabyte every century is a lot of data. As far as I know only the mechanoids have that sort of data access, and yet, well, we're biological systems. Makes one wonder where all of it has to be stored, if not in physical strata; even holographic storage doesn't make it all balance."

"That's a good question..." the elf pondered this a moment, frowning. "I think I've just realized why I haven't tried being a neurologist yet, either." A little sigh. "It works somehow, so far, at least. And, as I said, we're not sure what the upper limit is."

"One of those strange times where evolutionary biology actually makes things simpler." The younger Hesche shook her head and chuckled. "Well, it does explain why you don't hear of Noldor uploading their minds or any such thing."

"Yet, anyway," Alatádae replied. "It's certainly possible - and logical to assume - that there's an upper limit. At some point such things might become necessary regardless."

Rhiannon shrugged. "That's where the multiverse gets weird when creationism is true and science literally fails because the supernatural is a valid explanation that need not suffer rhyme nor reason. It makes sense to assume an upper limit for engineering reasons, but that doesn't affect the actual truth value on if there is a limit or not... oh dear, I'm getting ontological, aren't I?"

Alatádae nodded. "A little bit. But it's interesting anyway."

Rhi smiled sheepishly. "I read. A lot."

"That's good! The ontology of it all isn't something I'd really thought about yet. But yes, reading is always good... you'd like our archives, I think. We - by which I mean, as a people - go out of our way to gather copies of every publication we come across. So we've got this colossal library containing the sum total of all knowledge we've encountered."

Rhi nodded at this. "Yeah. I've got a premium platinum lifetime online membership and read things as quickly as they're scanned, pretty much. And visited before we turned up here." She glanced over her shoulder at where Magnus seems to be doing his thing. "He read what few comic books were there that didn't have him in it." She grinned. "Thanks for the suggestion anyway. It's the thought that counts."

Alatádae laughed! "I suppose I should have realized you'd have beaten me to it."

"With that being said," Rhiannon added, "what's the... ah... I don't know if the term translates, but 'scene' around here like? It can't all be fancy dress parties and art museums... well, it could be, and that would be new too."

"The usual sorts of things, really. A lot of nightclubs of the Kajali sort have been popping up in recent years. Holofilms and sporting events - mostly the kinds of sports that focus more on finesse or strategy than brute strength. Concerts, the theater..."

Rhiannon nodded. "Know of any good places yourself that may not show up in the travelogues?"

Alatádae smiled, and began busying herself for some time talking about her favorites...

----

OOC: This was RPed on IRC between me and Scolo, more posts for other people are pending.

She wasn't sure if Speaker intended it... but by the time he finished his explanation of her little slip during their introductions, Aeselle was about as red as her dress...

"I, uhm... Padishah, yes, I beg forgiveness..." she stutters, bowing her head as she fidgets with the silver torc around her neck. The hadrilkar was feeling rather heavier then normal. She manages a smile when she looks up again, glad to hear Iyanna talking merrily to buy her some time to recover.

"Alcoholic? No, Iyanna, you're right, I shouldn't..." she almost instantly betrays the fact she's on a first-name basis with the Seer, "But, tell me, do any of you know if, what was it called... egg nog contains liquor?"

"That's an idealistic vision, Mr. Hesche."
"'Idealism at all costs,' ma'am," Magnus says with a heroic grin. "What's life without a bit of idealism to view it by?"
"Unfortunately, life isn't always like that, is it? Fine to you, it may be, but, after all, this is work."
"And who says one can't have fun at work?" Boyish grin, mischievous sparkle in the eyes.
"Though, I admit, a spot of dancing might be quite pleasurable indeed."
"Exactly. 'But our work is play,' so they say." He doesn't quite add the tune of 'We Are Santa's Elves' to the quote, but he does extend the 'a' just a tiny bit.
"A professional adventurer, eh? I'm not surprised. You seem the...type. I can understand why you might want a social experience, here. This is, after all, a party, of a sort. In fact, it's quite an interesting party. Lots of, uhm, interesting people."
Magnus laughs in a subduedly hearty fashion as the Yaforite tags him as looking the part. "Well, I could try to play up a sense of mystery, but... such things aren't exactly my cachet. Sorry. As for interesting people," he doesn't break eye contact (except teasingly, of course), "some are much more interesting than others."

Given that there's supposed to be sex-goddesses with glory fields running about, that could be considered quite the compliment. It's intended to be taken as one, at the least.
"I'm here on business, myself. Ambassador to Tiburon, never thought I'd be here, come to think of it. But Jyorin Kiamelar - that's our Foreign Minister - he picked me up, and here I am. Working, of course. I'm supposed to be working. But, after all, there's nothing wrong with a bit of pleasure at a party, is there?"
She's practically handing him lines here. "Oh, not at all. I always thought that's what parties were for." He grins crookedly with a sense of innuendo in what isn't said. Then an eyebrow quirks. "Well, the band is starting, at the very least--shall we hit the dance floor before it gets too crowded? Someone has to loosen the atmosphere up a little, neh?"

Okay, so maybe that one's a stretch, given how that Roanian and that Freestian are fnoodling in the corner over there. Sigh. No sense of artistry, really, just hormones. Although, it would be a sort of challenge... He weighs the idea in his head. Meh. Not quite my style, but I should keep an open mind.

* - * - *
‘Hmm a drink, something sweet, but not alcoholic I doubt somehow a drunken Seer would go down well with our hosts.’

‘And you Aeselle, I take it you where not about to ask for something alcoholic…’"I, uhm... Padishah, yes, I beg forgiveness... Alcoholic? No, Iyanna, you're right, I shouldn't... But, tell me, do any of you know if, what was it called... egg nog contains liquor?"
"Eggnog is traditionally made with rum or brandy," H'zta says, glancing over at her 'tosh, "but it's been common for a long while for it to be made without."

Speaker-Rrit nods and glances back at his 'ret. She'll take charge to smooth things over while he's gone. They are supposed to be brightly colored, Aeselle isn't. "That will be one non-alcoholic eggnog, one... hrr... sparkling apple cider, and two heated brandies. I will be right back." With a polite bow, the Patriarch of the Race of Heroes goes to find a pointy in a waiter's uniform to help him add 'drinks carrier' to his broad resume.

"I think they just use flavoring now," the kzinrret says as she turns back to the two elf-type people in the conversation, "because generally alcoholic eggnog is freshly prepared--tradition and whatnot--but given how Siri doesn't make money by spending money freely and has a great deal of control in a therefore state-backed conglomerate that can get its hands on anything and tend to make the libertarian bent of her economic theory more theoretical than anything else I'm certain she has a carton somewhere!" Her mood doesn't change when she mutters the part in the middle, other than her sense of humor becoming a little more wry.

The response threw Ravelyn off, but she managed not to blush. She could picture Goor rolling his eyes. It would take far a stronger comment to do that. She looked into his blue eyes with her crimson. "Perhaps later," she said simply, and was trying to find out if he was being serious or not. "Be careful what you offer though, I may take you up on it." Considering the field prevented harm, it wouldn't be an issue for that. Her bite was euphoric, and if he was willing...

She shook such thoughts from her mind, and returned her attention to Goor for once. "Have you considered my offer?" She was referring to the position offered.

<snip>

Having largely been in the background of a conversation between the Secretary-General and the Menelmacari Prefect of Education, Qu'Salos had the time to politely keep an eye open for what was happening around himself. Delegates to the event were by and large engrossed in their various conversations between one another, but he spied a few who were either adjusting themselves to having just arrived or hadn't been approached by anyone for one reason or another. Notable was the case of the delegation from Tsaraine, a nation that the Unione of Capitalizt States had brief but positive moments of contact with at one time or another.

" I think I'm going to mingle some, " he whispered to Goodchild when there was a break in the conversation. " If you don't mind. "

The Sec-Gen nodded and Ezra turned his attention to the Prefect, " I hope I'm not being rude, but if you will please excuse me... I've just spotted someone across the room that I was hoping to say hi to. "

He gave a courteous nod and exited the conversation in a method that was appropriate to Menelmacari custom and etiquette. He then turned, making his way through the crowd of visitors and toward those from Tsaraine. Intercepting them at a time and fashion that would have been acceptable to them, Ezra introduced himself.

" Why hello, " he smiled to them all. " I spotted you all from across the room and couldn't help but notice that nobody had taken the opportunity to introduce themselves, so I hoped I could have the honor. "

" My name is General Ezra Qu'Salos, from the Unione of Capitalizt States Military. " He offered to shake all of their hands, " I do hope that I'm not interrupting anything? "

"No need," he grinned, putting arms with biceps as thick as the Roanian's waist around her protectively, and just held her close for a moment. "I actually kinda like him. You have to admit that was pretty funny."

"It was funny the first three times." Alessa murmured, resting her head on his chest and smiling as his hands began to work their way back up her waist. "But after I spent a week listening to him natter on about everything under the sun, I got bored with him." She kissed him. "I don't want to talk about him, anyway."

"What do you want to do instead?" He asked with a grin.

"Oh... you're an intelligent male." She stroked her knuckle up and down his chest once or twice. "I'm sure you can think of something."



His attention was quickly drawn by the commotion created by the Roanians as he passed, and the Noldor stopped briefly, facing back towards the center of the hall, and listened intently to the conversation going on. “Hrmm…”

It was not until Alessa and Sempero disappeared before he approached the Archchancellor. “Ah, I see another shares my love for the knowledge contained within the universe’s greatest libraries. One never knows all that which is contained within. I could very well spend hours in such a place.” He then extended his hand for a handshake. “I am Vice Chairman Shiran Naelthasser of the Northrop-Grumman Corporation. It is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

"Ah!" The Archchancellor said, delighted. "Such a pleasure to meet a fellow student of the arcane and scholarly!" The scholar grabbed his new acquaintance's hand and shuck it vigorously, if a little limpwristedly. "It's rare these days to find anyone who appreciates the simple joy of a good book, even in the halls of learning where I teach. But I have forgotten my manners! I do that quite often. Why, one time I remember when I was on Altecrast Tertius, having talks with the local governor, and I forgot to say hello to his wife! Oh, the diplomatic kerfuffle over that... but that was a long time ago, of course. Anyway, my name. I am Archchancellor Kouran Al Raael, Head of Studies at the Academy of Magic. I teach, and pray, and try to inflict a little knowledge on the heads of those too stubborn to learn."

"Ah!" The Archchancellor said, delighted. "Such a pleasure to meet a fellow student of the arcane and scholarly!" The scholar grabbed his new acquaintance's hand and shuck it vigorously, if a little limpwristedly. "It's rare these days to find anyone who appreciates the simple joy of a good book, even in the halls of learning where I teach. But I have forgotten my manners! I do that quite often. Why, one time I remember when I was on Altecrast Tertius, having talks with the local governor, and I forgot to say hello to his wife! Oh, the diplomatic kerfuffle over that... but that was a long time ago, of course. Anyway, my name. I am Archchancellor Kouran Al Raael, Head of Studies at the Academy of Magic. I teach, and pray, and try to inflict a little knowledge on the heads of those too stubborn to learn."“An academy of magic? What an incredibly rare thing in my experience,” Vice Chairman Naelthasser commented, after a brief spell of careful thought. “We have no such establishments in Northrop-Grumman; a lack of magic-capable citizenry is the blame for this. Our humans possess no such abilities, and the rather small population of elves merely teach their offspring what is needed when they mature. Or some, such as myself, chose not to follow that path and divert their attention elsewhere.

“I am a servant of the people. And in the execution of such a duty, I feel that I can best perform is through the use of this.” He gently tapped his temple. “The knowledge contained within these libraries, within people like yourself, and through the experiences of life is what I seek. It matters not what it is. All of it has use within this expansive universe we live in. And, of course, contrary to what some may think, the quest for knowledge is never-ending, even when you are in a position of teaching as you may know. Ah, how much I desire to be in your position, to be in the midst of the centers of great learning, to be able to be the catalyst for future generations to change the universe.”

"Not at all, General," Rene replied, shaking his hand. It wasn't a gesture common in Tsaraine, where people bowed instead, but the Tsarainese had long ago learned that when in Rome, one does as the Romans do. "Please, allow me to introduce Ysarika Tanekazrai, Lady Protector of Kynarai, and Erin Ingreidt, an Aren of the Temple in Deep Tsarai."

"An unalloyed pleasure, General Qu'salos," Ysarika says, smiling, and shakes his hand. Erin blushes, and shakes his hand more tentatively, saying nothing.

If she had thought about it Iyanna might have taken a slightly different tack but, well, even aware of the differences some things are basically instinctual and as much as she might pretend at times, Iyanna was not perfect so…. Her response to Aeselle seeming so flustered was to gently stroke the woman’s ears, as she would enjoy in the same situation.

To a Kionash there are different ways to stroke a persons ears, different approaches and different reasons to, some was as a part of well, intimate relations between adults, other ways where more gentle and supportive. A person experienced in such things could pick up the subtle differences, right now Iyanna’s was mostly supportive, and friendly, a friend lending a support to another friend, if it had hints of other things they where small, almost imperceptible.

‘Aeselle, you do realise that we have some many differing cultures and titles here in a so many different systems of government that it is quite impossible to expect anyone to follow decorum. Just…’ Grinning and leaning in as if departing a great secret, just loud enough to be overheard by H’zta, obviously including her in the great tip she was about to import. ‘follow this simple rule, for those with ears such as ours, when in the presence of those without nod slightly not giving any idea of station or acceptance of it but in acknowledgment and then affect an aloof air. It is expected of those like us so much that those you greet will accept it in most cases as perfectly polite.’

In theory Iyanna could do something more to support Aeselle at this point, she could perhaps lend a more direct aid through her gifts but such was something Iyanna was loath to do, to a friend. It struck her as almost controlling, and edging far too close to a line of ethics she wasn’t entirely clear on, it had been a long time since Iyanna had had to consider a person as simply a friend, and some things where still ‘new’ to her.

Ranisath bowed a little to acknowledge Josef, and then smiled at the Kajali, stepping forwards to hug Lirella firmly, “Hello, dear,” he said. He reserved ‘dearest’ for his wife. “Lirella. I hear you’re getting married. Who’s so bold?” he added, with mock sternness.

"I do believe you've met him, perhaps, my dear." Lirella waved at Derin, and he made his way towards her, greeting Ranisath with a short bow.

"My fiancee, Derin Kavar, current Prime Minister of Kajal."

"Yes, well, I won't be running for election again afterwards, dearest." Derin proffered a hand to Ranisath "It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. No doubt Ilunaia has spoken about my earlier misadventures in politics..."

---

Ilunaia, meanwhile, politely excused herself, and found herself gliding across the floor towards Speaker-Rrit and his consort. She'd never actually met them before, though she had read the same briefs and had some idea of what was acceptable behavior and such.... though it might be a little hard for her... not to.... stare...

She's about three feet away by the time she realizes she's been staring at Speaker and H'zta from halfway cross the room, and with a visible twitching she glances away briefly. After a pause she takes that last half step forward, bows fairly deeply, and introduces herself. She might not be trembling as much as she could have been, but it's likely still fairly visible. She'll likely have to introduce herself when Speaker returns, of course...

"Pardon my interruption, Your Excellencies..." She starts, attempting to address the group in a way most acceptable to all present. "I am Ilunaia Keral-Kavar, of Kajal... may I... join you?"

She's trying not to stare at H'zta, though it isn't quite working. It's quite obvious that she's never actually met any kzinti before.

"Pardon my interruption, Your Excellencies..." She starts, attempting to address the group in a way most acceptable to all present. "I am Ilunaia Keral-Kavar, of Kajal... may I... join you?"

She's trying not to stare at H'zta, though it isn't quite working. It's quite obvious that she's never actually met any kzinti before.
H'zta finds herself staring back, as staring contests and their associated one-upsmanship fits the kzinti evolutionary psychology like pegs into holes drilled to micron tolerances and aligned with lasers all to engineering specifically drafted around the pegs. First thing is to stop staring back.

This requires more will than it sounds. She accepts defeat in the accidental battle of the wills.

Second thing is to sound friendly. She triples the amount of purr in her voice. Friendly, warm, rumbly kitty-by-the-fire purr, not sultry queen-of-the-jungle look-at-my-sharp-teeth-and-claws purr.

Third thing is to be polite. "But of courrrse, ma'am. The more, the merrier."

Fourth thing is to... *sigh* change the context. Forever. To turn the commentary of supreme huntress, a work of biological and cultural art, consort to the very Patriarch himself, into something a bit more approachable. She easily, in one smooth and visibly traceable movement, snags a fuzzy red hat with white trim and a white fuzzy ball on the end, the kind colloquially known as a 'Santa hat,' off of the head of the nearest C'tani or Menelmacari waiter. It jingles as she does this, as has little bells down the seam. It also has 'HO HO HO' emblazoned in silver sequins down the side. Obviously the guy had no shame--It looks like something Magnus would wear, were this his party...--or he lost a bet. Either way, any glance he sends back gets returned with a very careful bit of exposed teeth, so Aeselle and now Ilunaia can't see.

Then she uses it to its engineered purpose, which also takes more will than one would think.

She wears it as a haaaaat.

It jingles.

She feels glad she can't turn red as she smiles and flicks her ears, causing it to jingle more. "Just trying to get into the spirit of things is all. This is Iyanna Arienal, Asuridain of Tor Yvresse," she indicates with a jingling nod, "and Lady Aeselle Colthique, ambassador from New Naggoroth," another jingling nod. She avoids eye contact with the latter, instead looking more at the ear-rubbing Eldar, and transmitting a look first of 'thank you' and then, perhaps, one of 'help me.'

Whether Iyanna adds 'or I will eat you' to the message, well, depends how Eldar evolution treats being stared at by large animals with big sharp nasty teeth.

Smiling softly, Aeselle takes a few deep breaths as Iyanna does her best to comfort her. She whispers back quietly, so only her friend can hear it. "Does... this get any easier?"

Iyanna thinks for a while before answering that particular question, debating her answer very carefully. "So far Aeselle you are doing a better job, I think, then I did the first tme I met a foreign head of state. Back then I was new to the title of Farseer, and it was the time of my mentor Telgorthrind. I... insulted Aliria of Aelosia, calling her a child or some such. I don't think she has forgiven me for that to this day. So yes, it gets easier. I cannot really say more, though. I was different back then."

Closing her eyes, she nods, "Yes... I don't think I've done any harm, thank the Blessed Mother. Just made myself look like a fool. Thank you, my friend," she bows her head, then steps back and stands up a little more straight.

"Ah, a pleasure to meet you, Lady Ilunaia Keral-Kavar. It is an honour," she smiles softly, smoothly bowing to the new arrival. When she rises, she can't help but grin at H'zta and her new headgear.

"Lady H'tza... a most remarkable cap you've acquired! Could you tell me where you found it? I feel I should get one too; it matches my dress!"

Ilunaia, unlike H'zta, is very capable of turning red.

However, her uncertainty has turned suddenly to embarassment. At the least, though, she's not quivering.

"oh, by the maker... My apologies, Your Excellency. I'm afraid I haven't spent a great deal of time outside of the Homeworld..."

Ilunaia bows to the others present, and while she's met Yvressi before, Lady Aeselle helps to divert her interest away from H'zta for the moment.

"Ambassador, the honour is mine. I'm afraid I'm not familiar with New Naggoroth... My work does not normally include international diplomacy. I deal more with disputes between colonial interests and the Homeworld."

Perhaps it wasn't the best opening for friendly conversation, and Ilunaia glanced around the hall briefly. She hadn't realized just how garish those hats were...

Still lightly holding hands, Max makes a graceful bow at the waist before returning Ravelyn's gaze, blue eyes bright, but seeming to carry an earnest intensity that had previously been hidden. "M'lady, I never offer anything which I cannot provide. While I can't give you the sort of drink I would assume a vampire prefers; a good portion of the Shogunate population shares my complication of lacking... ah... living flesh and blood... but perhaps I can offer other... amusements."

As the conversation turns back to Goor, Max quirks an eyebrow and offers the reptilian one of those broad grins. "An offer, is it? My my, I have fallen into interesting company tonight, haven't I?"

Goor refrained from rolling his eyes, only because he was wondering how far Rave was going to go in her game. Even one such as himself, who found human females unattractive, was drawn to Rave. It was a small part of why he had remained loyal to her for over two centuries.

He took another bite of food as he considered her question. "As I've said, Ravelyn..." Another little game. He wanted to see how long he could remain so formal without annoying her. "I'm nearly three hundred years old and need stimulants to keep up with people who would wash out of the old Academy in a week. I can't train your forces. I will remain at your side as a friend and confidant, perhaps serve as some sort of adviser to your daughter, but my warrior days are fast coming to an end." He didn't sound upset about this, surprisingly. Maybe three hundred years of being a hunter was enough to satisfy him? Or perhaps he was merely accepting the inevitable with dignity and grace?

"For any other means, you may find it hard to please me," she said in return, and nothing more on that topic. Max was a good diplomat to be sure. She liked him in a way, disliked him in others. While he may bear a slight resemblence to Michael Vaughn, he was not Vaughn. She told this to herself twice over before Goor's speech registered in her mind.


She looked at Goor. She wanted to hit him. "Stop bitching about how old you are," she said in a low throaty voice that made even her lizard companion raise his eye brows. She was frustrated, that much was clear. "Denying the gift which I offer, and offer to very very few is an insult." She wasn't talking about the leadership position either; it was her blood. "Will you not take another hundred years so that this angelic heart can rest peacefully at least for a brief time," her expression saddened. She looked at Goor with a face that could get anything in the world. Her features softened. She had been through a lot of emotional distress as far as personal life went, and he knew it. He had been there through it all. Who could cause this angel any more heartache in her offer being denied? Albeit this was not a romantic relationship, but that was the expression of an unsatisfied Ravelyn.

"If you won't accept I may have to beat it into you..." she finally said, making a fist momentarily.

"Not at all, General," Rene replied, shaking his hand. It wasn't a gesture common in Tsaraine, where people bowed instead, but the Tsarainese had long ago learned that when in Rome, one does as the Romans do. "Please, allow me to introduce Ysarika Tanekazrai, Lady Protector of Kynarai, and Erin Ingreidt, an Aren of the Temple in Deep Tsarai."

"An unalloyed pleasure, General Qu'salos," Ysarika says, smiling, and shakes his hand. Erin blushes, and shakes his hand more tentatively, saying nothing.

Qu'Salos bowed his head in appreciation. " Well they've certainly outdone themselves haven't they? " He gestured to the decore and architecture. " Makes me somewhat jealous actually, building regulations in the UCS have been adjusted in more recent times to adopt more of a pragmatic approach, often producing structures that are boring to the eye and particularly designed for their use more than anything. "

" We haven't gone onto building pyramids just yet, " he joked. " But, you never know what fate has in store for you just around the corner. One can only hope that regulators don't take things too far in this regard. "

The General smiled, " So what's new in Tsaraine? Congratulations on the acquisition of Argyre by the way; as I understand it the Pilonese community proved a little more... difficult than one would have hoped for. But it seems that you managed a successful negotiation, which is most important. "

Max refrains from a retort to Ravelyn's remark, though the confident, knowing gleam in the diplomat's eyes is perhaps all the retort needed. Dusting a bit of imagined dust from one sleeve, Max watches the interplay between vampire and reptile, expression shifting to intent study; like a scholar drinking in new knowledge, or perhaps a strategist plotting a course to victory.

"Indeed, age is of little consequence, given the present company." Max finally intercedes softly. "Whether by means of science-" A gesture toward the clearly mechanical Zeroel off to one side of the hall. "-or of magic-" This time toward the clearly magical Najoedo. "-If the means are available, it seems nigh-criminal to make a lady suffer needlessly, all because of a bit of age."

The human chuckled a little, "I've found that the longer I'm alive, the less I understand. And as for magical stuff... well... I gave up trying to figure that out. Personally, I'm satisfied with 'it works'." He shrugged a little, "Still, I'm glad to hear you're in back in action, such as it is." A slight grin, "Although, a warship not having anything to do isn't necessarily a horrible situation, ne?"

He followed Zeroel's gaze and looked over Max, "Really? Interesting. Najoedo doesn't exactly strike me as the flappable sort. Does Max just have a weird vibe around him, or is it something more? I mean... how bad can he be?" He smirked, "I've met SkyRaider, after all..."

"No, Najoedo isn't the sort to be unsettled easily." Zeroel agrees. "He's ten thousand years old, give or take a couple of centuries. But Max had him just as flustered as the rest of the crew. I swear Sierra was going to have Max locked in his quarters more than once."

At mention of Skyraider, the reploid's expression turns to something that clearly indicates he would be blushing were his avatar capable of it. "I'm so sorry you've had to deal with Skyraider. I don't know why the Corps keep him... ur... her.... okay it on diplomatic duties. The guy even gets Firefury-sama flustered, so why does she let that walking international accident waiting to happen out of the country at all?"

He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "If you've got the chance to sneak away from the party, Max's quarters on board should probably more than explain why I suggest avoiding... him."

"Ambassador, the honour is mine. I'm afraid I'm not familiar with New Naggoroth... My work does not normally include international diplomacy. I deal more with disputes between colonial interests and the Homeworld."

"Ah, I guess I'm not the only new person here, then!" Aeselle says with a soft laugh, doing her best to appear relaxed and confident, despite really being anything but. "As for not having heard of my people, I hardly find that surprising. While it has been several long millennia since my people have returned to the stars after claiming our new homelands, only recently have we ventured far beyond our territory and met any races that are beyond the level of barbarians," she stops to catch her breath, her eyes darting to look around for either Speaker or Konrad. She's thirsty now, after all this talk of drinks, goddessdamnit! "So it's a welcome change to be amongst such interesting new people!"

With a soft smile, she approaches Ilunaia and drops her voice to a low murmur. "Perhaps we should stick together then, my lady, and compare notes at the end of the evening?"

"Lady H'tza... a most remarkable cap you've acquired! Could you tell me where you found it? I feel I should get one too; it matches my dress!"
"I, ah, obtained it off a passing waiter. One moment." Stretching up over the heads of the crowd, H'zta catches her consort's eye, points at her hat, and makes a quick swipe gesture kind of like a flamenco dancer. Meters away, Speeks nods and begins to put the smiling muscle on another elf with a hat.

However, her uncertainty has turned suddenly to embarassment. At the least, though, she's not quivering.

"oh, by the maker... My apologies, Your Excellency. I'm afraid I haven't spent a great deal of time outside of the Homeworld..."
It's an improvement. H'zta returns the bow with a jingle. "There is nothing to apologize for. I am simply honored to meet you."

she stops to catch her breath, her eyes darting to look around for either Speaker or Konrad. She's thirsty now, after all this talk of drinks, goddessdamnit! "So it's a welcome change to be amongst such interesting new people!"
On cue, Speeks shows up with another freshly liberated red hat (albeit a slightly less obnoxious one) on his shoulder, two large snifters of brandy, one glass of eggnog, and two glasses of sparkling apple cider. Having large hands helps; he offers drinks to each of the various brands of pointy in turn--eggnog for Aeselle, sparkling non-alcoholic apple cider for the other two (he decided to hazard a guess)--then hands the hat on his shoulder to H'zta with a slightly raised eyebrow, along with one of the two brandy snifters. H'zta smiles, bows somewhere between politely and impishly to her consort, then delivers the hat to Aeselle. "Indeed. Interesting people make this job so much more fun."

Glancing at each other, the kzin have a quiet, and, from their expressions, slightly wry conversation. Ah well. If they need to move on to some less excitable people, they'll eventually do it. Just a few months ago in Sakkra they were seeing good young Shorty making contact with the Xirniumites and coming across... similar problems. Either way, they go to bags on their hips and both produce large oddly-fluted goblets, H'zta's of antiqued silver, Speaker's of a strange green substance that blends aspects of glass and marble together in a... curious, but aesthetically pleasing way. They pour their warm, aromatic brandies into the flasks, smell, then raise their glasses in a toast. "To meeting interesting new people." Then they sip, politely.

The fluted sides of their goblets clearly allow them to sip politely, at least, a lot more easily than their non-humanoid jawlines would normally allow. The first dainty sip any kzin can manage that doesn't dribble is usually cause for celebration in the IntRelate Section.

"Pragmatism is a virtue, or so they say," Rene replied, "At least in times of hardship. Although I have never found simple minimalism unduly challenged by it. Elves, of course, tend rather more towards the baroque."

The Tsarainese, of course, were famous (or infamous, depending upon whom you asked) for the ascetic and pragmatic ethos of their government, and the associated minimalism of their buildings. The ornate grandeur of the Elentari's palace was garish and overwrought, through Tsarainese eyes.

"As for the Ascendancy ... yes, I understand the terraforming in Argyre is proceeding well, although not being able to work in the ocean is a hindrance which we must work around. The Pilonese are, unfortunately, very nearly the antithesis of our State; so there shall never be much love there, I fear."

Josef chuckled a little, "I'm sure he and Vermi would have plenty to talk about, too." He grinned slightly, "She's older than she looks. They could while away the hours talking about... well... whatever was going on way back when."

Josef wasn't a cruel man, but he couldn't help but laugh when the reploid 'blushed'. He smiled gently, "Oh, there's no need to apologize. The Hack is full of libertines, remember? Skyraider's just... um... well... rather like all of them rolled all into one. Psychologically, 'it' is fascinating. It's not my area of expertise, but still..." He let his voice trail off with a shrug. He grinned, "And do you really wonder why Queenie sends it? I always figured she saw it as the world's greatest practical joke. Something of a diplomatic whoopie-cushion."

His eyebrow quirked up and he glanced over towards Max again, "Hmm... sounds like an adventure." He grinned, "As a world leader, I don't get nearly enough chances for that sort of thing..."

Goor's eyeridges did raise, but he said nothing for a moment. He was too focused on her eyes to say anything at first. After so many years, she knew how to twist his arm without even laying a hand on him... Her well being. He cared about it far more than his own life.

He sighed, softly and nodded once. "I will accept... for you, not myself..."

“My younger sister is also here,” he said pensively. “But I am afraid I have lost her in the crowd for now. Vethara is her name, heard of her?”

"Nope. I'd be willing to help you look for her though. Shall we?"

Katrina allowed Mikhail to lead the two around while they looked and she continued to question him.

"So ten years in a coma huh? The multi-verse being what it is, I gotta ask... Any weird dreams? Visions of the future or the past?"

C'tan, Roania, ZM

Clodius grinned as the man shock his hand, a smile that turned to mild concern when he felt the strength of the grip. He returned the favour to an equivalent degree, the two sharing a handshake with sufficient pressure to have shaped metal. The fact he was still smiling was terrifying given how human he looked. Then again

“You know, you give me the impression that your view of interesting differentiates considerably from those of your employers.”

“Still, have to say…” Clodius leaned in slightly closer, nostrils flaring slightly, subconscious instincts working with his biology to know everything his senses could tell him about the people around him. “…the job you guys did with…” he didn’t say the name, merely inclined his head towards his Prime Minister “…was pretty impressive given the same night he comes into my office, jabbered a bit, cried a lot, and then asked for a pair of Echoes to stand guard inside the office at all times. INSIDE the goddamn thing. I must, purely in an unofficial stance mind, have to congratulate you on your staff.”

****

Sempero took the small Roanian’s hand in his and dropped the grin for a moment. “Well, I have several ideas certainly,” his mouth curled into a smile despite the serious expression overall, “but I think as much as a repeat of the bed sheet and ice cube trick would be pretty damn nice right about now I believe you have a few people to talk to? Unless you want your ambassador to the world’s leading lights to be…him.” He nodded over in the distance where the Arch-Chancellor was engaging an elf in rapid discussion.

She looked disappointed for a moment. “Don’t worry, you’ve got me next to you all night if you want. I can’t say I have anything official to do here save look menacingly at people.” He squeezed her hand *very* gently and smiled in an encouraging fashion. It was hard given the small elegant frame standing against him not to feel at least protective, especially for a member of a species with both ridiculous brute strength and a preference for physical displays of emotion including affection. “Would be a waste of looking good after all, seeing the people here tonight.”

***

Barham and Farahind merely, well, blinked and gawped open-mouthed at the impromptu presentation, even thought it was something that well, should have been expected, in retrospect. Added in with the almost music-video like choreography of the moving tech ninjas the effect was kind of like walking into a press launch for a new hip book with lots of swear words in the title.

The proposal made was certainly encouraging, though the eleven voices as one was slightly eyebrow raising even if again it was expected and yet not quite. “Secret Santa must be a bitch at your head office” was Farahind’s acknowledgement, who found it unsettlingly funny. Barham merely raised a weak smile in response.

“But yes, opportunities,” Farahind went on, “we are currently in the process of settling a surprisingly habitable colony world in a system around 1,200 light years from Earth, decent atmosphere, slightly heavy gravity but nothing too debilitating, heavily oxygenised atmosphere but that can be sorted in time, and indeed, with your help is possible. However…” She handed over to Barham who seemed slightly eager in fact at the prospect of explaining.

“Recent events have,” he began, “taken a not insignificant toll on our military capacity to protect our non-Earth holdings. We lost a fair bit of equipment, and sadly many of our countries finest in several conflicts recently, and our ability therefore to protect and support this world in the initial stages of colonisation are somewhat putting a strain on our limited assets. We therefore was looking for a strong ally who could, in exchange for a not inconsiderable amount of decent, habitable resource rich surface area on the world, well, specifically a southern continent with about twenty percent of the available land mass that isn’t ocean, for… “he paused for effect, “the aid of military and civilian space power to supply and defend the world as a whole.”

He turns to address Aeselle and Konrad, offering the pair a polite bow, the motion accented by a slight spread of his white wings. "My lord and lady, I fear I haven't a name to put to yourselves. I am Najoedo, Eldest of the Keepers. It is always a pleasure to meet new people and discover new knowledge."


It seemed as if poor Aeselle, in her slightly shocked state, had just... failed to notice the Keeper. She didn't do it on purpose, though. With so many people talking to her at once, and Konrad deserting her, she had somehow failed to hear him. Perhaps all this standing six or seven feet apart was to blame.

"To interesting new people!" she echoes after the kzin. She turns gracefully, smiling to Najoedo once she's affixed her hat properly, "Keeper, I hope you'll excuse my rudeness. It was uncouth and unbecoming of me! I am Aeselle Colthique, a druchii of New Naggoroth. My companion, who seems to have wandered off and lost himself, was my cousin Konrad Sykin. It is a pleasure to meet you," she tilts her head in a respectful nod, hoping she didn't offend him by not bowing. Just trying to put Iyanna's advice into practice!

"Nope. I'd be willing to help you look for her though. Shall we?"

Katrina allowed Mikhail to lead the two around while they looked and she continued to question him.

"So ten years in a coma huh? The multi-verse being what it is, I gotta ask... Any weird dreams? Visions of the future or the past?"

“I have traveled through darkness within my mind,” Mikhail began with a grave tone. “And I have beheld as mysteries unraveled, in past and future. I held knowledge at the end of my eye sight and I looked far into the future and I have seen the fates of many.”

Then suddenly his face lightened and he smirked, smiling a little.

“And if I was to be serious, then I simply do not remember. As such, I guess I have seen nothing but boring dreams, not worth of any particular interest. Why such curiousity, though?”

“And if I was to be serious, then I simply do not remember. As such, I guess I have seen nothing but boring dreams, not worth of any particular interest. Why such curiousity, though?”

"Well, on the face of it's small talk. But I'm curious by nature. It comes from my mother I suppose."

She stopped next to one of the massive columns that braced this particular area of the palace. There were a pair of ornate chairs there and she took a seat and stretched one leg and then the other.

"Be glad you were not born a woman Mikhail... Even my feet get tired wearing these things."

She pulled her skirt up just enough to show a pair of high-heeled shoes that, like her earrings, seemed to be carved of crystal.

"Mom thought they would complete the outfit... Anyway. Yes, simple curiosity and statistical interest. It seems like ninety percent of the national leaders who've either had a near-death experience, been in a coma, or some other altered state of reality have had visions or some other supernatural experience. Being a scientist means the unexplained interests me too, so..."

The winged half-man chuckles. "There is nothing to excuse. I would likely have gone mad if I hadn't learned patience ages ago. Mm... I do not recall ever having met a druchii before; or if I have, then under a different name. Then again, I don't get to travel as often or as openly as I used to."

He filches a goblet from a passing server, taking a careful sip to see if its to his liking before smiling with amusement. "Of course, back then, I was generally the biggest thing in the air and there weren't any air traffic control regulations to bother with."

Aeselle grins, finding the half-dragon to be even more curious then the 'ratcats', as at least the concept of dragons was very familiar to her. Dragons, and their smaller flightless cousins, the nauglir, were native to their old homeworld, and the Druchii valued them too much to simply abandon them to that world's fate. Deep underground, the ancient black dragons sleep still below the Six Cities,while the nauglir continued to be useful servants.

"I've... seen some of your kind before Keeper, well, as in, I've seen a dragon, along with plenty of nauglir. I suppose they are not really the same, mind..."

'No, most don't have the bodies of men,' she thought to herself as she sipped her drink, finding it to her liking, 'Especially such firm and well-toned bodies...'

"My people are, as you can likely guess, a splinter of the greater elven race. On our world, we were exiled from our homelands when the rightful king, Lord Malekith, was denied his birthright by jealous and petty nobles who wanted the crown for themselves," she nods her head slightly, grinning, "So it's little wonder that we remain something of a enigma to outsiders. But tonight is not a time for history lessons! I am curious if I could find someone to accompany me to the dance floor... and perhaps also provide directions to it's location!"

"Air traffic regulations apply to natural fliers?" Speaker ponders this for a moment. "I suppose they would have to. Controlled airspace and all. Julie would know."

"Julie's not here because you told him to hold down the office," H'zta points out. "Given he's not allowed to go out on official business anymore unless we're intentionally trying to offend someone with no-nonsense bluntness."

"Hrr." Speaker sounds a little sad about having had to play bad cop to his best friend. "At least this Nasreho he will be the one wearing the Santa Hat." He looks at his consort and watches her jingle a bit, then he sniffs the air very gently with a look of mild puzzlement.

"Change the context and you change the meaning," is all the kzinrret has to say on the matter.

"Hr. Very clever then. Should I get another one, then?" He looks around. "Although I am afraid if I do the waiting staff will get leery about being mugged by kzinti."

"No, I think I have changed the context enough." H'zta allows just the slightest hint of hurt pride into her voice.

"I must not let that go to waste, then. So, Your Excellency," he addresses Aeselle, "dancing, you say?" He looks around for Magnus. He's busy chatting someone up, and making her turn less formal-looking by the minute. "Hrrrr. I can dance... a little."

"He lies," H'zta says simply, which makes the Patriarch nearly spin around. Instead, he just slowly moves his head, ears perked to make sure he heard right. "He can dance a lot, and very well too."

"You are a sly one," Speaker mutters.

"We've established this, yes." The kzinrret's ears flick.

Sirithil was between conversations and was far enough away that she didn't directly hear the announcement of the Kandarin delegation, but a passing servant informed her that they had arrived, and so she made her way across the room. The fractal nature of reality being what it was, Menelmacar had lost sight of Kandarin for some time, so it was of considerable interest to the Lady when it had recently reappeared. The Elentári looked resplendent in her cheerfully festive green and white robe with its red, silver-embroidered overcoat.

As the Noldor Queen approached, Rachel stopped her rampant speculations as to the nature of the partygoers. She turned, nodded to Sirithil, and bowed a little, spreading the sleeves of her pearl-white kimonesque (for there was no other way to describe it) in the traditional Dark Elven greeting. She nudged Anna, who stopped her wide-eyed gazing at the ceiling and also turned. The girl promptly curtsied, spreading the hem of her long black and red dress in a greeting that probably wasn't traditional anywhere anymore.

Sirithil smiled, and bowed her head briefly; she rarely did more than that, particularly here at home, but she also broke out in a dazzlingly warm smile. "Lady Rachel, I presume? So glad you could attend... I don't believe we've actually met." She offered a handshake as well, it being a fairly universal thing nowadays.

Rachel cheerily accepted Siri's handshake. "Only through memos, I'm afraid." After a moment, she added: "I meet a lot of interesting people that way. I don't usually get to meet them. Least of all someone of your stature. I must say, the invitation was a surprise. Our Realms have...drifted further away of late. It's a little more complicated than that, of course. It always is."

"Well, when we... lose track of places in which we have an interest," Siri mused, frowning a little at this and wishing she'd come up with a better way of putting it; Menelmacar rarely liked to admit to losing track of, well, anything. "We keep an eye out for their reappearance, at least from our perspective. It doesn't always happen, but in your case it did, and just in time for this celebration. So I sent you an invitation." The Elentári glanced down at Anna with another warm smile. "And who's your delightful little companion?"

"My niece, Anna." Rachel smiled just as warmly at Siri's interest. "Adoptive, of course. Lord Khaz of Damis - you'd probably remember him after the microwave incident - made her his successor last year. I thought she needed to see a little more of the world." She squeezed Anna's hand. "Say hello to the Elvenqueen, Anna."

Anna wasn't really sure what to say. It was all so sudden. Sirithil radiated the same feeling as the hall, a feeling of ancient, elven beauty. She could only guess at what those who could feel the magic of this place must experience. Even the mere aesthetics were enough. Suppressing a stammer, Anna beamed. "It's a great pleasure to meet you, Lady Sirithil."

Sirithil thought back to the incident in question; some time ago there had been an elven multinational coalition to prevent a genocide of elves in a relatively obscure nation called Sniper Wolf. The matter had been resolved largely peacefully (yet another triumph of Menelmacari-led gunboat diplomacy), though there had been shots fired - Kandarinese ships had raked a section of Sniper Wolf territory with a microwave beam weapon. "Ah, yes... I do recall Lord Khaz. That was an unfortunate matter." Sirithil's tone was entirely friendly throughout, of course, it had been a long time ago, and little harm had been done.

Then she knelt down so Anna didn't have to crane her neck up at her. "And the pleasure is all mine, I'm sure, Anna." She held out her hand, and flickers of light snake out from her fingers, coalescing into a fresh, and very lovely, poinsettia flower, in a shade of red matching Anna's dress, and she tucked it into the girl's hair. "For you, dear child..."

There was a flash of something when she made contact, though, and she blinked a little. Something tugged at the edges her consciousness that she couldn't quite put her finger on, yet just as soon as it had appeared it was gone. Idhrindiel, and the AI assigned to the suppression field, had certainly been right; Anna was no mere little girl. Yet, something also told Sirithil it wouldn't be an issue.

"I..." Anna turned and looked, for a moment, into one of the vast mirrors of the walls, and smiled. "It's very nice. Thank you. Thank you for the invitation, too. It's not often we get a chance to get out. My dad said to tell you that that particular line is out of commission...in case it came up."

Sirithil smiled again. "That's certainly good to hear, and you should thank him for me, all right? For thinking ahead about such things." She smiled, and ruffled Anna's hair just a little, before standing up again to address Lady Rachel. "So, what has Kandarin been doing all this time?"

Rachel's expression turned grim. "War, Lady Sirithil. Years of it. It started with an insurrection by our own mage classes. Once we had that sorted out, there seemed to be an endless parade of attacks by nations we thought were harmless that took us for easy picking. None of them were serious threats, but it added up. You probably know how unstable our portion of reality is. It was enough to strengthen the veil between our realities so much that we just sort of cut loose and drifted off."

"So, are these wars over, then? And how has your nation fared?"

"Most of them, or at least I'd like to think so. The last few were started by accident, and got wrapped up as peacably as I can hope. Mostly, though," Rachel said very knowingly, "A lot of the worst aggressors in our quarters have had their connections to us weakened over time, too. They are turned inward, and their civilizations devour themselves. Whether others will take their place... who can say? Many nations have boasted of it but hardly any have delivered."

Sirithil smiled understandingly. "We are no stranger to such things. Many have dismissed us and many have considered themselves a threat to us, and yet we are still ascendant as we have been for thousands of years, and so many of them have vanished entirely, or been reduced to... interesting archaeology?" She paused a moment before continuing. "While the way of the world is such that no realm can achieve true supremacy, it remains that very few can consistently stay atop the heap."

"Indeed." Rachel said. "Admittedly, the top of the heap has never been our true place. It is not a position we could hope to hold. To survive, even thrive a little...that is enough."

Another smile from the Elentári. "With closer relations with Menelmacar, I'm sure your people will find themselves thriving a little more."

The Eldar Lady returned the smile. "And yours, too."

"I'm glad we have an understanding, then," Sirithil replied. "And I should like, at some point, to visit Kandarin..."

"I would be happy to oblige." Rachel said, more than a little hopefully. "But that is a matter for another day. No doubt you have other concerns at the moment."

Sirithil smiled a little at this. "Then I look forward to discussing this with you further, soon."

"As soon as possible." Rachel gestured to the rest of the room. "In the meantime, peace on your house. Mahala Honist."

"And to you as well," Sirithil replied, "Mahala Honist. And do enjoy the party." It was one of the few phrases in the Kandarinese language she actually knew without use of magic.

"We will." Rachel promised.

Sirithil bowed her head slightly once more, then glanced about for the next person to talk to -- ah! the young druchii with Iyanna and the kzinti, perhaps...

---

OOC: Another of my famous co-op posts, this one with Kandarin.

“Ah, Cinderella shoes!” Mikhail said with a grin. “Do they turn into clogs past midnight? Jokes aside, I have to admit such footwear is quite attractive, albeit it appears not entirely comfortable. Do you expect to do any dancing, though?”

Mikhail then made a few steps to the side, intercepting an attendant and stealing two glasses of what appeared to be champagne from his platter, before making the few steps back to Katrina. Quite obviously, he offered her one of the glasses.

“Supernatural experience? No, I just had something particularly huge explode not far from me, enough to squish my combat suit and send me off into a nice little slumber.”

Of course, it was not entirely true. Whilst the coma itself was provoked by a very natural big bada boom, there were supernatural things associated with the experience, and the entire Plague to begin with. However, to an unaware observer, both domestic and foreign, all the events would be seen in a rather natural light: succession dispute, rebellion led by the then Grand Duke's elder sister, ECTOS malfunction, NGF malfunction, lots of fighting and burninating, big badaboom in the end and the military taking over for ten years. And so it would stay.

"However, if you are interested in supernatural things, I have to say my country is full of them. Starting from the symbol of Taraskovyan monarchy in the scabbard at my right side," the Vasilevs said, resting a hand upon the pommel of his blade. "It lives up to its name of cold weapon. It literally freezes its victims or those who are not supposed to wield it. By legend, it was given to Uidath Karetsah, the first Shokath-Kshas of a unified Tarathian nation, by Goddess Sathala herself so that he could unify the disparate Tarathian mountain tribes and coastal city states faster. Which he did."

Ravelyn glowed. She knew that eventually he would have to give into her wishes. She felt a bit bad about knowing that, but also felt thankful for it; for knowing she had someone so supportive. She removed a vial concealed within the corset part of her dress. It was a small vial with a pewter dragon around it. She had come prepared for his answer. She handed it over.

"Drink...and dance."

Goor looked at the vial and arched an eyeridge. "You carry that around with you all the time?" he asks, wondering how often that it would come in handy.

He did drink it, then looked at her, waiting to see what would happen.

[OOC: I'm going on a trip cross-state. I'll be back in full on the 4th, but will try to get on once per day to keep posting up a bit]

Nothing happened. There was a damn fine reason for this, the Artificial Intelligence controlling the suppression of violence and magical events, as was typical, did not approve of vampires, nor of vampires being sired in its presence. As such, it didn’t matter which way one turned the bottle, the local gravity continued to pull the liquid to the bottom of the vial.

Of course, it had taken other precautions too. Smashing or eating the object would be useless, as would teleporting the liquid, or even taking it as a suppository. Thousands of other contingencies were prepared for, too...

The Xirniumite was greeted with a little smile from Asine’rin, who had of course, been aiming to be comprehensible, and switched to a language she was certain to understand right away. Unfortunately for her pride, perhaps, it was Xirnian. She had not learnt the language, of course, but did so without perceptible delay. “Oh, well, I don’t think it has a name. It’s in what you would call the constallation of Aquila,” Or rather, whatever the Xirnian name for that region of the sky was, “tiny little speck, no longer visible, I’m afraid. The Necrontyr homeworld isn’t actually the homeworld of the C’tan,” she pronounced it Kuh-tan, rather than Satan or Ss-tan, but it was likely that many people across the world used any number of pronunciations if they’d only encountered the name in writing, “as we don’t really have one per se. The necrontyr home-star is visible, but unfortunately, it’s not visible from Earth, save as a radio source, though if you’d like to see it, I’m sure that can be arranged.

“And I would wait a moment before sitting. It wouldn’t do to have to rise again immediately,” she smiled, “Perhaps, for a moment, you would like me to show you more directly…”


De Vere smiled, “Oh, Asaid? She should be here… Around now, actually,” he said, looking up, where, sure enough, he saw a tall woman in a dark dress, “lightning never strikes in the same place twice. I’d suggest he worry more about his personal security.”


“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Ranisath said, loudly. There’d been a vogue, some time ago, for appending a list of other possibilities, but for the most part, once they’d got too long, they’d been dropped and most people, at least that he knew of, found the ‘traditional’ human phrase acceptable enough, rather than insulting by omission. “If you would like to come through to the dining room, food will be served immediately for all who desire it.”

Immediately was the important phrase. It had already been determined who would come, earlier in the week, and by similar, abstract means, it had also been determined where they would sit what they would like to order. As such, in front of every person’s labelled seat, was sat a covered platter of crystal and gold, that seemed dark inside.

The table itself was a circular shape, with gaps at five points of a hexagon to admit persons to the interior for serving. The seats were arranged around the outside, with plates and knives and cutlery and crockery and everything else one may have wanted, including exotic, foreign items.

Similarly, the food had been prepared according to the highly accurate predictions of individual tastes, and almost certainly contained either a balance of complementary elven and foreign cuisine, or something entirely foreign to the hosts, who had spared no expense; practically the only things that, if a guest wished for them, they would not find were products made from sapient beings.

The platters were generating tiny stasis fields, that kept the food, prepared over many hours, in its ideal (what this might be, varied) serving state. Some items had even been deliberately imported by courier, sent off to go and order them from foreign kitchens. When one sat, one of the grey-clad servants would step over, press a gemstone button and remove the top section of each stasis-tray, which, in doing so, would become transparent, the gossamer glass disappearing and the golden sections folding into a thin, sceptrelike rod, which they carried away.

The same applied to drinks, which were served in glass flasks, sealed with what seemed to be a brilliant white wax, however in these, the contents could be seen, perhaps limiting the surprise.

OOC: Yes! Describe your national cuisine. You know you want to! Also, for OOC purpouses, consider seating on a first-come-first-served basis. Whoever posts about it first gets to sit with Hesche. You may throw in as many courses as you feel appropriate, be it soup starters, or whatever $character wishes to eat first.

"Well, Firefury-uccjooh seems to think large natural fliers need to be somewhat regulated. It does makes sense, given all the machines that fly in this day and age." Najoedo nods in Speaker's direction. "Thankfully the same does not apply so much to this form."

At Aeselle's remark about dragons, he chuckles again. "Ah, despite appearances, I am no more and no less than an ordinary man; I was a peasant blacksmith before I became the first of the Keepers. These-" A slight flutter of the wings and flick of his tail. "-are largely a curious side effect of the magic in the twelve blades. Though for... many reasons... I can take the form a dragon."

As the conversation continues, he listens closely; nodding at mention of the elves. "I had encountered various elven nations in my travels a long time ago. The politics are... intriguing"

At the mention of dancing, Najoedo uses his height to try and locate the dance floor, peering over heads and poofy hats and pointy ears. "You know... I haven't much tried more modern dancing. Tribal chants, warrior dances, those sort of old things, yes; the newer varieties... not so much. Though there is certainly a first time for everything."
---

Max watches Ravelyn and Goor, observing the effect of the area's security system on the reptilian's attempt at consuming the vial's contents.

"My, our hosts do seem to have done a fine job of unobtrusively providing for everyone's safety. I wonder how exactly they do it." The diplomat observes. "Perhaps it would simply be easier to hold on to that, friend Goor, until after the drinking and merriment and celebration is over?"

ooc: has nothing to do with siring someone. Siring someone is completely different than what was in the vile. To sire someone, a vampire has to first bite the target, drain them almost to the last drop, and have the victem drink their own blood. This has nothing to do with vampirism.

IC:

Ravelyn watched Goor down the liquid. "Good," she whispered softly to him. The woman was clever; very clever indeed. She smiled. "I've seen similar things before...during the war in DFD as well as in other nations. It's quite interesting, though there are things around everything. She offered her hand.

"Dance with me," she said, this time looking at Max. She would let Goor mull over the decision he had just made, as well as relax a bit.

"I must not let that go to waste, then. So, Your Excellency," he addresses Aeselle, "dancing, you say?" He looks around for Magnus. He's busy chatting someone up, and making her turn less formal-looking by the minute. "Hrrrr. I can dance... a little."

"He lies," H'zta says simply, which makes the Patriarch nearly spin around. Instead, he just slowly moves his head, ears perked to make sure he heard right. "He can dance a lot, and very well too."

"You are a sly one," Speaker mutters.

"We've established this, yes." The kzinrret's ears flick.
"Most excellent!" Aeselle grins, holding out her hand as she looks up to Speaker, "It would a pleasure, my lord, to share a dance."

Having seen the poor woman quailing earlier, Speaker considers the grin to be a sign of improvement, and trusts his diplomatic experience to carry him through with a proper bow, smile, and flit of the ears as he accepts her hand in his pads with perhaps surprising gentleness, given how scaled-up everything about him is. "I am honored that you accept." He pressures, not tugs, with the form of an accomplished dancer to lead the way towards the dance floor. "Is there any particular style you prefer, or would like to avoid?" Aeselle falls into step with the much, much taller Speaker with suprising ease. "Perhaps something slower, my lord," she says, her voice much smoother and more confident then before. "For starters. It has been... several decades since my last dance instruction!"

"Hrrr." He seems to do some calculations in his head as he guides, casually ignoring the glances that a scene of a druchii following a 'tosh may engender. "Slower would suggest some form of waltz... English slow or Viennese, m'lady?"

"I... have never heard of these places, my lord," her brow furrows as she tries to decipher their meaning, "Perhaps it would simply be best to allow you to choose the tempo. I will follow, as I've been trained to do..." Speaker chuckles quietly to himself. "I am certain you will do quite well. This is just my ethnocentrism showing. My classical training of course has nothing to do with yours... now, please tell me, how close is it customary to dance in your culture?"

"Anywhere from full arms length to touching, my lord..." she glances up at him, a brief and playful smirk crossing her face, "Proper hithuan dictates that the less familiar you are with your partner, the farther away you should be, for reasons of security," saying that makes her close her eyes and chuckle softly, "Of course, there is nothing to fear here, no knives in the dark, so... half and arm's length?"

"My arm or yours?" The kzintosh winks at his joke, then turns with an eye-sliding felinid grace into a starting position matching proper tango form. He refrains from commenting that he has quite a few sharp objects retracted into his person; then again, room gravy will keep them there... He allows a few moments for the scale difference to be resolved to mutual comfort, and takes the opportunity to glance back at the band. "Something pasodoble, please, but starting a bit slower." He looks back down at Aeselle. "This is like a two-step; we will start at the band's pace and see where we can take it from there."

The young noblewoman smiled, the humor putting her at ease as she takes up his hands and adjusts herself, "Excellent, my lord. Lead on, and I shall follow."

Speaker nods, twitching his ears to the dun-duddadun-duddadun-duddadun-dun-dun-duddadun-daddadun-daddadun-dun-dun beat, letting it sink in before leading into a stylized stalking basic movement-duddadun-duddadun-turn-dun-dun-daddadun-daddadun-pressure for an experimental out-and-back cross-body-lead, using the reversed direction to head back towards where they started. Luckily, her training kicks in, and it only takes Aeselle a moment to catch on, and follow Speaker's lead with a graceful air. The kzintosh takes the next few phrases to establish the next basic moves, single-handed and double-handed turns, working into lock steps and establishing some basic gancho hooks. Not exactly halal for ballroom dancing, but Speeks is getting comfortable and thinks the druchii is keeping up. Despite herself, Aeselle actually does manage to keep up--she laughs and smiles happily, finding their dance to be rather exhilarating!

Rrit figures that's the cure to kick it up a notch; on the next cross-body-lead and spin, he holds Aeselle out for a few moments, his free hand tossed up in the theatrical way usually seen in flamenco dancers and starts snapping his fingers to a faster... and different beat. Click-clickclick-click-clickclick-click-clickclick-clickclick-clickclick, and again; the band, catching on, drags an accordion out from somewhere (this is the middle of Menelmacar, they have everything), and work into a thirty-measure-a-minute tango. On the return spin Speeks reduces the standoff distance a bit, maybe a quarter of Aeselle's arm, and uses limberness to his advantage so while his legs move more fluidly and widely, his footwork isn't exaggerated. At the first pause he makes eye contact, glances over to the opposite direction as a cue, spins Aeselle out and brings her back in with a hand-and-direction switch, and does the traditional sharp staccato head-turn associated with ballroom tangos and carries on, introducing compression and tension as a method to control momentum and make those gracefully abrupt stops tangos are known for. Several decades it may have been, but Aeselle quickly gets reacquired with the art, and follows Speaker's lead very well, finding the new and different style actually rather thrilling. He has to think fast to incorporate miscues into the overall dance--it's going to happen, of course--but it just adds an extra layer of flair as the ratcat leads the dance into a more Argentine flair, taking advantage of felinid fluidity and druchii grace to really make something out of the dance. As the pace speeds up and the music gets more complicated, Aeselle just flows with it, trusting her odd partner as they dance and dodge around the few people making use of the floor.

The kzintosh concentrates like a martial artist going through a free-form set. Spin out, retract, hand-switch, spin out the other way with a hook, catching Aeselle by the knee and keeping her from toppling over with firmly gripping lead hand and his other hand gently supporting her waist, pull back with a cross-body-lead and the momentum of the return to change direction. Step, kick, cross-step, kick, foot-hook and lift for a guided leap, footwork, spin-out and back with the momentum and some compression used for a dual spin. Aeselle, delighted by the strange dance, holds back a laugh.

The music hits its climax, and Speaker pulls Aeselle back in a spinning cross-lead, leverages with compression from his hand on her waist to pick her up and spin her three-sixty, then spins her back out and holds for the last beat, ending the song with left hand in the air, right hand out, knees bent with left leg out in a kneel that almost puts the knee of his left trousers on the ground. Aeselle, quick to catch on, adopts the same stance at the end of her spin, and laughs. As the music ends, Speeks flicks his ear, twists his free right hand once, then gently leads Aeselle back to standing at arm-and-a-half length before stepping back and bowing politely.

"I hope you enjoyed the dance, Your Excellency. It seems they call us to dinner..." Standing back and looking even more relaxed than earlier, he sees H'zta through the open door to the dining room--bright orange is hard to miss--and returns the 'rets wave with one hand. "My consort has saved us some seats--shall we go?"

Meanwhile, over in the dining room, Rhiannon--who had rendezvoused back with H'zta and her small escort group of varied elf-type-people, with Alatádae in tow if the elf agrees to it--blinks at Speeks' hoofing. "I'm... ah... impressed."

H'zta chuckles. "It was something Julie got him interested in so he wouldn't mope around the apartment drinking all the milk after the Extraction."

"Razak?" The younger Hesche puzzles. "That's odd. Dancing doesn't seem to be his thing."

H'zta shrugs fluidly. "It hasn't been for a long time. Anyway, yes--as I said, he's good." She glances down at Magnus' daughter with a sly smirk. "You didn't think I was lying, did you?"

The response is automatic, and so is the slight blush... which only gets worse when Rhiannon's train of thought catches up with her automated social responses and she knows that she's being teased. "Of course not, ma'am." She glances at the clarketech serving trays, and changes subject for the sake of face... and takes command, because that's what she does. She's a Hesche. "We may as well get started, so the menfolk don't have to wait by rules of chivalry when they get here."

"Of course, ma'am," H'zta teases, and watches as the young woman almost ravenously grabs the lid off--almost, firstly because she is a proper lady and must show the correct amount of social decorum, secondly because she's still seems to be holding back when she moves, and thirdly because this was the instant she sat down and so the undead blue robot elves took the cover away for her with the skill and grace of stereotypical Japanese assassins.

Rhiannon's first course reveals itself to be a variation on a Waldorf salad, with lettuce, diced celery, sliced apples, walnuts, dried dates (instead of the more usual raisins), cubed chicken braised in a white wine sauce, tossed in a spiced and honeyed fresh mayonnaise-and-buttermilk dressing and garnished with mandarin oranges in a flower-petal pattern around the rim of the plate. It could be a meal in and of itself, and it's a meal she tucks into quite happily, if daintily.

H'zta doesn't so much fight down the scream-and-leap instinctual response to the waiters sneaking up on her as much as she slaps it on the wrist and tells it to go sit in the corner again. Her starter looks to be a light garden salad--nothing particularly fancy about it besides the arrangement (well, that's a nice Moire effect they got with those very thinly sliced bits of carrot)--and next to it a braised round steak wrapped around a stuffing of four different kinds of cheese, broccoli, and zucchini, spiced with some cinnamon and topped with a thin layer of spicy tomato sauce and melted mozzarella cheese in the Parmesan style. H'zta flicks her ears and sniffs quietly, partially in wonderment in how they would've guessed but mostly to enjoy the smell, then starts herself on the salad.

Yes, kzinti like meat... but anticipation often makes things better.

Alessa had been way too busy enjoying being with Sempero to pay too much attention to the assorted humans who had been rushing around the place self-importantly. So she wasn't that sorry when the call to dinner came. There'd be plenty of time over dinner to talk to people, even if she really was only here to meet with Siri and Rani again. "Come on, Semp! All the good seats will be taken!" She didn't know if her hosts had made arrangements for Semp to sit next to her, and, put properly, she didn't really care. That was how she was arranging things.

"Why, are you hungry?" Sempero asked as he was, for the second time that evening, pulled along by someone half his size.

"If I say yes, will you carry me to our seats?" Alessa raised an eyebrow as she dodged through the slow-moving crowds, Sempero dangling along behind her like a loose anchor. On her own, she reflected, she might very well have made it in first. With Semp, though... and then she suddenly realised that while her feet might have been moving still, they were not, in fact, touching the ground. "I wasn't serious!"

"This seems the best way to avoid an accident." Sempero told her as he carried her under his arm, gently weeding his way through the crowd. It parted subtly as he approached, the appearance of a very large male tending to make people part ways even in a completely safe environment like this. Soon they arrived at their seats, which were, by some quirk, right next to each other. He gently put Alessa back in her seat and dusted off her shoulders while she quietly fumed. He grinned and took a seat next to her. "Who do you think we'll get?"

"Oh, I don't know." She murmured, resting her head against his arm until he prompted her to sit up. "Hopefully someone interesting to talk to. But not that...woman with the black wings. She smells wrong." She glared at Sempero, making it clear that any attempt to broach the topic of 'winged solidarity' would result in some form of torment. Leaving Sempero to open his own plate, she pulled the container off and smiled. "This looks nice!"

There was a large rump steak there, seared on both sides but otherwise juicy and pinkish. Next to it were an assortment of various items that were, presumably, vegetables, though none that an earthly garden would grow. There was a reddish sauce that smelt vaguely of coriander, and next to it, a small group of what appeared to be... "Oh..." Alessa looked a little concerned. "Um..."

There were deepfried lizards in a small bowl. Alessa looked up at her large, reptilian (in disguise) companion, a troubled look on her face, as if she expected him to run off right there and then.

The little lonely Grand Duchess

Vethara was not really surprised to find some of her favourite meals to be delivered to hear seat. After all, she spent a good eight years of her life in Menelmacar, during the less glorious and peaceful times her country went through. There would, thus, be a bit of everything: from typically Ros dishes to something very local. The Grand Duchess was reasonably thin, well shaped, with near-perfect measurements, but had a very, very healthy appetite. Many friends of hers would often joke about her having some sort of black hole in her stomach which propelled food into a parallel dimension, with the woman gaining no weight what so ever.

In this, she would surely surprise whoever it was that had the chance (or bad luck) or sitting next to her. Not that she had the time to really look into her neighbours, too curious about all the nice meals and dishes the hosts came up with for her.

_________________________________________________________________

OOC: Whoever is interested in talking to her, feel free. Otherwise, I’m afraid I’m too brain dead to check on who is available or not. New Year celebrations ahoy!

Iyanna thought it wonderful timing as the call to dinner came and the dancers stopped well dancing, she had been about to call Taldar her Gryinx, to lend some emotional aid to Aeselle, well to be honest she had planned to have taldar bump Aeselle anytime she appeared to be about to saying something she might regret, but it would also be an emotional aid. Now however she didn’t have to because, like magic, well more the senses of a well trained and spoilt cat, Taldar appeared by her side.

The conversation between the two was odd, more emotions and concepts than actual words, but for eases sake it went something along the lines of this. Ahh you picked you moment… good, I need you to help Aeselle…
Thought I picked her up on you, sometimes you and your liking for those people…
Iyanna smiles and scratches Taldar’s ears I know full well you think the same as me about them… well maybe not exactly the same, I doubt you can appreciate Aeselle fully… With that they both shared a mental smirk before joining the others at the Table.

Here Iyanna is quite firm in one thing Taldar, may be a cat and unlike the Speaker and his charming wife, not a two legged cat but an actual four legged metre tall hunting cat, but she got a place at the table, just like Iyanna and a plate of her own, because well… Taldar insisted on it, curling up on one of the seats with an air of ‘Of course I get to sit here, are you going to move me’ on its face.

Iyanna doesn’t seem to help matters as far as she is concerned Taldar is right, it is her right to sit there, and be fed the same meal as she is about to eat. Again she would argue with just about anyone about that fact. As for the meal itself, it’s a strange mix of foods. Fruits along with various other delicacies from around the galaxy. Lightly spiced foods, because the Eldar have a strong sense of taste and so anything too strongly spiced, is well highly unpleasant, the worst thing you can feed an Eldar is a jalapeño, well unless you want them screaming for the water at the top of their voice, and shortly after plotting your doom in various painful manners. A fun practical joke that would not be.

In short Iyanna’s meal and that of the other Farseers was less a meal and more a collection of starters that the seers moved between as the mood took them. As for where she sat well she did take a seat along with the others from the Santa hat club, and one keeper that she too had somehow missed, likely distracted by Aeselle’s worries

Josef glanced up as dinner was announced, and gestured towards the room, smiling at the reploid, "Well, seems we're being herded. Shall we?"


The Hack didn't exactly have a "national" cuisine. Being such a mixture of styles, races, and nationalities leads to a rather fractured national identity, thus leading to an eclectic assortment of traditional dishes. Granted, personal preferences of national leaders tended to be well known.

Josef, for instance, had lately become something of a fan of Segonune cuisine, even though many would call it "cuisine". Segonune, being to skunks what Nekos would be to cats, tended to have traditional dishes that are quite different from what most people would be interested in. Specifically: insects. Granted, it wasn't just a cockroach on a skewer; generally, if you didn't know what was in it, you would never guess. Casseroles and pasta creations have become rather popular.

Elisa, fully intending to "end up" sitting next to Rene, had equally global tastes; however, she tended to prefer things that were a bit more 'normal'. A traditional steak and salad would be right up her alley. She was rather intrigued by the dish, feeling like she did on Christmas morning. The glass was rather less interesting, but by being filled with what looked like red wine, she found herself starting to make guesses about what was under the dome.

Vermi was more than a little amused when she noticed how things were set up. She rarely ate any more, and when she did, it was usually something still alive. And mooing. She fully expected her dish to simply have a card saying something again to: "Erm. Sorry?"

Arriving rather late, the Aerionian delegation had hopefully been shown the way by the staff through the tunnels.

In an even more unusual sighting than seeing the Crown Prince Regent at an event was both the Crown Prince Regent Damoen Wasterin (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/damoen_wasterin.html), and his sister Princess Ameria Wasterin (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/ameria_wasterin.html) together attending an event. Perhaps it was due to the profile of the event, and those present.

Their very separate entourages accompanied them though for this event they chose to travel light. Together their entourages totaled only fifty this time though this would be limited if the Menelmacar requested it.

Damoen Wasterin wore one very traditional tuxedo though with a slim, modern cut. This with his Eastern Aerionian features caused him to look almost Italian in appearance. He wore a purple sash from his shoulder across his tuxedo which hanging from the end of which was the badge of the Royal Aerionian Order of His Majesty the King (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/royal_aerionian_order_of_his_majesty_the_king.html). He also wore a small white ribbon on his left breast with a smaller badge for the Order of the White Wolf (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/order_of_the_white_wolf.html). His black shoes were polished to gleaming perfection.

Princess Ameria Wasterin wore her favorite color. Her fitting shimmering purple dress was cut low, yet was a classy. An exquisitely cut diamond necklace with amethyst interchanging with the diamonds hung around her neck. Perhaps provocatively or tackily she wore diamond studded high heels.

Together they stepped into the dining area. They maintained an dignified appearance though the Crown Prince Regent looked a bit embarrassed at their lateness. His sister on the other hand kept her cold yet diplomatic appearance, and did not seem to care she was late.

It would come as little surprise to anyone who followed such things that the Hacker and Tsarainese delegations were seated next to each other; the Menelmacari protocol AIs had certainly read the raucous mess of rumour, half-truth and lies that masqueraded as news in the Hack, and the quiet, restrained and utterly factual statements that passed for it in the Ascendancy, and gleaned a handful of salient facts from it.

So it was no surprise that the seat to Elisa's right had the thorny jags of Sekhel calligraphy on the nametag in front of it. It might be somewhat more surprising, on a personal level, when Elisa found herself encircled from behind by a pair of black-clad arms and someone's jaw rested on the top of her head.

"Hello, Elisa," Rene said, smiling, hugging her tightly for a moment before releasing her. "It's good to see you."

Max offers Ravelyn a sweeping, nearly gallant bow, smiling warmly as the diplomat accepts the vampiress' hand. "M'lady, your command is my pleasure. Have you a favored style of dance? I have studied many varieties in my spare time, so I should hope I may yet live up to your expectations."

The diplomat's movement as they walk to the dance floor is silky smooth, almost unnaturally so, and just shy of overtly sensual. Max's blue eyes gleam as the pair take up positions on the dance floor; the diplomat following Ravelyn's lead as they establish how far apart to stand. The gaze is difficult to read, not quite predatory, not quite eager or anticipatory, not quite challenging, but a little bit of everything. Except fear; Maxmillian Patrick Christof the Fourth shows fear to no one!
---

Najoedo navigates the dinner crowd after complimenting Speaker and Aeselle's surprisingly skilled dance. The Keeper hadn't been expecting the giant ratcat to be able to maneuver in quite such a manner, and the intricate, lively pace is utterly at odds with all the old ritual dances that make up his woefully lacking repertoire.

He ends up seated with the "Santa hat club", and is pleasantly surprised to find that the seat he finds himself in is made to accommodate his awkward frame, with the back of the chair narrow enough for him to lean back on without interfering at all with his wings, and shaped enough at its base for him to tuck his tail to one side without leaving the appendage in a position to be stepped on or tripped over. Once seated, the Keeper introduces himself to those nearby he hasn't met yet, including Iyanna.

Having traveled so much, there is little in the way of food that he doesn't like. Between exposure to foreign cultures in his comparative adolescence and the struggle just to have enough to eat in his youth, Najoedo is anything but a picky eater; and is further pleased to find his plate laden with a selection of foods he hasn't tried before.

Zeroel, meanwhile, takes his leave from Josef and waits for the organic attendees to get seated before the reploid finds a spot to sit. Being a machine, after all, means he doesn't need to eat. And given his self-image is the large diplomatic carrier parked outside somewhere and not even remotely humanoid, he's never had his reploid avatar outfitted to process food stuff.

Elisa jumped slightly, having been so wrapped up in poking at her wine glass that she didn't even notice the Tsarainese delegation approaching. She smiled as she heard Rene's voice, reaching back with one arm to, somewhat awkwardly, return the hug.

She smiled at Rene as the woman sat down next to her, "It's very nice to see you too, Rene. We never seem to have enough time to get together anymore." She laughed a little, "I guess it takes an international event for us to clear our schedules for dinner, huh?"

After attending well over one thousand balls, parties, and otherwise, she was well equipped to deal with any sort of dancing that she had to deal with. It was fun for her, at least. She could make it look flawless and effortless as time slowed for her. Her eyes showed very little emotion towards the beginning. As the music picked up her eyes lost their dull expression, and replaced it with a burning one. They burned into his light blue eyes, familiarly.

Even when other festivities went on, it wasn't like she could eat anything anyway. The music and rhythm lost her in her own mind. That was a very dangerous place to be. "Vaughn..." she whispered. Clearly addressing Max though her eyes were a bit hazed over.

Sempero had to admit to being whimsy. Picking up the Roanian had seemed the appropriate thing to do, chivalry and all. He wasn't 'big' enough to be intimidating on that respect alone, but weighing the better part of a metric ton combined with impressive subconscious agility and coordination certainly made people withdraw slightly as he waltzed through, the carpet around his shoes doing micro-impressions of the biblical red sea as his feet sunk deeply into the luxurious carpet.

He sat the protesting Mage Queen down and parked himself down next to her, hoping the chair would have been reinforced. It didn't seem to be, but it barely creaked as he sat, and he assumed in retrospect the AI of the place was thorough with everyone's needs. He smiled as Alessa uncovered the food, commentating on the crowd as he scanned the gathering attendees, hoping someone or something with an open mind and an evolutionary predilection to extended nursing of one or two live young would turn up. Alessa spoke, nodding towards the woman with black wings he noticed earlier.

"Who? The Goth?" He glanced up. "She looks about as appealing as a Midlonian's dental appointment." Got fangs though, always appealing. Probably undead bollocks though. He turned to his own meal. It was, simply put, the ribs of some fairly large animal (Freestian Taur, maybe, given how complete and ostentatious the rest of the meals were), uncooked, garnished with a few spices found back in the Commonwealth that gave a slightly orange-ish colour to the juices flowing over it, and the meat itself was dressed with a few vegetables disguised under a creamy sauce and a number of small fish and crustaceans

He then looked up, to see Alessa looking fretful over her meal. He returned the strange glance, then looked down at the food, then it finally clicked as he looked at her side dish. "Oh come on dear, I don't remember ever objecting to you sticking something reptilian in your mouth."

****

Clodius nodded towards the woman. "Not too bad. Expected her to be smaller though." He took another sip of the wine, excellent stuff though to his dulled taste buds barely noticeable. “And a kid too. That is surprising”.

What, Clodius? You don’t expect soldiers to have families?” His mind mocked. In reality his head nodded thoughtfully at the next bit.

“And, well, yes security is always a concern. Protecting the primary and all. Then again in your case your primary is basically a deity. And to be fair considering who we mostly have to deal with we do alright. I just assume with people like you,” people here being the broadest sense of the word “we just have to accept that whatever we do you can just come and tear the goddamn bunker out of the ground. We tend to find not stepping on bigger toes is the only real way to stay safe these days.”

The dinner call came out, and Clodius excused himself politely, interested in seeing both where his comrades had appeared and to actually sit down and eat. He browsed (and the equivalents in his other senses) the incoming crowds, refine human and elvish dignitaries, the usual, most unfamiliar save for news reports and intelligence briefings and even those covered only a minority. Speaking of primaries, he sought out his companions. Theo and Sarah were still with the ZMI delegation, and Sempero was…

…being himself.

The Freestian vampire moved over to his assigned seat, rolling his eyes as his comrade came into view.

"Oh god its you." Clodius remarked, a smirk rather betraying the serious tone.

“Sup stumpy.” Sempero grinned back, the two exchanging light, playful (a relative term, an elf or human would have fallen to the ground clutching broken arms and collarbones from a similar exchange) blows as Clodius sat down in the same slow manner as Sempero had done. Uncovering his own meal (similar to Sempero’s starter, meat and fish ahoy), he looked up in the same moment, letting ther other vampire introduce him to the white winged woman opposite.

“Alessa, dear, meet Clodius Maxilimus, Lord of Navarrok…my boss.” He swung his hand one way to the other with the correct names. “And Clo, this is Empress Alessa Annirere, Queen of Roania who is currently enjoying the benefits of vampiric cultural exchange.”

“Charmed.” Clodius leaned forward and kissed the outstretched hand across Sempero. He smiled, though unlike the humanised Greek statue that was Semp, the scarred visage gave the impression of a true relaxing soldier as opposed to a flighty shampoo commercial spokesman.

OOC: Rave, regardless of what you might know about it, the logical conclusion for the being monitoring conversation "Do you want to be a vampire" "Yes." "Here you go" *passes vial* Is that the vial somehow creates a vampire. Consequently, not only because most vampires are hungry when created, but because we just don't like vampires (RPing what is traditionally a blood sucking monster is not something that should logically make your characters innately popular...) Goor will not be able to drink it.

Max lives up to the earlier boasts, able to match the vampiress's movement with the ease of a great deal of practice and an eerie natural grace. The diplomat's tendency for dramatic flourishes carries out onto the dance floor, motions precise but grandiose, flowing from one step to the next, smile widening as Ravelyn seemed to be warming up to their dancing.

One eyebrow quirks up at the whispered name, unfamiliar to the diplomat. Max's smile drops a notch, not out of envy, but of concern, if the softening look in those blue eyes is any indication. Having been through the worst of the Dividing War, Max knows several of the signs of a flashback; though an apparently pleasant flashback is beyond the diplomat's own range of experience.

"M'lady?" The inquiry is barely a whisper, tone gentle.

Lirella and Derin took their seats, placing them, it would appear, between the Grand Duchess of All Tarasovka and the Santa Hat Club. Ilunaia was, of course, included in such, though the three seats marked for the trio were contiguous. Lirella leaned over, perhaps unprofessionally, though her greeting was hardly anything inappropriate.

"My Lady, it's a pleasure to see you again... I'm afraid I haven't actually been mingling too much tonight... I've been looking forward to what culinary surprise our hosts have prepared."

When the lid comes off, Lirella's first course is revealed to be a salad, perhaps unfamiliar, but not surprisingly similar to Rhiannon's Waldorf. Still, the ingredients seem to be almost all Kajali - though there is still a trace of apple in the dish. The lettuce is visibly pink, owing to the specifics of the dish, and the slight bitterness of the lettuce (an acquired taste, they say) is offset and complemented by the sweet citrus fruit, dried cranberries(!), and, perhaps most unexpected, at least to Lirella, thinly shaved almonds.

Accompanying the salad, is a small serving of alien and earthly vegetables, arranged artfully around a small artichoke heart, and what appears to be chicken cordon bleu. The cutlet itself is actually a Kajali meat, reptilian in origin, though the hosts have otherwise prepared it in the traditional fashion, and a creamy swiss oozes from it immediately following Lirella's first slice, revealing thinly sliced ham in the center.

Derin's meal is much less exotic, though much of the ingredients are still Kajali in origin. Still, it's hard to make it appear as anything else, and his tray reveals a steak, smothered in bearnaise and seafood, with a generously sized stuffed, baked potato, and assorted grilled vegetables.

Ilunaia's dish, on the other hand, is perhaps most telling. There's almost nothing Kajali on it, and instead the lid comes off revealing a deceptively small amount of food. It is, all of it, Menelmacari, some of which Ilunaia is still learning the names of, though all such that she had sampled and enjoyed during her prior visitation to Vinyatirion.

"They know me too well," She says, smirking.

"'Idealism at all costs,' ma'am. What's life without a bit of idealism to view it by?"

Amalria grinned heartily. "You could easily be Yaforite, Mr. Hesche. That is one of the covenants of our ethnicity." She hoped, quickly, that he understood that this was simply a joke. She didn't mean, on any level, to be racist towards. Racism was, unless in a joke like this one, inexcusable. When Amalria would go back over what had been said that day, this particular comment would strike her as singularly inappropriate, especially coming from the lips of someone acting as a diplomat. Nonetheless, at the time, the comment did not hit Amalria, at all, as out of place - if anything, she found it as perfectly in place. Though, of course, she was talking to Magnus Hesche.

"And who says one can't have fun at work?"

She nodded, smiling beneath her nod, towards his boyish smile. "That's not a bad idea, Mr. Hesche. After all, we do do what we love...hopefully." There was a slight insinuation in what she was saying - a little jab at his job, perhaps, or a subliminal message. Amalria wasn't quite sure what she was trying to say, but it sounded good. And right, for some reason. It wounded right.

"Exactly. 'But our work is play,' so they say."

"You really are incorrigible, aren't you?" There was an element of laughter to her voice as Amalria spoke.

"Well, I could try to play up a sense of mystery, but... such things aren't exactly my cachet. Sorry. As for interesting people, some are much more interesting than others."

Amalria took what he meant as a compliment. After all, it was clearly meant to be one. She hoped, at least. "Indeed, there are, Mr. Hesche." Amalria's eyes did not break their contact from his, either. It was clear that she was paying him a compliment as well. Needless to say, it did not need to be said at all. After all, she was talking to Magnus Hesche, not some insecure young man.

"Oh, not at all. I always thought that's what parties were for. Well, the band is starting, at the very least--shall we hit the dance floor before it gets too crowded? Someone has to loosen the atmosphere up a little, neh?"

"It sounds like an excellent idea, Mr. Hesche." She grinned as he lead her to the dance floor, smiling inwardly in anticipation. "I'm afraid that I'm not a very good dancer, though." She had been much too busy in her life to learn such things.

[OOC: Very late, sorry Scolo'. Sorry for the brevity, too.

I'll let Scolo' RP the whole dinner thing.]

They had, likely by dint of the importance of the Scolopendran delegation, managed to score seats very near to the head table. Aeselle was rather pleased to see this as she accompanies Speaker to their seats.

Dinner, or the idea of food in general, finally brought Konrad back to the fold, where he slips into his seat beside Aeselle. His return just made her groan, and turn to glare at him.

"You took your time!" she hisses, switching to her native druhir, rather then bother the others with berating her cousin. Luckily, he understood and replied in kind.

"Not my fault, there were some drow at the bar... we had an interesting conversation, and a few drinks..." Aese interrupts him before he could make up more excuses.

"I don't care if you meet the Dark Mother at the bar, I'll thank you to remember that you were supposed to be fetching drinks for the group of us! The Supreme-Emperor had to stoop so low as to get them from a server, because of you! I nearly died of embarrassment!"

"I'm sorry cousin... I'll make it up to you later..." he grins and winks, but Aeselle just gives him a disgusted look. It was all she could do to not slap him then and there.

"I'm not interested in you now, idiot. Just eat your food and try not to embarrass me further! "

With Konrad's grumbling in her ear, they both turned to open their dishes. Both of them looked rather surprised with the food, as it was even more then they'd expected. Aese was treated to a very thick, juicy porterhouse steak, accompanied by crab-stuffed mushrooms and a lobster tail. Light chicken caesar salad was there for a starter, and on this she practically pounced.

Konrad, though, was busy salivating as he looked over the full rack of tender beef ribs, done with a honey marinade that just screamed deliciousness. A more plain salad was offered as an appetizer, along with a plate of various vegetables. But he had a hard time prying his eyes off the steaming meat...

"My... the hosts are most generous..." Aese said, almost purring as she sampled the salad, finding it to be perfectly crisp and just to her liking...

(Mmm, this post is making me hungry...)

Lady Penteleimon and Anna were quickly seated, if for no other reason than the fact that everyone else seemed to be flocking, ambling, moseying, strutting or sometimes just plain honest walking over to the dining hall. It was where the party was at, and that was that. But when they arrived, the Kandarinese 'diplomats' were ferried to their place, set between a pair of impeccably dressed yet hulking giants accompanying a tiny winged woman on one end and a vacant space on the other. In short, unless the vacant space was in fact a delegation from the shadowy and enigmatic Imperceptible Nation, there was no one they knew.

As the cover of Rachel's plate faded away like an overexcited soap bubble, she was more than a little perplexed by the contents. It was all Malev undercity fare: Finely fileted red glow-worm, just barely cooked, on a bed of fresh fungal blooms, interspersed with crushed lamprey. Delicious as all the ingredients were, it was a meal that had never been served before. The only people who ate such things would never put in the expense to eat at any restaurant that would go to such measures to prepare it formally. Apparently, the chefs had a sense of irony. A sense of irony and deep pockets.

Anna's meal was smaller and much less eclectic. A small serving of the cuttlefish for which Tilden was marginally famous, with unnaturally good garlic potatoes. A large, black-winged butterfly sat in the middle of the plate, but an experimental bite revealed it to be woven entirely from Elven sugar candy. Both of their glasses were filled with a fine Dark Elven wine of unidentifiable vintage.

As she greedily took apart the rest of the butterfly, Anna couldn't help but notice the...girl? Woman to her left? No, it had to be the latter. Even though the dignitary was hardly a head taller than herself, the Kandarinese girl was quite certain that she was quite older. What she found really interesting, though, was the wings; they brought back memories. Anna had had a roommate with wings, an exchange student, about one year back. She had been magically skilled, elitist, and more than a little confused before being whisked off by an arbitrary home government. The winged dignitary looked very little like her; aside from the wings. Truth be told, there was something not quite right. She was reasonably pretty, but it was as if someone had tried and failed to make her appear perfect to the eye. Someone with a better understanding of early digital graphics would have immediately thought of the word airbrushed.

All of this thinking made Anna more curious than hungry. She smiled cherubically at the young woman. "Good evening."

The Yaforite Buzzkill

"It sounds like an excellent idea, Mr. Hesche." She grinned as he lead her to the dance floor, smiling inwardly in anticipation. "I'm afraid that I'm not a very good dancer, though."
Magnus grins and presents the direction towards the dance floor with a slight bow and flourish before offering his free arm. Amalria accepts in ladylike but uncertain fashion, as if it is an unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, gesture. Dodging the ratcat and the pointy tearing up the floor, Hesche finds a good place to start, figuring the tango to be a good challenge, then...

"Excuse me, Ambassador Godarian?"

Magnus looks up even though he's not the one addressed, and takes on a ever so nearly smug look of 'now what is this?' as Amalris detaches herself to face Foreign Minister Jyorin Kiamelar. "Yes, sir?" The feeling of professionalism and some concomitant shame quickly squashing any enjoyment she had been having is palpable, and Magnus doesn't even have to cheat to feel it. "My apologies, Mr. Hesche, where are my manners? This is Foreign Minister Jyorin Kiamelar, my superior; Minister Kiamelar, this is Mister Magnus Hesche of the Federated Segments of Scolopendra." She knows he claims to be an envoy to new worlds, a diplomat, and a professional adventurer, but suddenly she can't think of anything that sounds right and would get her out of the little 'chat' she's beginning to expect.

"Good evening, Mister Hesche," Kiamelar says with a professionally extended hand. All proper politeness, and engaging enough, but merely a veneer over the straight-laced professional seeing unacceptable slack in his subordinate.

"My pleasure, sir," Magnus replies with the sort of smirking joviality with a Doric beat usually found in people going on guard, just in case. Cheer with an edge, but still cheerful.

"I hate to interrupt so rudely, but if I may speak with the Ambassador for a few minutes?"

Magnus intentionally hesitates, canting his head ever so slightly as he holds eye contact with the minister, simply gaging what may happen should he say 'no.' Not that he's going to, but it can't hurt to make the man slightly nervous and knowing he's being watched. "But of course, sir." He steps back with a small polite bow.

Jyorin takes Godarian off to the side with subtle gestures of his eyes and the muscles of his face and neck, then speaks quietly but quickly in Hindi. "What exactly do you think you're doing, Ambassador? We're here on business."

She does her best to cover. Well, this is a party, and, well... "I believe dancing is customary at these sorts of events, sir."

"Excuse me," Magnus says, having just materialized well over Kiamelar's shoulder with one long step, "is there a problem?" Now, to Magnus and the Scolopendrans, he's just stepped into polite personal talking distance. This means about ten centimeter separation between his diamond-crushing jaw and the Foreign Minister's face. Whether this classifies as 'polite' or 'comfortable' to Yaforites is a different matter entirely, and Magnus is banking on it being not taken so well.

If Jyorin is intimidated or insulted, on the other hand, he has the good grace not to show it. "Not at all, Mister Hesche." Diplomats know the art of getting across the concept of 'go away, kid, you bother me' couched in nothing but tone and delivery.

"Well, excellent then," Magnus says jovially, with the nearly-smug self-confident edge turned up just a little more. "I'd be most displeased with myself if there was something I did to perhaps cause the good lady problems. I would have to give up being a Senior Diplomatic Officer, for one--an officer and a gentleman, you know."

Now, Jyorin knows through the APN that a Senior D.O. is still not equivalent to him--that'd be the Segments' International Relations Advisor, one Abd-al-Haqq. Nice woman, if slightly imperious. Still, the Senior isn't a title given out lightly, and so Magnus is suddenly upgraded to an Important Person. "Oh, nothing you did, to be certain, Officer..."

"After all, after talking with the good Ambassador here, I've resolved that we really should put the fishing rights under your flag your nation requested for Scolopendran waters on Titan and Ringside. I know we've been dragging our heels for months," Magnus says, raising his hands apologetically while his voice takes on a more negotiating tone, yet sticking closely to its self-assured nature, "and between you and me, sir, it was because we were worried about the precedent and whether foreigners would stick to the TerraEngineers' fishing caps. However, your Ambassador's professionalism has assured me that your nation's reputation for lawfulness has been most well deserved and I am going to tell the Supreme Emperor--the big orange fuzzy throwing around that druchii, you see, who is a very good friend of mine--that we should push it through the Ledge-You and establish a precedent that other nations known to be more creative in their interpretation of laws cannot use for potentially unilateral benefits."

"That's... excellent to hear, Officer," Kiamelar says with a smile, glancing occasionally at Amalria with a less accusatory and more professionally pleased look. "That should smooth things dramatically. As you know, there's been quite an interest in Yafor for your engineered fish stocks."

"Anything within reason to further improve amiable relations with our friends," Magnus says with a grin. The fact he's looking down slightly, and is certainly not what one would call a wispy man, perhaps makes the perfectly pleasant expression somewhat more threatening than it would otherwise be taken. Either that or the teeth. Dear gods, the teeth. Kiamelar gets a subconscious inkling of why kzin consider exposed teeth, even in a friendly grin, a threat.

"But of course." The Foreign Minister steps back, arguably to include Godarian in the conversation. "Well, then, Ambassador, you are to be congratulated."

"Thank you, sir," she replies while suppressing the urge to throw a quizzical look Magnus' way.

"Still... when given an opportunity, we must plan, no?" The minister addresses Magnus. "Do you mind if I discuss this development with the Ambassador?"

Magnus cants his head ever so slightly again.

"If it wouldn't be inconvenient--strike the iron while it's hot, of course."

"Of course, sir." Magnus bows politely. "Duty first, after all. Still, all work and no play..." He grins, bows low to Amalria, and sweeps her hand almost to his lips again. "If I may offer a rain check on that dance, ma'am...?"

Amalria murmurs something affirmative, mostly working on not blushing while the professional flirt returns to his full height and nods. "Excellent, then. Ambassador, Minister." He steps back with a grin, and lets the Yaforites go as they will before sighing wryly and rolling his eyes to himself then stepping aside gracefully to dodge a flung giggling elf. "Time for dinner, it seems."

Magnus watches Speaker do the final steps of the tango. He smirks humorously and raises an eyebrow at the final twirl of the hand, shaking his head slightly.

The Beauty And The Beast

They had, likely by dint of the importance of the Scolopendran delegation, managed to score seats very near to the head table. Aeselle was rather pleased to see this as she accompanies Speaker to their seats.
Speaker escorts Aeselle politely back to Battle Group H'zta and her escort squadron of Yvressi, Rhiannon and her new friend, and now apparently some Kajali. Smiling thinly but happily and ears flapping as he gentlemanly gets Aeselle seated, he turns around when he feels a tug on the sleeve of his uniform.

"Hey, boss, are you trying to cut into my shtick now?" Magnus smirks goofily and parodies the hand-twirl, then winks and punches the 'tosh brotherly in the arm. "'Attaboy."

The kzintosh folds his arms and pretends (poorly) to be annoyed. "Magnus, you are incorrigible."

"That's the second time I've heard that tonight, and I hope it's not the last." Magnus winks again, then peers around the ratcat to wave at the apple of his eye. "Hi, bahiyya. Wow, they guessed your favorite, neh?"

Rhiannon stifles an eye-roll as she is, inevitably, in mid-bite. Several regulation chews and a swallow later, she dabs her lips daintily. "Oh yes, bu..." Her jaw closes with a snap. T'would be impolite.

"'But you hoped for something new and different?'" Magnus finishes the sentence. "I bet you a whirr that's under the third course's cover."

Rhiannon raises an eyebrow.

"What, bahiyya? Make it a fiver."

Rhiannon leans forward slightly and drops her voice to a projected whisper. "You're gambling here?"

Magnus grins. "Betting on Schrodinger's Third Course is the hobby of true democratic citizens. What, chicken? Tenner."

Rhiannon slits her eyes. "You're not precogging, are you?"

"What, with all the interference?" Magnus grins. "Scout's honor, I'm not."

The younger Hesche leans back in her chair and mulls the decision of probably certainly losing ten workreps to her father over a sip of fine sparkling yumfruit wine. "Three-to-one payoff or no deal."

"Deal." Magnus grins and sticks his hand across the table. "Now shake."

Rhiannon sighs, stands up, and shakes on knowing her purse is going to be ten workreps lighter at the end of the night. "A hard bargain, but the chance at thirty is worth it. No guts, no glory."

"That's my girl." Magnus beams with pride. "Don't worry, you'll see it back again soon enough." As his daughter sits down, he flashes a grin that somehow manages to capture both a teasing 'hey, ladies' and an overwhelmingly proud 'that's my girl there' to the other women seated at the table which, if the spanning gaze is believed, includes Alatádae, the Kajali, Iyanna, the little not-necessarily-lonely Grand Duchess, Aeselle, and even H'zta. H'zta responds with a teasing 'rowr' (said, not growled) and the universal cat-scratch gesture. Magnus' hobby is well known to her, and Speaker simply shakes his head as he sits down.

"Now," Magnus says in his usual boyish grin, "if you will excuse me, I've got some envoying to new worlds to be doing. 'Sides, it looks like my nametag is over there for some reason." He peers. "Ooo, vampires. Not the sucky kind, the dragons-in-disguise kind. I'll see you all later!" Wink and a grin, and off he goes to visit with Sempero, Clodius, and Alessa. "Pardon me--Magnus Hesche, Envoy to New Worlds." He bows respectfully and offers friendly handshakes to the Freestians, and of course bows quite respectfully to the Mage Queen, right up to the nearly-hand-kissing gesture if he can get away with it. "Is this seat taken?"

"He appears to be in his element," Speaker says in Arabic with a soft chuckle, blinking as another ninja server reveals what probably once made up a very large portion of a lamb removed violently, prepared to cover up the violence, grilled, cut into [kzin] bite-sized pieces, well-marinated, then seared. The aroma suggests mustard oil, lemons, black pepper, sesame seeds, cumin, red chilies, garlic, and tumeric; tossed in and arranged artfully along the sides and top are garnishes of seared fenugreek, fried sliced garlic, and green onions. "Hrrr." He pauses a bit. "Just like home."

How he says it suggests that he doesn't mean Titan.

"Of course he is, my love," H'zta says with a flick of her ears, "just look at all the beauties for him to appreciate."

"Chauvenist," Rhiannon mutters.

"Hardly, Child," H'zta says softly, the title having more respect than it usually carries, "he's harmless, and you know it."

"At a fine soirée like this, and he behaves like that? He's incorrigible."

"I never said he wasn't. Just harmless. With this crowd, actually, I wouldn't be surprised if he got more than he bargained for."

Rhiannon mutters politely, but obviously changes the subject using her prerogative as an embarrassed teenager. "Should we be talking in something that isn't the lingua franca with others around? Isn't it kind of rude?"

H'zta chuckles and pats Rhiannon on the back. "I would say I remember when I was your age, if it really meant anything. I was a real wildcat in my youth."

Rhiannon cracks a smile. "Don't you mean 'tomboy,' ma'am?"

"Hrr, if I said 'tomboy' that would make me the wrong species, and if I said 'tomcat...' well..." The 'ret glances up and to the side in mock innocence. "They say we're 'flexible,' but I've never been that flexible."

"Quite rigid, actually, if I remember," Speaker says as he prepares to cut into his lamb. The theatrical jerk and "oof" from when H'zta kicks him lightly under the table only momentarily pauses his polite lunge towards his lamb.

ooc: adding another one hundred years was what she said. Nothing about becoming a vampire. The ONLY way to create a vampire of her kind is by the way i have described. It would be clearly ridiculous to create a vampire in front of an entire audience. It's a very private thing. If i thought it was against the rules, i wouldn't have written it. What is in the vial doesn't go 9against the rules. If you have questions about it contact me over MSN or telegrams. Goor should have no problem drinking it.

IC:
“You shouldn’t have left me,” she said in a soft whisper, looking into those so familiar ice blue eyes. “You always thought you were saving me. You had to be the one to save me. I was not saved when I knew you were still suffering...and how could I forgive myself for not being strong enough. I, the great Ravelyn Shentavo, could not lift a finger against anyone in that realm. You had to follow your father…couldn’t let it rest…couldn’t follow me instead….”

Я оплакивал Вас
Я улыбаюсь, я думаю о Вас
Где ваш сад не имеет никаких стен
Вдохните воздух, если Вы заботитесь, Вы сравниваетесь, не говорите прощайте

((I was crying over you
I am smiling I think of you
Where your garden have no walls
Breathe in the air if you care, you compare, don't say farewell))

Perhaps it was the language of the song that had brought her back to the thought of Michael Vaughn, or more likely it was this man's ice blue eyes which carried the same glint in them.


Ничто не может сравниться
К тому, когда Вы кидаете кости и клянетесь что ваша любовь ко мне
Ничто не может сравниться
К тому, когда Вы кидаете кости и клянетесь что ваша любовь ко мне

((Nothing can compare
To when you roll the dice and swear that your love's for me
Nothing can compare
To when you roll the dice and swear that your love's for me))


Я оплакивал Вас
Я улыбаюсь, я думаю о Вас
Туманные утренние и водные падения
Вдохните воздух, если Вы заботитесь, Вы сравниваетесь, не говорите прощайте

((I was crying over you
I am smiling I think of you
Misty morning and water falls
Breathe in the air if you care, you compare, don't say farewell))


"Couldn't accept the fact that we needed each other...kept pushing me away even though I still kept the ring on my finger...Couldn't just come back to me..." A bit of color flushed through her cheeks as remnants of emotion from that memory covered her face. And she still gazed in to his eyes; unchanging.

After a brief while, roughly the time it took for Taldar to eat a little of everything before him, the cat jumps down off its seat and sniffs the air. Definitely the strong scent of meat in the air, coming from well, everywhere. First to hit up Aeselle, Taldar knew that woman so she was an easy mark, besides it sensed that the man who smelt vaguely like Aeselle, maybe they where distantly related or he had spent a long time with her. Taldar didn’t care he had meat as well, smelt good too, then well she had a whole room to mess with.

And she had a good act as well to get the food she wanted, for a start it could put on a rather cute look, thick well groomed fur and a innocent look, followed up rather swiftly if that didn’t have the desired effect, by looking threatening. It was a metre long cat after all, built for grabbing prey on the move, and the like, lastly its secret weapon. It was mildly psychic enough to give the prey a slight nudge in the direction it wanted them to go, that is, giving it some food.

This all meant that Iyanna was able to observe the interplay between Aeselle and her cousin along with the arrival of Magnus. At first with the wariness of any animal Taldar is slow to approach the keeper, he’s actually bigger than her and looks, dangerous, but he has food too… Rhiannon gets a strange look over, she’s different that’s for sure, and gives off the same vibe of ‘do not mess with.’ but again food, neither of those two get the last push through, danger senses warn it might not work with such people.

(This is all assuming of course that the AI doesn’t stop the poor cat using its powers to get extra helpings from the assembled guests)

"Something like that," Rene agreed. "I have ten billion subordinates and yet there's always more work to be doing. Although if you ever have an evening free, I'm sure I can clear the decks for it ...

"Oh! I must introduce you to my friends - this is Ysarika Tanekazrai, the Lady Protector of the Kynarai Palatinate" - Ysarika leaned over to shake Elisa's hand - "And Erin Ingreidt, of the Temple in Deep Tsarai." Erin blushed, and took Elisa's hand somewhat gingerly. "We go fishing together."

Vethara

The Grand Duchess of Taraskovya (the only “all Taraskovya” titles around were that of Vasilevs and the Patriarch, but that was a matter of Taraskovyans being quite confusing) smiled quite happily at the sight of the Kajali Imperatrix. Indeed, Lirella was one of the heads of state who quite unexpectedly answered the call for the “Mystery of Goddess” album. Throughout the shooting, the initiator of the project, none else than Vethara herself, made friends with the various models who agreed to pose in respectful, but still quite skimpy, wear for a very good cause.

“Ah, Your Majesty! It is indeed a pleasure to meet you again. It has been quite a while, has it not? And indeed, the hosts have come up with quite some surprises I would have not expected. But well, one has to admit that it would not be a surprise if one could expect it.”

She smiled as she started on her Russian Salad, as it was served in Taraskovya. With all the rich history the dish had, the Taraskovyan variant was quite close to the original recipe by Lucien Olivier, at least in the higher gourmand circles. The average housewife, quite obviously, produced a salad of “inferior” quality for her parties and dinners. But the quality of the dressing in the present dish was impeccable and she actually recognized the hand of the Winter Palace’s Head Chef. The salad she was happily munching was bound to have been made personally by him and then delivered to Vinyatirion.

She would have to remember to poke Pavel Sergeevitch upon her return to Vigvar for keeping the surprise away from her. Or maybe not.

Despite her best efforts, a childish giggle left her lips as the massive vampire kissed her hand. She wasn't used to all these males from other species being so affectionate, but according to her research it was just their way. "It's nice to meet you, Lord Navarok." Alessa remarked, cheerfully. "I was just wondering who I could talk to about borrowing Sempero for a couple of weeks." She smiled at the vampire sitting next to her, wondering how he'd take that pronouncement.

For the moment, she left off the two males and directed her attention to the young woman next to her. Her lip curled back into a frown, just slightly. "Good evening." She replied to Anna, directing her head upwards to meet the girls eyes with her own cool blue ones. She read something there, obviously, because she slowly started to smile. If the touchy Alessa had known Anna had, even for a moment, thought of her as a child this meeting would not have gotten off to a good start. "I don't think we've met. I'm Alessa."

All that was swept aside, though, when Alessa was caught up in the whirlwind that was Magnus Hesche. Her eyes widened and a sharp gasp left her throat as she stuttered in shock, then she blinked a few times. "Did...did you say your name..." She stopped herself, and then continued at an even keel. "Magnus Hesche? You mean, you're...well...obviously you're..." She reached to the side and poked Anna very, very gently in the shoulder, to try to get the only other female at the table to provide some back up, then slid her hand under the table and tightly gripped Sempero's leg. "I'm glad to meet you." She slowly withdrew her hand, looking at where he had almost brushed his lips across her ring in shock. "Er... I'm... Alessa Annirere." She mumbled, a light crimson blush spreading across her cheeks.

Sempero smirked at the giggle, then raised both eyebrows at the 'borrowing' comment. He almost expected Clodius's coming reply as he reclined back and took a sip of the Pale Ale sitting on the table.

"A pleasure to meet you Alessa. As for borrowing, well, if Sempero wants a few months to bugger off for I think we owe him the holiday time. Hardly as if he does anything these days but sit in front of the mirror and oil himself up for Playgirl photoshoots." Semp smacked Clo again. "What, you didn't tell her about them? How could I have ever let that slip." The older vampire smiled, living Sempero looking an odd mixture of mild shock and immeasurable self pride.

"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful, man."

"I don't. I hate you because you're currently trying to kick me out of sight beneath the table and failing miserably because you forgot about the house shield."

Semp flashed an annoyed glance, then burst out laughing, a laugh caught short as he saw who was approaching the table.

"No....bloody...way...." Whispered Clodius.

The Hesche. Yes, he deserved the title alright. Even from apex reptilian superpredators. It was the Hesche, star of such great films as Hesche and the Enourmous Brassiere and Hesche makes friends with the Cowardly Pacifists of Yellow IV. Hesche who...had just finished reducing Alessa to a quivering wreck.

"Mr Hesche!" Sempero almost yelled as the great man's hand, forgetting entirely his own strength, the vampire's handshake going to reduce the Pendran's forearm to a bloody pulp were it not for the watching AI. He calmed himself down immediately though as he realised his mistake. "It is an honour to meet you sir. Your fame and reputation travel far and wide, as well it should." He grinned, white fangs flashing copiciously though without malice or emotional baggage. He sat back down as Clodius rose to greet him as well.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mister Hesche. Allow me to introduce Lord Sempero Dryiad, Warlord of the Navarrok Guard, the wild fanboy here who forgot what his own name when he was in your presence, and myself, Lord Clodius Maxilimus, Lord of Navarrok." He bowed slightly as he gave a proper handshake, taking note from Sempero's mistake. "It would appear the nearest free seat here I'm afraid is on my side. I hope Alessa doesn't mind." He smiled towards the small Roanian as Sempero also checked on her.

"Err, hun?" Semp asked. "You're drooling."

"Is she gonna be alright?" Clodius asked, pitted face working into a slight expression of concern.

"Don't worry" he muttered, closing the Queen's mouth gently with a finger. "She was like this the first time she saw me naked as well. It will pass." Sempero immediately regretted his word choice as Alessa came round and sharp nails went into his inner thigh. "Wow. My hides's thinner than I thought." He turned pale. "A lot thinner."

Goor did consider what Ravelyn had said and watched her dance. He could hear her, ever so faintly... Azrael, remember where you are... This little diplomat is not your beloved.

After that, he moved towards the edge of the room and looked out a window, wondering what he'd do with another century. The answer came soon enough, unbidden but not unpleasant, to the front of his mind. Whatever she wants me to do. It was obvious, really. His species was nearly extinct and hopelessly scattered, his nation had abandoned him and nearly everyone he knew was long since dead and buried, save for her. He simply didn't have anywhere else to go.

Magnus grins broadly at his reception... after of course winking slyly to the Roanian. "Most pleased to meet you, Lady-Empress." That he managed to make the previously shameless Alessa blush without doing much of anything but showing up engenders a healthy sense of accomplishment while he exchanges handshakes and friendly banter, with the Freestian vampires, always glad to meet fans. He's nothing without fans, after all... well, that's not true. He's still Magnus without fans, but he's not the legend of Magnus without them. Yes, it sort of surprised everyone at first, and then, well, they just started raking in the dough while Magnus kept being himself and loving it. Even if Sempero's arm-crushing grasp is obvious even behind the plate-spinning make-sure-the-meaties-don't-hurt-each-other room-mind, the enthusiasm is heartening. "The honor's mutual, sir. After all, it isn't every day that one brushes elbows with lords and beautiful empresses, neh?"

Well, maybe it is. Maybe especially for Magnus (or, at least, as the legend goes). As has been said before and will be said again, he doesn't count. As he takes his seat with a bit of flair--tuxedoes have tails, after all--he grins at Sempero's tendency to not hold anything back and the relevations that ensue. "And I'm still fully dressed," he says with a sly grin, flourishing his hands as the ubiquitously omnipresent serving staff takes the cover off the tray in front of him. Maybe not sitting where he was supposed to will have thrown them off their game...

BACON. It's not just for breakfast anymore. A big, smoked, grilled slab rubbed down with some mesquite flavoring and enough hot sauce to give it a bang whilst not cutting down on the inherent flavor of the manliest of meats. Real men also apparently get their starch and vegetables from baked potatoes stuffed to the scuppers with whole steamed-and-seared broccoli in a sharp cheddar sauce so viscous that doesn't flow so much as deform slowly due to gravity. For an instant, he ponders the possibility that the hosts are cheating with displacers--they are using stasis fields for food, after all--then decides that, hey, the wave function collapsed juuuuuuust fine and second-guessing what was going on while it was still undetermined isn't sporting. "Looks like they know me," he says with a laugh, then digs in, more or less literally in a rock-quarry sense.

"So, I hope everyone's been enjoying themselves so far." This is said jovially with a sly grin towards Sempero and Alessa. "One must admit that there's few things better than getting out and meeting exciting new people. Only a few, such as perhaps getting to meet these exciting new people better--don't you think so, m'lady?" This last is left for Alessa in particular.

He's already flirted more subtly with Godarian and flirted-on-the-run with everyone in the Santa Hat Gang. When it comes to his favorite pastime, Magnus is nothing if not flexible but decidedly eclectic in his tastes in strategies.

Meanwhile, back at the Table Of Ratcats And Elves and, to some extent, Russians, Rhiannon looks at the Farseer's cat and connects with it on a very basic, animal level. No fancy magic or psionics or other such wankery is required; no, she just lets the cat see what's hiding behind her eyes in a very visceral stare-down sense. No. Bad kitty. This is my food, not theirs.

The cat doe-eyes. The younger Hesche's face just gets more determined. BAD KITTY. Taldar considers, then immediately discounts, the possibility for snatching. Or, for that matter, trying for 'persuasion.' Deciding that discretion is the better part of valor, he moves on to the more mundane ratcats. They're just big, and almost kin. Probably more understandi--

Rhiannon takes her duties seriously. BAD KITTY. They're with me.

Probably performing the space elf witch cat's equivalent of rolling his eyes, the cat goes on to bother someone who doesn't make his eyes hurt if he tries to peer too closely.

Smiling in an inherited way over her victory, Rhiannon demolishes with amazing efficiency and, to outside observers, perhaps some concern over which one of her legs is hollow, the rest of her salad. Another course to go before she hits against her bet, but it's both impolite to rush and improper to abuse good food by not savoring it. She glances around the table at the duchesses and empresses and executives and emperors, and what they're eating, and finds her curiosity getting peckish again. Then again, her curiosity's hunger is worse than a hummingbird's or a shrew's, so it's time to somehow acquire part of her recommended daily allowance of more than her mental body mass in information. No politics, religion, or sex. Hmpf. As if I'd stoop to that last one.

Well, she would, but not like her father would. That doesn't count.

She also finds herself wondering what everyone else's dishes taste like. Well, let's see... the Grand Duchess is talking to the Imperatrix, and anyway, Rhiannon hasn't been formally introduced and from what she's read protocol is important; Aeselle is trying not to murder Konrad through keeping her hands busy with her food; Konrad is eating ribs the only way that matches with the greater unity of how things should be in the universe, that is, messily; and the Farseer is being somewhat... well... distant, but that fits her idiom. The kzinti are eating, and no matter how nice Speeks and H'zta are, it's simply just not a good idea to get between a ratcat and their food. Therefore, Rhiannon decides to just look open and friendly and let things settle before the next course.

"Is that the real..." Anna whispered for a moment to Alessa, and was met with a surprisingly large jab. Guess it is. She considered passing along the jab to her aunt, but was deterred by the fact that the Lady Honist gave as good as she got. "It's a pleasure to meet you too." She sort of half-squeaked, trying carefully to avoid notice.

Erika took her seat next to Katrina and waited as the cover was removed from her meal. Outside appearances were deceiving because both plates looked the same until one took the time to examine the riotous profusion of flowers and multi-colored leaves that made up their salad's closer.

Each was a carefully arranged pile of about a dozen different flowering species from a variety of worlds that formed a textured painting on the plate. Thin slices of various fruits of numerous shapes and textures sat on top of the pile with their juices flowing down over the flowers to make individual dressings and new, unique flavors. A small bowl of mixed fruit slices and three small glasses filled with unknown distillations of alcohol completed their meals. Each of the various libations was in unique glasses designed to convey something of their origins as well.

Beside each salad plate there was also a small card printed with careful freehand pictures of each plant, their common name, scientific designation, and their effects. Though there was a small note at the bottom that their effects had been carefully neutralized some of these were quite off-putting. There was also a pair of sculpted porcelain chopsticks which both used to pluck individual flowers or leaves with before savoring each.

Somehow Katrina ended up near enough to Mikhail to continue their conversation while they ate...

"A magic sword? Not to seem rude, but have you subjected it to rigorous testing or is it simply rumored to have these powers?"

"M'lady Ravelyn..." Max's tone is gentle now, concerned. Carefully the diplomat dances the entranced vampire to the side of the dance floor and slightly away from potentially prying eyes for the sake of the woman's dignity. "Ah dear, what have I gotten myself caught up in?"

The diplomat listens quietly. Max never had a father, not one the diplomat can remember at least; nor a mother. Indeed, the revolution and the Dividing War, and then life in the Diplomatic Corps were all that lived on in Max's memory. No childhood, just war and then the DipCorps.

"Ah, m'lady, such pain you've endured." Max cups Ravelyn's chin gently with one hand, drawing her closer, whispering with just a hint of breathlessness. "I am not this Vaughn which you long so dearly for, yet I offer freely what comfort I can give."

Close, so very close...
---

Najoedo has to give the strange cat his own rendition of the mental "Bad Kitty!", though probably without quite as much force as Rhiannon's despite the large white dragon mentally backing the reprimand. For a guy who grew up in a time before table manners generally existed, the Keeper eats quite daintily, sampling the assortment of items on his plate; though with a decent speed. A holdover from his traveling; eat fast because you never know when you'll have to book it out of an area.

Of course, he keeps glancing at Rhiannon quizzically, as though something about the younger Hesche has been tweaking at his senses. Which, given that whole magic sword and magic senses thing the Keepers all have going, is probably very much the actual case. Magnus elsewhere in the room is probably pinging the Keeper's magic radar as well...

... But then it's already been established. Magnus doesn't count.

"I don't think we've met before." Najoedo addresses Rhi across the table, setting his utensils on his now-empty plate. "I am Najoedo, Eldest of the Keepers and... ah, attending in Firefury-Uccjooh's stead this evening."

"I don't think we've met before." Najoedo addresses Rhi across the table, setting his utensils on his now-empty plate. "I am Najoedo, Eldest of the Keepers and... ah, attending in Firefury-Uccjooh's stead this evening."
"No, sir, we haven't met," Rhiannon replies with a cordial smile, as shaking hands across a dinner table is impolite. She does manage a respectful bow of her head on 'sir,' though. "I'm Rhiannon Hesche." She never really knows whether to say 'daughter of Magnus' or not, but usually doesn't. It's obvious, no? "I have met Keeper Oduh, though, so maybe you've heard of me through the grapevine, so to speak." She smiles. "I've heard and read a lot about you, though, sir, so it really is an honor."

Now, in some circumstances, that could sound creepy. In this case, it seems half fangirl and half... hero worship? Rhiannon notices this sneaking into her currently portrayed persona and takes a sip of water to break that chain of thought. "I hope Queen Firefury is well. Just busy, I suppose? Not to say..."

Sip and take three. "Sorry, I tend to get fangirlish at times." Rhiannon smirks with a bit of wry self-effacing--yet still self-confident--humor, a smirk stolen more or less completely from her father and, right now, just as sincere. "So... ah..." She seems to ponder for a moment, as if caught in an instant of self-reflection. No, either my father would kill me, or kill him, or kill him and then severely chastise me for having had to kill him. "So, been up to any exciting adventures as of late?"

She smiles, rewinds the moment in her head, and plays back how she just said that perfectly benign yet interested-in-an-academic-way sentence.

It still sounds like a gentle attempt at flirting.

Damn it.

Alessa smiled at Hesche after a brief glare at Sempero, the words 'wait until I get you alone' being mouthed. "Mister Hesche, I would greatly appreciate," she looked at Anna. "That is to say, we both would greatly appreciate you signing an autograph for us." With a snap of her fingers an autograph book appeared on the table in front of Hesche. Then another one. And finally, a pen. "Now, as you were saying... I'm always glad to meet new people." She smiled archly. "And always very glad to get to know them better. I believe that some people have a lot to teach me, m'lord." Her eyes twinkled as she looked Hesche over just slightly, though, of course, as her pupils weren't visible behind the masking blue light it would be hard to tell. "And, perhaps, I have a great deal to teach others...?"

Once the autograph books were signed, Alessa very carefully and delicately wrote her own name on the page opposite Magnus Hesche's, and smiled at her handiwork. Then, she handed it to Anna. "This might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you, young lady." She said, gently. "You should try to get as many names as you can on here. A lot of these people are very famous, after all. And many of them," She directed a glance at Hesche once more, "are very handsome, as well."

Alessa returned her attention to Hesche. "So, tell me, Lord Hesche. Do you have any new movies planned? I've heard so much about your work on Mars with the...kraken, was it?" Her hand underneath the table withdrew from Semp's leg, and then began to gently stroke along it, healing any wounds and pain. It stayed there even after that, though, leaving Semp in no doubt as to where her loyalties truly lay, even if her attention was wandering for the time being. "Perhaps I could interest you in coming to visit our little Empire?" Her smile widened just slightly. "We have many interesting sights for you to see." She shifted in her seat slightly and leaned forward, the robe falling forward a bit, and resting her head gently on an arm. "Many...beautiful hills and valleys, M'lord Hesche. I understand you enjoy looking at the landscape, after all..." Her voice brightened just a bit. "And, of course, it would be rather a coup for me over my fellow mages if the most famous hero in the galaxy visited me."

Taldar the psi-cat was right, at least, about one of the table members. While Konrad flat out ignored the cat, Aeselle turned and gave her a little chunk of her steak out of the palm of her hand. She grinned and winked at the sleek cat, and gave her a bit of a rub behind the ears. "Now run along... try that table over there!" she whispers to the big kitty, pointing to the table with the small scantily-clad winged woman surrounded by, ah, very interested males...

"I can't believe you actually fed that thing..." Konrad commented, licking his fingers while Aese wiped hers on her napkin.

"And I can't believe you didn't ask for a bib, you moron!" she replied, with a little laugh. At least he'd managed to keep the sauce on his hands and face, rather then down the front of his breastplate...

“Not if I can help it” Sempero winked at Hesche at the clothing comment. Clodius peered back at him with a raised eyebrow. “What, Clo?” The eyebrow raised further. “I’m…We’re Freestian. How is that surprising in the least?”

In the wake of the glare Sempero found himself looking back at Alessa. “Promises, promises” he grinned at the message communicated in her expression as he also felt the cool, soothing effects on his leg. She was good at this, he had to admit… very good, in fact, and he suddenly found himself glad he couldn’t see the ministrations himself otherwise he might have been tempted. Plenty of time for that later, though. Not as if he needed sleep or anything. He wrapped his hand around hers under the cloth, squeezing it tight, a non-verbal I know to Alessa’s reassurance. Jealous he was not, but some people like to know they can cause at least protectiveness if not outright envy in people, and if Hesche couldn’t inspire that in him, well, who could?

“Indeed. This whole beast hunting thing seems…well actually very appropriate for a man of your talents.” Clodius went on, carrying on from Alessa. “Must invite you to the Commonwealth sometime. Give you a real challenge to right home about.” Sempero grinned at his comrade, before both tucking into their meals, Sempero hitting the ribs whilst Clo munched thoughtfully on one of the crustaceans. Perhaps the most disconcerting part for the watches was not the fact they used their fingers per se (ribs and shellfish after all) but the simple and rather unsettling fact that Clo didn’t bother to de-shell the crab, instead biting straight through, whilst Semp did something similar with the ribs, his fangs and jaws ploughing through the bone as easily as the meat that sat on it. The crunching sound was…well, disconcerting for most vertebrates.

“Greatest bite pressure, pound for pound, of any creature on Terra on record.” Said Clo proudly, in lieu of an actual explanation.

At being ignored Taldar is insulted horribly better that strange woman’s approach, which like the Keepers was a flat out no than this, being ignored! Her being ignored, what insolence what arrogance, that was unacceptable, and if it wasn’t for those damned wards Taldar would certainly teach the man a leason, as it was she was definitely getting a better response from Aeselle. This gained a smile and a rub against Aeselle’s leg.

Your Right I do like her. Hmm Oh and that’s a good plan that woman with wings looks nice, reminds me of that statue you have… With a bound across the room Taldar was off to bother the Vampires, Alessa and well Hesche. Seems she could have possibly chosen a better target.

Iyanna on the other hand was turning cold, saying no to Taldar she could accept, but ignoring her Gryinx, Her companion that was, unforgivable it was akin to ignoring Iyanna as far as she was concerned. ‘Tell me sir, do you often find it wise to ignore the Familiar’s of Farseers?’

The term wasn’t exactly right but it would serve its purpose most people got the reference to a familiar and explaining her connection to Taldar would take far too long.

Elisa laughed a little, and grinned mischievously, "Well, if your government wasn't so controlling..." She was clearly kidding; living in GMC meant that she was used to talking to people with wildly different views than hers, and she always enjoyed teasing political 'arguments'.

She smiled as she was introduced to the other women, "It's a pleasure to meet you." She turned to her companions, "This is Dr. Josef Specter, the... um..."

"Nominal Head of the Oligarchy," Josef supplied.

"Yes, that. And next to him is Vermi, our observer in the UN."

Vermi smiled and nodded her head to the Tsarainese, "A pleasure."

Elisa looked back at Rene, "Fishing?"

Magnus flashes one of his debonair self-confident smirks as the autograph books pop out from more or less nowhere and, before Alessa's pen has time to materialize, brandishes his own from the inside breast pocket of his tuxedo with practiced flair. Unlike most famous people, his autograph is actually quite legible, if highly stylized for faster writing. He did have to grin, however, that the Roanian had found her wits and was now making up for lost time and face during the stunned period. "Learning is one of the greatest joys I know," Magnus says with a wink, smiling confidently, "and mutual learning is indeed best. I have been told I make both an apt student and a good teacher."

As Alessa starts to play her hand, though, Magnus changes tack towards being the tease, glancing around theatrically as if having no idea which 'handsome' person she happens to be referring to. His nuanced, experienced flirter's eye detects the gentle upper-body muscular responses to her moving her hand, so he doesn't worry too much about trampling on Sempero's feelings (after all, Semp seems like such a nice guy!). Then there's also the vamp's response; so he's a the-more-the-merrier type, hm? He also has seen just how shameless Lady-Empress Annirere can be in public; now she's trying to re-establish control of the situation. "Ah, yes, the kraken--sea monsters, a civilization-threatening artifact... and, of course, the requisite mermaid." He not only appears to get lost in memory, but does indeed reminisce a bit. "She was a nice one. Doing quite well for herself, last time I checked up on her." Plenty of seashells. Loads.

"I'd love to come visit your country, m'lady, especially seeing how I've never been." Magnus grins dapperly. "After all, a new culture to experience, people to meet, food to be tried, music to be heard..." He smirks slyly. "Still, current evidence to the contrary notwithstanding, the life of a professional adventurer is a hectic one and, well, sometimes it gets difficult to... juggle everything that needs doing." He shrugs with a sly smile. "Such is life, it seems. One could be surprised just how much demand there is for my services."

"Greatest bite pressure? I didn't know that, sir," Magnus says with honest good-natured curiosity to Clodius' explanation. "For a while there I'd been convinced I held that title. Ah well, I'll accept the human title with good grace." He grins. As for all the gnashing and snapping, well, when you beat up monsters for part of a living, you live with that sort of thing and overcome it like real men do. Or, if you're a normal person, you deal with it as best you can and hope that the interesting psychological pathologies you develop aren't overly mortifying. We've all determined, though, that Magnus is not like most vertebrates and thus doesn't count. "I should take you up on that offer, sir. Wrestling beyrs on the Ring just doesn't have the same challenge to it after the first dozen times."

With a bound across the room Taldar was off to bother the Vampires, Alessa and well Hesche. Seems she could have possibly chosen a better target.
Magnus glances over and sees a kitty. A big kitty (he's seen bigger), and a psychic kitty (he's seen psychic...um...er). Knowing that it's a cat that isn't so much hungry as, well, a cat and thus a Type A personality by evolution, he's not about to give it bacon. Well, not until it earns the bacon (unlike dogs, to which withholding bacon is a crime, if cats are going to be so picky they need to earn their nibbles of only the most manliest of meats) by providing benign amusement. This is why Magnus grins, and a spot of absurdly coherent reflective light appears on the floor and dances around to distract Taldar.

Yes, he's cheating. The room seems to allow something mild like this, though.

"Ah, so you must be the young lady Oduh kept speaking of so highly after that trip." Najoedo nods slightly. For a guy who physically looks to be in maybe his late 20s, the Keeper does tend to have a grandfatherly ambience about him. "Well met, Rhiannon-derco, the honor is mine. Oduh spoke very highly of your skills on that trip. He seems quite taken by you actually."

If the Keeper notices the younger Hesche's 'fangirl' behavior, he has the decency not to remark on it. "Firefury-Uccjooh is doing quite well, though even I am still puzzled as to what happened between her and what everyone has termed the Guardian some time back. She unfortunately has business to attend on the Far Moon." Ten-thousand years old or not, the guy still has some trouble getting his head around the idea of space travel and other planets. But he's been trying... despite the fact he learned he gets spacesick easily.

He chuckles at Rhi's question though. "Much to my dismay, nothing near as exciting as you and Oduh have had underground. I've been traveling, mostly learning new things and seeing just how the world has changed since the time the Keepers went into hiding."

"If the State were not so "controlling", what would people do all day?" Rene grinned. "It's good to see you again, Josef; and to meet you, esen Vermi. And yes, Elisa, fishing. You know, you cast out a line, the fish comes to eat it ..." she was teasing, of course.

Ravelyn snapped out of her reverie as the song ended. That had not happened to her in a very long time. Those eyes. “Forgive me,” she said softly, her voice the same as it was before. She wasn’t one to cry over pretty much anything; her persona could clearly be read as such. She had cried over Vaughn in her own time, many, many years ago. She gave a recognition glance to Goor, watching him in his thoughts. She steps away from the diplomat. Despite those eyes, she would not be drawn so close to him. She had a great deal of respect for humans, but they didn’t last long enough to serve as any type of partner. She departed from Max and sat down next to Goor, extending her wings outward so the seating was comfortable for her. She looked like a statue; flawless and unmoving.

It was up to Max if he would rejoin them or not. She and Goor had not been approached by anyone else in the party to steal them away from the diplomat’s company. She wanted to speak with the others, but they dined as she could not, so she waited.

"Cool! Thanks." Anna took the autograph book with all the enthusiasm of a kid with a Christmas gift, an analogy which wasn't that far off. The Roanian's suggestion sounded like a fun idea. The thought that perhaps Alessa was trying to get her out of the way so that the adults could talk wouldn't really register in her mind for a few days. "I'll see what I can do."

She nudged her aunt. It would be impolite to leave the 'delegation' without permission, after all. "Tata Rachel, can I..."

"Sure. But finish your dinner first."

"Fine, Tata Rachel." Anna tried to avoid any impression of sulkiness. She wasn't really hungry. She almost never was, but Rachel had a point. It would be bad form to leave a meal that their hosts had so meticulously prepared. She finished her food as quickly as would be possible without making a mess, and then left the table.

Anna wandered around for a little while, ducking and weaving between little groups of people. Rachel had given her a briefing before they arrived, listing people who were likely to be there. It was far from complete, but she had a pretty good idea of who she wanted to meet. But in what order? The peculiar layout of the table answered the question for her.

"Ranisath? Ranisath Cuilahîr Cuilévaher?" Anna asked the unnaturally handsome man in slightly sparkling Noldor robes. "Pleased to meet you."

Alessa smiled serenely at Magnus Hesche, the hand on Semp's leg becoming a bit more exploratory as the vamp began to flirt with the movie star. "Perhaps you might care to join me, then, Lord Hesche." She leaned forward, her robe (such as it was) falling forward even more. "I wouldn't mind putting you up and giving you...a grand tour." With her free hand, she dipped a lizard into the blood-sauce and lifted it to her lips, chewing on it delicately.

She laughed at Hesche's little trick. "Oh, don't be mean to the cat!" Alessa said with a smile. "Here, kitty." She gently cut off some of her steak with a swish of a hand and tossed it to the feline. "Now, as to your services..." The empress' smile became more mischievous. "I'm certain there are all sorts of things I could find for you to do over in my Empire..."

((OOC: Just a heads-up Rave, despite appearances, Max isn't actually human. My flamboyant diplomat there is actually in the vicinity of 150 years old and showing no signs of slowing down. The so-called "bloodless" Max referred to earlier are quasi-immortal; not generally powerful, and they can die if they're careless, but otherwise...)

When Ravelyn pulls away, Max knows better than to hang on, instead giving the vampire one of those flourishing bows. "M'lady, there is nothing to forgive. Even the happiest visage hides tragedy."

When she rejoins Goor, Max waits for a moment to see if anyone else is going to take the opportunity to join the pair. It's quickly clear those other folks are busy stuffing themselves silly on elfy hospitality in the other room.

"Ah, such a night, such a night. I pray I've not caused m'lady any offense" Max laments, rejoining the pair while looking about the room as though seeing it for the first time, traces of an old memory flashing in those blue eyes. "Reminds me of a time rather long ago now, albeit not likely long by m'lady's standards."

"Apparently." Clodius said. "Though dependent upon which form we take we apparently have third and first place to Dunkleosteus." Clodius explained a bit as he peered towards the approaching cat-like thing. Pondering his own 'gift', he noticed first Magnus' expression, then the flighty light on the floor, then shakes his head and grins. "But yeah, I don't think you homo sapiens do too bad." He crunches through another crab happily. "So, beyrs? Heard some interesting stuff about the opportunities for hunting out there. New grounds are always fascinating I find." (To displace current apex predators, namely, but that’s mostly a subconscious thought at this point).

Sempero meanwhile, can't help but notice both the hand and the flirtation, his smile rising to a grin and then outright beaming as a consequence of the two events. He took the time to appreciate Alessa's form from a different angle, the little Roanian's appetite not exactly unwelcome for something with his own particular...outlook. His flirting now is non-verbal, rather, his expression carries the fact, through his confident body language and curious gaze as Alessa's suggestions, (which were as thinly veiled as her clothing,) reinforcing the fact he actually rather approves of what the Mage is saying. There is a genuine interest , it seemed, and perhaps just a little competitive streak in there wishing to prove itself on the field of...well, best left unsaid really.

"Indeed. I tend to find she has an amazing ability to put people to their most satisfying use." He said in support of her abilities as she mentioned her particular skill at 'man management', as he locked eyes again with Alessa and also with the Pendran. "Here, dear, allow me." He shifted to the side, and with a single well placed hand lifted up the Roanian with all the difficulty a normal man would have with a coathangar, leaning back to seat Alessa in his lap, her tiny body meaning her head now sat about level with his as she found herself elevated in comparison to both men. Strong arms moved through the feathers and the vampire's head came to rest on Alessa's shoulder. "Makes it easier for you both." He offered in mock apology to her surprised expression.

Clodius just leaned back to avoid the wing, shaking his head, cracking the King Crab body that now lay before him between finger and thumb and gently tossing an awkward morsel to the large cat prowling in front of them as well. Stereotypes are NOT there to be lived up to he thought to no one in particular.

“You would think that with all their eons of being around, they’d have gotten a simple thing like the post right,” Gianni says with a slight sniff as he helps straighten Marcus’ tailored suit.

“Now Gianni, cut them some slack,” Nathi replies, smiling as she fastens Naiya’s delicate necklace for her, with the two children grinning at each other, occasionally rolling their eyes at all the fuss. “No one’s perfect, after all – and they were kind enough to try and remedy the mistake, albeit a touch late.”

“I wonder who ended up with your invitation, then. It had to have gone somewhere.”

“There you go, Naiya – now go get your shoes. Yes, the slippers, that’s it. Who knows? It might be someone simply got a duplicate, or we may end up with a surprise guest. Either way, no harm done. We’ll just be arriving a bit late is all.”

“All the better to make a dramatic entrance?” Gianni says with a wry smile, making the final tie on Marcus’s shoe as the boy fidgets slightly, making his own adjustments to his shirt collar and vest.

“Bah, we’re going to be among friends. No need for any more drama than is absolutely necessary, I would think.” Nathi checks her own ensemble in the mirror, smoothing her simple yet elegant black dress over her hips, then reaching up to check her hair that she’s pulled back into a gentle cascade of curls in the back, seemingly random strands framing her face softly.

“You know, you’ve gone soft,” Gianni comments, giving Marcus a pat on the back and sending him off to make sure his sister has everything together.

Nathicana glances at her assistant, one brow arching slightly. “And just what’s spawned all this,” she asks archly.

“The look, the attitude,” he says with a shrug and a smile. “I remember the days …”

“As do I. I think I prefer things as they are now, all things considered.”

“No arguments – not to say you were horrible or anything,” he says quickly, still smiling.

“Right. Lets just keep this between us, or I’ll have to cut out your heart with a spoon and feed it to Kostya,” she replies with a decidedly mischievous grin.

“I hate to say it, Dread Lady,” he leans in a bit to whisper in a conspiratorial voice. “But I think your secret is out.”

She shrugs and smiles in return, looking to the doorway where her two children are waiting; Naiya in a beautiful ivory dress, her hair also pulled back like her mother’s, though to suit a child her age, and Marcus in black dress pants, and black vest accented in silver threads and buttons over a crisp white mandarin collared shirt.

“It’s amazing what having children, and trying to build a future for them will do to a person,” she murmurs warmly, reaching out her arms to the twins as she walks over to them, then hugging them close. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two. Now – are we ready to go?”

“Yes!” Marcus says enthusiastically, practically bouncing in his excitement to get out and see something new.

“Yes, Mama,” Naiya replies as well, smiling happily as she glances between her brother and her mother, then casting a look at Gianni and waving to him – clearly the more reserved of the two, though the grin she offers their sometime-Nanny of sorts shows just how excited she is.

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

They arrive in time to be seated for dinner, having made use of the shuttle, which of course amused the children to no end, and as usual, prompted the slew of questions about how soon they would be able to fly like her, and does it hurt to have something stuck in your head like that.

With a word of apology to their hosts – at least those nearest in a position to greet – and a request to please forward on said apology to the Lord and Lady who’ve kindly put on this rather extravagant affair, until such time as they’re able to deliver apologies in person, Nathicana walks in, holding the hands of her children, one to a side, to find their places at the dinner table.

The two young ones are of course entirely taken in by the scenery, and the people – exotic and otherwise – populating the large dining room, not to mention peering curiously at the contents of various plates as they pass by them, whispering excitedly to one another. Nathi smiles indulgently, scanning the crowd for familiar faces, acknowledging the ones she catches by eye with a smile and a nod or something of that sort before locating their places which are miraculously nearby to some familiar furred faces.

“It’s Speaker and H’zta,” Naiya whispers excitedly, smiling –albeit close-lipped this time – at the couple and waving a bit shyly with her free hand.

“I don’t think we ought make with any pouncings though,” Marcus whispers back with a very mischievous wriggling of his brows, making him look altogether too much like his father.

The both of them try to stifle their giggles as they settle into their seats, Nathi simply shaking her head slightly, still smiling as she watches to make sure there will be no slippings or slidings out of said chairs before she takes her own seat.

“Well isn’t this fancy,” she says, looking over the fare with an appreciative eye, noting how fresh the antipasti looks, and how nicely it’s all been arranged – pleasing to the eye, and palate, as it should be. Insalata caprese, some delightful bruschetta, a beautiful offering of Bagna Cauda that all three could enjoy, the main dish of veal scallopine, and for the dolce, a variety of tiny cannoli. The wine, she was pleased to see, was one of her own choice vintages, and seemed designed to compliment the meal perfectly.

“Dragon steak!” Marcus piped up, his eyes going wide as he looked over his own plate, accompanied by a simple green salad with a sweet dressing, tiny crisps, and almond slices, roasted spiced potatoes, basil carrots cooked with a touch of honey, and slices of thick white bread with strawberry jam – and of course, milk to drink, for both of the children.

“I don’t know how you can eat that,” Naiya tells him quietly, giving his plate a sidelong glance accompanied by a little shudder, before looking back to her own. She was not disappointed at all at the lovely little plate of assorted grapes and little cheese cubes, a dish of apricots and marscapone, her favorite sort of chicken ravioli in a sauce that seemed just right, and of course, chocolate gelato served with several light, crispy biscuits to go along with it.

“Everyone has their own tastes, Naiya. He loves his pasta as much as you do, remember,” Nathi says before sampling a bite of her salad, then looks around, waiting for an opportunity to properly greet those they’re sitting nearby.

“Good to see you all made it,” she says, her smile also conspicuously close-lipped. “I trust you’ve all been well?”

Alessa yawned and snuggled into Semp's clutches, smiling vaguely as her eyes half-closed. "Well... this is a very nice... what is this?" She looked around, and smiled to note that for once she was the tallest person on the table. "Um..."

"Dinner?" Sempero offered, nuzzling her neck just slightly and fluffing up her wings.

"No, what...um..." She paused and then smiled. "Krismass! Is that right?" She looked at Sempero askance.

"Close enough." He said, kissing her. "And yes, it is."

"I'm surprised you're all here though. Shouldn't you be at home protecting your families and friends?" Alessa's voice radiated simple curiousity. "I mean, aren't you all worried that the Sandy Claws will get to them without you watching?"

"...Sandy...Claws...?"

"Yeah! Er... am I saying it wrong?" Alessa mumbled something in High Roanian, and then tried to return to galstandard. "You know, the strange creature that once a year leaps down into people's houses and prowls about making sure everyone's asleep, and rewarding them if they are." Alessa closed her eyes. "And then, I think, if they aren't, he turns them into solidified carbon remnants." She looked around at everyone's faces. "What?"

Goor speaks softly after Rave sits, staring out the window. "Wonderous that in a room full of people... some of the most powerful people I've ever seen... I feel like I'm standing in an open field, looking around at nothingness as far as I can see." He shakes his head. "You are the only anchor I have. The only familiar thing I know." He smiles at her. "For that I am very glad... because I had no anchor at all, before you returned."

He nods at Max as he rejoins them. He was ignoring the rest of the party, having very little interest in the food or the level of pomp he was likely to encounter... though it might be interesting to violate a few of these elf customs and see what would happen. Maybe insult a few of them in an offhand manner...

...Elisa grinned softly, more than used to playful verbal sparring, and always quite the fan of it, especially when her opponent could be easily scandalized: she whispered her reply to Rene, "You need to ask? Remember your visit? Remember why you call us libertines?"

Having had enough of the mystery, she lifted the dome over her food, a little surprised at the light fare they presented itself, but smiling happily anyway. Always being one to try new things, the fact that it wasn't a 'favorite' was welcome. With a dramatic roll of her eyes she turned her attention back to Rene, "Yes, I'm aware of what fishing is... I just didn't know you fished. I suppose that's something else you could do besides that 'oppression' thing."


“Dragon steak!” Marcus piped up, his eyes going wide as he looked over his own plateVermi had hardly been able to miss the children rushing up to the table and sitting next to her, but hadn't paid them much attention until Marcus gave his cry of excitement. She turned to look at his plate, a little surprised at first before remembering that it was mostly likely a dumb, distant cousin. She smiled a little despite herself.

She glanced over the heads of the children to Nathi and smiled back, "Quite well..."

Likewise, Josef glanced up and grinned, "Fashionably late as ever, hmm?"

Both the Secretary-General and Gen./Field Marshal answered to the dinner call with some amount of deliberate acknowedgement to both of their conversations and took up a seating beside one another somewhere* in the Menelmacari dinner hall. Presented with a dish of lasagna for the Secretary-General, and Spaghetti to Qu'Salos, both were visibly pleased at how accurate the chef had gotten such popular dishes most likely served all over the world, but particularly a favorite of the Unione of Capitalizt States.

" They know us well, " muttered Goodchild to his counterpart and took a bite to taste. " They made it well, too. "

Qu'Salos didn't take too long to get stuck into it, at a pleasant-to-watch pace of course. " Definitely, the sauce is just delicious. "

Stopping one of the maids as they were passing by, Goodchild passed them a wad of currency. " Please, pass my compliments to the chef. These meals are just delicious. " He winked. " And some for yourself of course. "

Turning back to their meals, Goodchild took a sip of his glass of red wine and scanned the room for activity. He was always, always would be a soldier.

* I missed a good deal of what was happening so if anyone feels like starting some conversation with either characters, just pretend they sat in the near vicinity to you.

"Dear friend..." she said softly, touched by his words. She knew that on the day he dies, if he ever does, his soul will not find peace unless it was she that was taking him over to the other side. She would be with him for a short time even after death, but then her leave was forever, less her own death claim her. God knows she has cheated it so many times.

Max sat down and joined them. "You have caused me no offense at all. It's not your fault for having those colored eyes. Though that has not happened to me before. Then again, I hadn't gotten out much for a long while." She silently wondered what else was going to b e going on that night. She returned to Goor's subject.

"When I look in this room Goor, I see pretenses."

“So good to hear,” Nathi replies to Vermi, then pauses, glances at Marcus, back to Vermi, and has the good grace to blush slightly. “Non-intelligent, I assure you – pests, really. I doubt they’re even real ‘dragons’ myself – simply what the locals have come to call the little buggers. No offense, I hope? It’s a taste he’s picked up from spending time with his father in Treznor, though I can’t say I care for it myself.”

How damnably awkward …

“Good to see you as well, Josef. And so help me, I wouldn’t have been late if it could have been avoided, but somehow my invitation seems to have gone amiss, though I’ve no idea who got it instead. Just one of those little quirks, I suppose. Even the elves can’t hope to be perfect at all times – and you can’t deny the graciousness of their hospitality. No harm done, really.”

She couldn’t help but notice again, how truly amazing Shodey-built ears can be. It wasn’t something she so much as took for granted, as relied upon these days, but still … her sister-in-mind was a genius, and it never ceased to amaze her when she stopped to think about it. Most things she filtered out automatically as unimportant when she was utilizing the amplified hearing abilities, but now and then, something came through that either piqued her interest, or made her smile to herself for one reason or other.

Nathicana never would understand why some people showed up to these sorts of pleasant events only to look down their noses at everyone else, shut themselves off in a corner acting all mysterious, or at worst, arrive simply to cause trouble, which she had no real concern about here tonight. She’d seen it time and again, and for no discernable reason. What a waste of time and effort, and what better way to make an ass of oneself. Last year’s party in Northrup-Grummon sprang to mind, with the rather horrible examples set by the Prussians. She still hadn’t seen anything yet to change her opinions of those particular groups, and it seemed there might be a few here with those same self-important opinions of themselves who couldn’t see their own arrogance for the beam in their own eye, so to speak. Ah well.

Some things never changed.

Being two of the last people to leave for the dining hall had left the Chairman and Chairwoman at a slight disadvantage when selecting seats. But, of course, they were not here to make a fuss about such things and cause a heap of trouble for their hosts, so they took up two seats next to the Austarian representatives without any complaint.

The meal that had been quickly brought to them was amazingly well made. Prime rib for them both was the main portion of the course, cooked well-done for the Chairman but incredibly rare for his wife. On the side in a separate bowl was a Caesar salad, along with a baked potato, already split open, doused with sour cream and topped off with real, yes real, bacon bits.

“Mmm…I agree with you,” replied the Chairman to Goodchild as he sampled a piece of the beef. “I don’t think this could be any better.”

The Chairwoman jabbed at the rib with her knife. “Perhaps if I could personally slaughter and gut the cow myself, it could be better, but this is just fine the way it is.”

“Don’t mind her, she’s more…hands-on…than I am.”

“Yes, I am. But it’s that pride that goes into eating what you’ve just killed or what you’ve just reaped from the fields. The effort gone into making such a meal makes the feast that much more better.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t do that right now. It’s a party.”

“I could. It would be rather easy, afterall.”

The Chairman begins to sample a portion of his baked potato and glances over to his wife. “Knowing you, it would. But…let’s try to keep some pleasant conversation. Remember Paul from last year? I don’t think our hosts would like it if you make a man pass out from fright.”

“Very well…”


OOC: I’m in the same boat AU is so I’ll wait on posting for the characters that were midway in convos with the other drow and Ro’s ArchChancellor until I get word from them on how to go about catching up and such.

"So, beyrs? Heard some interesting stuff about the opportunities for hunting out there. New grounds are always fascinating I find."
Magnus does, admittedly, appreciate the compliment to the species. "Well, we do what we can, because we must," he ventriloquies through his teeth, "especially seeing how most of us can't shapeshift or fly or bite through armor..." He doesn't apply the emphasis that should be applied on most, primarily because he knows he doesn't count. "If you're interested in safari Ringside, the person to talk to is vonKarma. Xeruyu vonKarma, President-General of Karmabaijan. He's the local Rooseveltian conservationist--save it to shoot it, and it's not worth shooting unless it's a challenge. Given the technological divide between man and wildlife nowadays, his concept of 'challenging' is appropriately sporting."

Wandering around aimlessly in some Ringside territories is a good way to get one killed by local wildlife, even by rabbyts or squrryls, which need to be overpowered themselves so as to not upset predator-prey balances. There are other portions of the Ring that have more mundane animals, but they're also not gaming preserves that cover a Terrestrial surface area.

"Indeed. I tend to find she has an amazing ability to put people to their most satisfying use."
"Wouldn't it be... improper to suggest the good Lady-Empress have anything less than that given the leadership skills her position must demand?" Magnus winks teasingly.

"Perhaps you might care to join me, then, Lord Hesche." She leaned forward, her robe (such as it was) falling forward even more. "I wouldn't mind putting you up and giving you...a grand tour." With her free hand, she dipped a lizard into the blood-sauce and lifted it to her lips, chewing on it delicately. ... "Now, as to your services..." The empress' smile became more mischievous. "I'm certain there are all sorts of things I could find for you to do over in my Empire..."
Magnus stops laser-grinning at the cat--ahead of Alessa's good-natured command, because he can't do that and talk to her simultaneously without cheating--and responds to the reenactment of the dinner scene in Tom Jones in a similar light, teasingly nibbling a forkful of stuffed baked potato with carefully planned yet laconic nips that tend not only to indicate a bit of, ah, dexterity, but an unforced dexterity at that. "I suppose I will simply have to find some time at some point, as it would be simply impolite to refuse such hospitality," Magnus teases rather blatantly, theatrically working his schedule in his head and making it sound vaguely like an attempt to decline-without-declining by tabling the motion, no matter how insincere it may obviously be, "and not to suggest m'lady has a lack of imagination, but I'm certain I could find a few more." He grins ever so impishly. "I am, after all, rather good at finding things--it's part and parcel of life being an adventure, neh?"

"You know, the strange creature that once a year leaps down into people's houses and prowls about making sure everyone's asleep, and rewarding them if they are." Alessa closed her eyes. "And then, I think, if they aren't, he turns them into solidified carbon remnants." She looked around at everyone's faces. "What?"
"The word you're looking for is 'coal.'" Magnus winks. "It's somewhat archaic"--humorous wink and a grin towards the Freestians, albeit primarily Clodius--"so you can't be faulted for not knowing." That perhaps Sempero can be (teasingly, of course) faulted for not teaching is implied through a glance and a smirk.

* - * - *

"Ah, so you must be the young lady Oduh kept speaking of so highly after that trip." Najoedo nods slightly. For a guy who physically looks to be in maybe his late 20s, the Keeper does tend to have a grandfatherly ambience about him. "Well met, Rhiannon-derco, the honor is mine. Oduh spoke very highly of your skills on that trip. He seems quite taken by you actually."
Now, most people her 'age' would perhaps blush at the glowing compliments related by her elder, but Rhiannon is a Hesche and thus takes no small amount of pride in well-deserved praise. She is proper enough, however, to be vaguely humble about it. "Thank you, sir, though perhaps you kindly overstate my honor relative to yours." She has to fight not to wink, grandfatherly air about the Keeper or not. He's still in the 'attractive' age bracket, and, hell, so what if he's not originally of the right species. She is a Hesche after all, and the slightly flirting tease in her voice could just as well be perfectly chaste as well. Perfectly. Yes, that's right. Harmless. "Any praise from honored Keepers"--she steals a page from the book of kzin phraseology--
"such as you and Oduh is high praise indeed..." Something clicks. "Taken? Wait, what?"
"Firefury-Uccjooh is doing quite well, though even I am still puzzled as to what happened between her and what everyone has termed the Guardian some time back. She unfortunately has business to attend on the Far Moon."
Aha! An out! Rhiannon changes direction. "She's working on Titan, and the padishah is here...?" She glances over at Speaker, and doesn't even dare to think the word 'shirk.' Hearing it intimated, however, causes Rrit to twitch his ears and glance back. "Yes, she is working this holiday season. Test-piloting the TransformaLoki." Speeks chuckles. "Hardly 'work,' for her, is it?"

"Well... okay. As long as it all works out in the end."
"Much to my dismay, nothing near as exciting as you and Oduh have had underground. I've been traveling, mostly learning new things and seeing just how the world has changed since the time the Keepers went into hiding."
"One could say I'm learning it for the first time, so maybe we could compare notes," Rhiannon says with an enthusiasm for the subject which just may have something to do with the fact she's a bookwyrm. Maybe. No, not again. "I mean, um, I could learn about your life and times and you could learn about mine. I mean, uh, more recent... things, from a perspective like... ah... mine." She smiles vaguely sheepishly, then blushes a bit at how her normally quite proper social facade is fighting with the quiet example her father has always set and the hormones involved in being a growing girl, and not necessarily winning. Then she remembers that 'taken' remark, and blushes a little bit more.

Damn damn damn damn.

* - * - *

Nathi smiles indulgently, scanning the crowd for familiar faces, acknowledging the ones she catches by eye with a smile and a nod or something of that sort before locating their places which are miraculously nearby to some familiar furred faces.
Speeks hops up to play the proper gentleman--being in uniform, after all, necessitates standing when someone of the opposite gender approaches the table--and introduces Nathi formally to the entire group... which also acts to, more or less, introduce everyone to everyone else, which gets a pure smile of approval and thanks from Rhiannon Hesche, daughter of Magnus. He pulls out Nathi's chair for her, gets her seated, then sits down himself--

“It’s Speaker and H’zta,” Naiya whispers excitedly, smiling –albeit close-lipped this time – at the couple and waving a bit shyly with her free hand.

“I don’t think we ought make with any pouncings though,” Marcus whispers back with a very mischievous wriggling of his brows, making him look altogether too much like his father.
H'zta just flicks her ears. Shorty... well, she has a proper name now... has taught the two well.

“Dragon steak!” Marcus piped up
Rhiannon flinches, then drops her fork on the plate and apologizes to cover up for it. Different, it's a different sort of thing. Treznorian and all that.

“Good to see you all made it,” she says, her smile also conspicuously close-lipped. “I trust you’ve all been well?”
"Excellent, ma'am," Rhiannon says, glad for any distraction at this point.

"Hrrr... quite well, yes," Speaker replies, ears flickering. "Although I am afraid you missed the dance."

"There's always later," H'zta says with a smile suggestive of at least something and perhaps many things. "It's been fun so far."

““Non-intelligent, I assure you – pests, really. I doubt they’re even real ‘dragons’ myself – simply what the locals have come to call the little buggers. No offense, I hope? It’s a taste he’s picked up from spending time with his father in Treznor, though I can’t say I care for it myself.”
At the word "pests" Rhiannon drops her fork again to cover another flinch. Stupid wards, chafing. She apologizes quickly for her clumsiness.

She has no excuse to be late. She could have pulled any of her local avatars ensconced in closets throughout the palace at any time, especially any time before dinner, but for her own reasons she did not. Her public reasoning would be that it was a more efficient use of time to socialize after eating rather than having a short period before breaking everyone up for dinner. Those who know her past the grey face and the history books would know that she would be lying if she said it. Whim perhaps had a bit to do with it, conversation with the palace security intelligence a bit more, and, perhaps, the stars were finally right.

That and her sister-in-mind had arrived, and she had an idea.

After the requisite announcement and entry, S.H.O.D.A.N. passes through the reception hall towards the dining room as a grey ghost, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible without turning on her otherwise disallowed onboard information warfare suite--she and the Menelmacari had an agreement concerning this: they don't peek in, she doesn't peek out, and vice versa; it worked rather well--but this is of course a relative matter. On some levels, she is one of the more mundane people there in appearance, being at least benignly humanoid albeit tallish and athletic; on other levels, though, she naturally stands out in a crowd, what with her grey skin with its branching circuit-patterns of darker greys and fiber optics, her hair of cables and wires, and the fact that, besides her traditional necklace and short cape, she is as completely nude as being anatomically incorrect allows her to be. Padding smoothly, she follows a gently curved hyperboloid course through the room, deviating from directness just so she can whisper "Life is but a mirror" to those of a standoffish bent before secreting herself into the dining room.

Only bringing a finger to her lips should her nephew- or niece-in-mind should see her, she sneaks without sneaking up behind Nathi, only to grip her in the shoulders. "Boo." Grinning impishly behind closed-lips, she gets introductions and politeness out of the way before sitting down in her own seat among the group, revealing her course of assorted fruits, cuts of different sorts of savory meats, a great number of artfully arranged ingredients of flavor and texture rather than any sort of actual dish as commonly understood. Everything is there; just not combined in any sort of meaningful way.

Clearly, that's the part she enjoys as she begins to experiment. "I see we have quite the collection tonight," she says good-naturedly, "although it's saddening to see at least one couple apparently decided on not having any fun whatsoever. Hopefully no one else here is making that same mistake?" She smiles slyly.

Lirella is (slightly) distracted from her meal, which she's slowly savoring every bite of, when Rhiannon's fork drops to the table not once, but twice. She politely attempts to introduce herself.

"Ah, I'm afraid we haven't met, Ms. Hesche... at least, in person. I must apologize for not speaking to you sooner. I've heard some... interesting stories from certain people."

By this she is, no doubt, referring to the reports that came back from Moria. She could likely have been more subtle about it, but she's really not quite sure how to do such.

"At any rate, it would seem our hosts have accounted for _all_ tastes, hm? They've done something quite interesting with traditional Kajali cuisine... I think it's called cordon bleu, but they've used Kajali zelor instead of, well, whatever terran meat it usually is...

It's quite interesting..." Lirella gestures somewhat oddly with the fork, offering a fork of it, though as if it's a common occurrence. "If you'd like, I can ask one of our waiters here if they've got some more... though it is a little different in texture, being, ah..."

Lirella is aware that some of the guests are related, if only distantly, to reptiles, but she finishes the sentence with a little hesitation.

"...lizard."

Ilunaia, sitting nearby, suddenly seemed to go an odd shade of gray.

"Ah, I'm afraid we haven't met, Ms. Hesche... at least, in person. I must apologize for not speaking to you sooner. I've heard some... interesting stories from certain people."
"Thank you, Imperatrix." Titles are perfectly good forms of address in the Segments, and avoids the abusively complex and arbitrary constructions of Her Most Radiantly Royal and Imperial Majesty and Highness. Scolopendrans don't much care for those anyway. Being off balance, though, she sticks to proper caution. "I hope what you've heard has been good, at least." She's not sure how much Lirella knows and doesn't want to give anything away.

"...lizard."
Either she doesn't know or she's... well, no need to be mean, Rhiannon. Rhiannon smiles and resorts to politeness. After all, she can and has eaten reptilian before; it's just not her favorite thing to do. "'Try everything once,' as my father says..." She accepts the fork and follows the proverb. "Hmmm... that's excellent. Thank you, ma'am."

She then prevents any chance of getting more by the start of her second course (saved by the waiter!), which just happens to be freshly roasted giant (edible, of course) centipede coated in lemon butter, garnished with mandarin oranges along the legs, and served on a bed of basmati rice mixed with bits of scrambled egg, carrots, a touch of cinnamon, saffron, and a variation on masala.

The centipede is, of course, still in its undamaged carapace. The few places outside the Segments that had picked it up as a dish tend to have them pre-split, or even totally peeled.

Everyone knows only foreigners or weirdos eat their centipedes peeled.

Clodius raised an eyebrow at the coal comment, then muttered, then laughed out loud for some unknown reason. “Well, point, though to be fair we…um…like the primitiveness, yes! We are a bunch of masochists like that.” He stopped, thought about his word choice, shrugged and carried on regardless. “Anyway, at least it gives our own domestic wildlife a sporting chance. Well, admittedly most of it doesn’t need it but we like to think we’re powerful. I mean tank swallowing swamp kraken aside its nothing too harsh." He tipped the glass of Pale Ale around, as though reminiscing, a finger tracing the longest fang on the toothchain around his neck, letting Alessa and Semp take over the conversation.

Sempero himself grins both at Alessa’s initial misconception, then some more at Magnus’s little jibe at his cultural sharing. “To be fair I must admit to finding myself distracted much of the time when I’m with the Empress here”, he takes the time to kiss her on the check in a ‘isn’t she beautiful kind of way‘, “so you will have to forgive me for that. She is ah, very, very demanding of those who serve her but is exceedingly willing to work hard herself to set an example, especially with the, ahem, right encouragement.” More winks, more grins, more pokes in the ribs and playful glares from the Roanian in the lap. The usual for them, really.

It was at this point Magnus would probably start feeling a foot running up the back of his ankle . Given Alessa’s legs were firmly visible on her lap seat, but Sempero himself had twisted slightly beneath her, well…

He is Freestian after all.

Exactly where the Revenian delegation had been...or how they seemed to...appear...in appropriate chairs at an appropriate table...was best left undiscussed. Most of 'em weren't sure, anyways, and Dysaryn, who, objectively, probably was sure...wasn't telling.

Though, of course, they'd walked. Obviously. I mean, one CLEARLY recalls, distinctly, the walking. Certainly were more important things to be doing than pondering walking, yes? YES!?

Dysaryn, for the moment, seemed to content to attack the plate set before him -- presumably the Menelmacari chef's interpretation of the traditional Ascended (and Revenian) Shaz'murak meal, compacted into one course. Which was rather extremely fascinating and, while the individual components were not perfect. when taken as whole...very good. Innovative, too. Seemed to bring a smile to Dysaryn's face, at any rate, which was something of a feat -- not that he didn't smile, just that spontaneous, honest smiles were things to be relished.

Vysarian appeared to be consuming a hybridized elven take on a dish apparently randomly selected from the menu of one of the restaurants specializing in 'experimental cuisine' that were presently all the rage within certain segments of Revenia's mainstream culture. Which made for a very interesting contrast in tastes. As the methods were still being perfected, and there were only a few true masters of the 'style' within Revenia...that a successful one-off dish had made its way to table in Menelmacar was nothing short of incredible.

For her part, Ms. Crane had noodles. Not even particularly fancy noodles. Just...noodles. True, they were very good noodles, so far as noodles went, but they weren't very exciting, either. There did seem to be some beef in there. Not that Averly seemed to realize that the course was exceptionally bland, indeed, she seemed to be enjoying it immensely.

Rel...wasn't sure what he'd been served. But it was non-toxic and tasted good, thus achieving the two criteria necessary to be deemed 'consumable' by the veteran Administrator. An Administrator was expected to eat whatever was set before him, provided it wasn't a calculated insult or poisonous, and though Rel was senior enough that that expectation technically didn't apply to him anymore, as he shouldn't be getting insulted or poisoned, he'd never bothered to develop a more...refined palate. Which had its drawbacks -- he had a feeling that, were he more of a foodie, he'd have been impressed with the food on several levels. As was...meh.

"That's not lack of "oppression", dear, that's lack of morals. And clothes." Rene grinned. "And yes, I quite enjoy fishing. In between carting people off to the gulags for playing their radios too loud, and outlawing fun and happiness."

Apropos to their conversation, her meal was a thick caldeirada (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caldeirada) in the modern Tsarainese style, which had become common after the Obsidian Event made aquaculture, and not pastoralism, the main source of meat; Rene identified tuna, halibut, flounder and crab among the potato and tomato, all fish common to the great caverns in Deep Tsarai.

On her other side from Elisa, Ysarika was digging into a Kynarai delicacy, what looked like most of some small, plated quadruped in sauce; some alien foodbeast. Rene didn't know the name of it, although she knew she ought to.

Further along, Erin Ingreidt was picking at her food. The poor girl looked rather overwhelmed by the press of the high and mighty, Rene thought.

“Ah, Your Holiness – always the gentleman. Bene grazie, mi amico.” She puts as much friendly warmth as she can into those words, knowing he knows just how much she appreciates him, for reasons too numerous to mention – and that he has a terrific sense of humor to boot.

There are so many people to meet and greet, and so many new faces to go with familiar names in some cases, and unfamiliar names with unfamiliar faces in other cases, that the two children seem to be caught in a state of giddy gleefulness at the entire affair.

They flitter back and forth between excited commentary on who this or that person is, the contents of their plates, and those of the people around them, slipping in and out of their native tongue on many an occasion, and trying to still be polite and make their responses to the introductions as best they can.

Magnus and his daughter elicit wide-eyed appreciative ‘ooohs’ from the both of them – him by reputation, her simply by being a Hesche - after all if she's there, he is, and a quick glance around confirms that, albeit at a different table. It would seem the reality measures up to the myth, in their eyes, and they’ve no real idea on how exactly to deal with it – which is probably just as well, all things considered.

Naiya has something to say about the Roanian lady sitting with them, of course – being the strong-minded child that she is – though she does keep it between her and Marcus, though she earns a sharp look from her mother on account.

”She’s gonna fall right out of that dress if she keeps leaning over like that …”

The Keeper, they’ve seen before – at least a different one, so they’re somewhat familiar with who and what they are by now. They are of course, still fascinated, and can’t help but wonder idly if he can do magic the same as the nice ‘lady’ who made the light toy for them on the beach.

“Pleased to meet you,” Marcus manages with a polite smile. “We hope Miss Kiara is still doing well – she was really nice.”

The repeated drops of the fork attract Naiya’s more focused attention on Rhiannon, and as those piercing blue eyes lock onto the younger Hesche, one little sculpted brow arches up curiously. She tilts her head slightly, considering, setting her own fork aside for a moment as she studies the unfamiliar lady closely, eyes widening slightly as she comes to her own conclusions about something or other, which she for now, chooses to keep to herself, after another sort of all-too-knowing-for-her-age look at Rhi.

“M’lady Hesche,” Nathi says by way of introduction, smiling warmly. “I’ve heard so many great things about you. Your father there must be infinitely proud – and I can see why. Truly a pleasure to finally meet you.”

About this point, Shodey makes her entrance, causing Nathi to nearly jump out of her skin in spite of herself, then smile broadly at her sister-in-mind as she takes her seat.

“Imp,” she says simply, truly pleased that Shodey had made it as well, and trying to send out a mental hug, so long as the local security allows it. Of course the two little ones squirm in their seats until they get a nod of approval from their mother, then slip quickly out to go rush over and give their rather unique aunt a plethora of hugs and warm greetings before once again returning to their seats.

Pleasantries are exchanged with everyone as best they can manage, sneaking in the hello’s and hope all is well’s where they can between the continued conversations, with comments such as inquiries into H’tzta’s current business ventures, the well-being of the other Keepers, a question to Speeks concerning how that irascible Razak is doing … all the usual niceties and expected startup conversations amongst friends, and new acquaintances present.

Goor slowly turned his attention towards the feast, to look at those gorging themselves. "Pretenses? All I see are leaders so far removed from their populations that they would go insane if they had to live the lives of a commoner." he waved a hand at them slowly. "They're either blind or stupid if they think this is what the people want them to do. I feel nothing but pity for these politicians. They have no idea what it is to live and not simply exist."

He remembers Max is nearby and looks at him. "That goes for you too, twig-boy." He smirks.

"Ah yes, Oduh was regaling the rest of us with the tale of how he almost thought I had appeared in the cavern." A bemused chuckle accompanies the statement. The Eldest is certainly a capable flier, but he most certainly cannot teleport. "He and his sister may be the youngest of us, excluding Kiara, but after awhile age really becomes irrelevant; it was amusing to see him so flustered trying to describe everything that happened. He managed to knock half of his meal to the floor in his enthusiasm describing it."

At mention of Firefury and her "work", the Keeper gets a suitably baffled expression. "Honestly, she has the aura of one of us... yet her preferred means of flying are... frankly, unnatural."

His expression lights up though at the mention of further discussion and the exchange of knowledge. Then again, the guy is probably as much of a bookwyrm as Rhi is, though more of his learning has been first hand experience and less hiding away reading old books. "The exchange of knowledge is always better for the changes in perspective. I need to get used to... space travel..." Yeah, the old guy still has trouble with that concept. "...if I intend to journey to many of the places people live now. I fear there are too many places now I cannot travel to under my own power."

Then of course, Nathi's kids are there and taking in the sights, and Najoedo takes a break from his conversation with Rhi while she samples somebody else's chow.

"Oh, you've met young Kiara? She is doing quite well, though I'm told her flying still needs some work." This is accompanied by the conspiratorial wink of sharing a secret; though anyone paying attention that day at the beach probably knows that the youngest Keeper is still very inexperienced in the air.

Zeroel also spots the kids, and decides to put himself in the line of fire. He's used to dealing with younger kids- he's had plenty of experience with the Captain's daughter, Rebecca. To this day the shipmind has no idea how the little hellion is able to evade some of the most sophisticated surveillance systems in the Triumvirate; a fact that had the Shogunate's Camp R delegation in fits trying to figure it out.

It's probably a very good thing that Becky is nowhere near the party; the results if she ever met Nathi's two hellspawn are more ominous than Zeroel cares to contemplate.

"S.H.O.D.A.N., Dread Lady, a pleasure to see you both again." The shipmind smiles, quite sincerely. The diplomatic carrier probably owes his continued sanity to Shodey, after all. Even if certain Zero-One minds love the video footage of what he did to that M.A.N. operative awhile back. Not that the jerk hadn't deserved being turned into a pile of meat mush and throttled by gravwank... but still. It didn't sit all that well.
---

If Max is ruffled at all by Goor's less-than-diplomatic barb, the diplomat doesn't show it; instead Max waggles a finger in a slightly "tsk tsk" sort of manner.

"Ah, there is a saying about making assumptions, friend Goor." Blue eyes twinkle knowingly. "Many of those leader types are raised from the ranks of so-called commoners; positions of power obtained by climbing the bloody ladder of conquest, and knowing how to manage their fellow people. I myself was merely another grunt on the front lines of the Dividing War, as was my Lady Shogun Firefury during the Irregular Wars before that, when the old Empire was fighting a war of extinction against us. Those were the days; the war, the revolution... the Dividing War must have set us back at least fifty years from all the destruction. Through it all, a no-name fighter pilot came out of the blue to lead us to victory."

Max takes a moment to look over at the diners. "There is some pretense... but I see a group of people doing what most anyone would be doing at this time of year- celebrating the season with friends. Granted, these people tend to have more resources to throw at said celebration." The diplomat shrugs. "If the party isn't to your tastes, I'm sure we could find someplace nearby that isn't part of all the pretentious feasting."

“Non-intelligent, I assure you...Vermi smiled, the hypertech necklace making her look the very picture of a kind grandmother, the only thing that gives away something more is her eyes: they have a slight reptilian cast to them, and they betray an almost impossible age. "Oh, I figured as much, and I'm certainly not offended." She smiled some more, "Besides, I would be far more worried if your son didn't show any enthusiasm..." She smiled at Marcus, "Enjoy your steak." Still, she couldn't help but notice Rhiannon experiencing a similar twitch as she did, if more pronounced. Ah... youth...

Josef chuckled softly, more than a little relieved that Vermi was far too old to let something like this upset her, "You see, I gave you the perfect 'out', and you had to ruin it by giving the facts." He shook his head dramatically and grinned, "Keep this up, and you'll start being called 'Frazzled Lady Nathicana'..."


"That's not lack of "oppression", dear, that's lack of morals. And clothes..."Elisa laughed softly as she sampled the light salad that was her starter course, and trying not to think too hard about what was in the sauce on Josef's pasta, "Again, I didn't hear you complaining at the time." She smiled and giggled softly, "At least you still outlaw fun. I was worried fishing was a slippery slope towards... hedonism. Can't have that, after all."

She glanced around the two Tsarainese delegates to Erin and gave her a warm smile, "Temple in Deep Tsarai, hmm?" Perhaps interestingly to Erin, Elisa's study of Sekhel (combined with having a chipset of the language implanted) results in her managing the accent and pronunciation almost as fluidly as a native-speaker, "I can't say that I'm familiar... could you maybe give me a primer?" Her tone is gentle, and she clearly intends to bring the young priestess out of her shell a little, and maybe take her mind off the various VIPs, as opposed to grilling her for information.


”She’s gonna fall right out of that dress if she keeps leaning over like that …”[ooc, assuming that was a whisper...]
The only refreshment provided for Vermi is a rather large glass of water, as her concept of 'cuisine' would likely horrify the other guests (and be largely incompatible with her current state). She was mid-sip as she heard the whispered comment, barely managing to keep from snorting her water. Nathi may give a reproachful look, but Vermi was very obviously amused at the child's comment. Naiya was certainly her mother's daughter.

Taldar spends a very enjoyable time jumping through around chasing the dot, on some level the Cat is aware it is being toyed with, but... Well, it’s all a part of the game, besides that light is annoying. She is a bit confused when the light vanishes, for a brief moment she considers the possibility she just did the downright impossible and caught it, but... no it seems the man providing the light has turned his focus to the statue lady, Isha, that’s the name of the statue, she remembers or maybe the thing it represented, hmm this is all well and good, chasing the light was annoying but...

She had done so on the understanding that she’s get some food at the end. The food seems not to have been delivered, why is this... Oh, mating hmm, well understandable really, but, still promises she chased the light now she gets the food, no need to bother the man exactly... she can see the bacon and she won’t take all of it, just enough to get what she is owed.

With a pounce she snapped her paw out towards the plate looking for her bacon, she counted a good chance of success he was distracted with mating concerns after all, and she’d spent a long enough time with her, two legged companion, to know that offering food was not a vital part of that process for that type, although sharing a meal together helped.

After that she would simply have to consider leaving the three to deal with the matter of mating or hanging around for more food, the winged woman still hadn’t offered her any after all.

((OOC Going to be unable to get online for a few days so, I’ll leave Taldar in food snatching mode and thought process, and Iyanna on standby. Hence why she hasn’t responded to anyone in this post. Feel free to simply nod to her for a few days and assume she is listening. Sorry all)

Mikhail ended up at the same table as his sister, just opposite her, bringing another share of Imperially awesomeness to the table in question, this time with a brand new and more or less unique title, too! His entrée was pretty much the same as Vethara’s: the same Russian salad in the same impeccable dressing.

“Ah! And here is my sister, whom I have mentioned earlier,” the Vasilevs said with a smile to Katrina. “Her Imperial Highness Vethara, Grand Duchess of Taraskovya.”

Then came the turn of the Sunset-women to be introduced.

“Katrina Silaco and I guess Her Excellency Erika Silaco, President of Sunset, needs no formal introduction.”

“A pleasure,” Vethara acknowledged with a smile as she inclined her head politely.

“Now then, as far as the Sword of Rulers is concerned, it does have the properties I have described, and an evil chilling glow that goes along,” the Vasilevs said. He took a small portion of salad on his fork and sent it into his mouth, swallowing before resuming the talk. “I have personally witnessed the effects during the battle of Tin-Vilena, when I ran out of ammunition and had to resort to close quarters combat for a brief period. It came in extremely useful, I must say.”

“Your personal command of that operation and your failure to return unharmed from battle paved the way to a decade long political mess,” Vethara said with a disapproving gaze, her eyebrows frowning.

“We shall not return to the subject, dear sister,” Mikhail said, the smile still upon his face, but his eyes becoming even chillier than before. “Ekaterina is a scientist who has shown some interest in things magical.”

“Ah, a keth scholar!” Vethara used the old Tarathian word for “magic”, which also coincided with the name of a Taraskovyan city, capital of the historic kingdom of Kethar (and of the contemporary Fiefdom of the same name). Back in the old days, the Kethari were quite adept at blowing up Tarathian soldiers with all sorts of frostyfireballs. The word has stuck since then, even if the Kethari no longer existed: pacification, assimilation. “Unfortunately, our people are no longer as proficient as they used to be in magic… well, for the most part.”

"The word you're looking for is 'coal.'" Magnus winks. "It's somewhat archaic"--humorous wink and a grin towards the Freestians, albeit primarily Clodius--"so you can't be faulted for not knowing." That perhaps Sempero can be (teasingly, of course) faulted for not teaching is implied through a glance and a smirk.

"Koel." Alessa tried the word out, and then smiled serenely, baring her gently befanged mouth as she stripped the flesh from her steak. Once she was finished tearing, she continued. "Beastly thing, whatever it is. I had some researchers find me some and bring it to my labs, and it ruined my best white robe when it exploded." She looked between Sempero and Hesche, and seemed rather upset. "I feel you're both teasing me." She murmured, a lost little expression appearing on her face as she tried to work out the joke.

Sempero himself grins both at Alessa’s initial misconception, then some more at Magnus’s little jibe at his cultural sharing. “To be fair I must admit to finding myself distracted much of the time when I’m with the Empress here”, he takes the time to kiss her on the check in a ‘isn’t she beautiful kind of way‘, “so you will have to forgive me for that. She is ah, very, very demanding of those who serve her but is exceedingly willing to work hard herself to set an example, especially with the, ahem, right encouragement.” More winks, more grins, more pokes in the ribs and playful glares from the Roanian in the lap. The usual for them, really.

Alessa snuggled her way into Sempero's arms, her enthusiasm for the party slowly flagging. As much as she enjoyed these events, the noise and surrounding of bright lights and hundreds of people was a bit much for her and it was a relief to feel safely ensconced in the lap of someone she knew a great deal about. Another lizard found itself chewed on and torn apart as she decided, quite arbitarily, that she had flirted enough with Hesche and her whimsy led her to other matters, such as trying the liquid that her hosts had provided her with. She lifted it to her lips and took a sip, smiling and tilting her head back a bit with every sign of enjoyment once she discovered it was, indeed, bloodfruit juice.

She returned it to the table with a pleased expression. Despite the juice of the bloodfruit being an insanely staining item, it had left no trace on her clothing. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for her lips, which had a moustache far too young on them and were even redder now than before. With a little smile she reached up and kissed Sempero on the cheek, leaving a faint red imprint, then nestled back against him and resumed just looking at Hesche.

From some unknown spot on her robe a ball of string appeared, which within a matter of seconds began to be worked into a delicate cat's cradle, a fact made slightly more difficult by Sempero's shifting underneath her. She looked up at him, and then looked across at Hesche with a little smile as she took advantage of Sempero's distraction to steal some of his food and, with every inch of efficiency, strip it entirely of its meat.

* * *

The Archchancellor and Vice-Chairman had been, despite talking at one another (dignifying it with 'conversation' would probably be too much, as it was really just them lecturing each other and those unfortunates surrounding them) for what could have been an hour, not nearly finished, when the Roanian looked up with a distracted expression. "You know, I think they've gone and left us to starve." He told the Chairman, with a frown. "Perhaps we should continue this over some food?"

Ravelyn sighed. Nothing to do, nothing to do. She was happy Goor accepted her proposal, and that she had been provided some entertainment from Max. She had a strong urge to leave and be safe within the confines of her own nation and disappear again. She knew that Goor wouldn’t allow it. “I miss my scythe…” she said under her breath. With the anti-magic field she couldn’t conjure it here either. Strange; but the blade comforted her. She listened in on the conversation between Max and Goor. “I was a military science experiment…” she shrugged. That’s how she got that body anyways, and she wasn’t complaining. It suited her, and had adapted to her soul. She shifted her wings behind her back once more.

“Ah, a keth scholar!” Vethara used the old Tarathian word for “magic”, which also coincided with the name of a Taraskovyan city, capital of the historic kingdom of Kethar (and of the contemporary Fiefdom of the same name). Back in the old days, the Kethari were quite adept at blowing up Tarathian soldiers with all sorts of frostyfireballs. The word has stuck since then, even if the Kethari no longer existed: pacification, assimilation. “Unfortunately, our people are no longer as proficient as they used to be in magic… well, for the most part.”

"Erika will be fine..." The elder Silaco stated before continuing. Aside from their name and apparel it would be hard to tell the two were mother and daughter until one talked to them. Erika was Caucasian and decidedy so with fair skin, blue-gray eyes behind steel rimmed glasses, and slightly wavy light blond hair. Katrina on the other hand was decidedly Asian in appearance with long, straight black hair and brown almond eyes.

"We are not a people who stand heavily on formality once friendship has been established. Titles and honorifics are there to establish one's credentials, but as Diogenes was said to say to Alexander when asked why he searched through a pile of bones..."

"I am searching for the bones of your father but cannot distinguish them from those of a slave..." Katrina finished.

"Not to imply that any here are slaves of course. But one cannot lead without the led. Anyway, forgive my rambling."

Erika went back to her salad and Katrina set her sticks down for a moment.

"You mentioned that the sword was a gift from a deity figure? Can you tell me the story? And has this being been seen since?"

"You'll forgive Katrina's interest. Magic and the supernatural seem to be in the current cycle of interest for a lot of nations and peoples right now and she's always looking for something new to put under the microscope..."

“Your curiosity is all forgiven, Ekaterina,” the Vasilevs said casually. “The deity in question is Sathala, one of the Seven Deities of the Taraskath, or Tarathian, pantheon and, thus, one of the deities worshipped by the Church of the Seven to this very day. She is the Goddess of War and Passion, of all things rather unstable and fiery, if you will.

“Tarathians themselves are an ancient kin native to sisgardian parts of Taraskovya, which exist to this day. Of course, they have now rather mingled with other cultures… Some akin the Tarathians to elves, like our most esteemed hosts, albeit Tarathians do not agree with such linking. But I shall leave all these theories to the academics, what you need to know is that back in the days, and even today, Tarathians lived very long lives. Me and Vethara both have Tarathian blood, which explains our young looks despite quite a respective age, in… human… terms.”

To those who knew the meaning of the word “human” to Taraskovyans would understand the momentary pause of the Vasilevs. Indeed, in Taraskovya, humans were not only those of the homo sapiens species, but also elves and Tarathians and drow. All the more or less or not at all pointy eared species that looked more or less like the Taraskath and with which a Taraskath could socialize and produce viable offspring that could later on socialize further and so on and so forth. So whilst the entire universe made a distinction between elves and humans, in Taraskovya elves were humans. The distinction was between the Ros and the Noldor and the Dakathian Tarathians and so on.

“Initially, the Taraskath kin did not form a unified nation. It was a mosaic of city states and mountain tribes constantly at war with each other and their bigger Amalori, Kethari and Sethari neighbours. And then came Uidath Karetsah, Lord of the Emerald Spire and founder of the first dynasty of Shokath-Kshas, to which my own dynasty is closely linked.

“It is said that he began his quest from a prayer to the Seven Deities and his prayer was answered through different fashions. Goddess Sathala gifted him with this sword,” the Vasilevs placed his hand on the pommel of the sheathed blade. “After Uidath took the Black Hand citadel in the year 44’215 Before Strife, the strongest and most powerful of all Tarathian states, he proclaimed himself as the first Shokath-Kshas, or Supreme Lord and Ruler of the Kin, of a united Tarathian nation. It would take him seven more centuries to fully solidify his gains and absorb each and every statelet, but this was a turning point.”

He paused for a moment, to allow himself to delve more into his salad and let Katrina digest the information.

“Since then, and until my coronation as Vasilevs only recently, the Sword has been the sole symbol of monarchy in Taraskovya, where there were neither thrones nor crowns. When I was… hm… crowned as Grand Duke more than a decade ago, I too prayed to the Seven Deities and received the Sword, even if I took it from the hands of the High Templar of Zynthris. Indeed, the followers of Sathala did not recognize me as Shokath-Kshas and sided with my elder sister. Then came the Plague, my coma, my return, my conversion to Orthodoxy and the proclamation of the Taraskovyan Empire. But the sword remains and shall remain for all times.”

“It pays to be fashionably late to these things you know Heruss…” Twittered the neatly dressed Midlonian that, by the small dove with a “G” embossed on it denoted he was a General within the Midlonian Armed Forces.

“There’s fashionably late, and then late late General.” muttered the lean figure next to him. He wore a small ankh on his breast which denoted the letters “D” and “A” on the cross bar and a powder blue waistcoat.

“Nonsense! Baaaah.” replied the General rather loudly as he showed his invite. Much to the worry of the Party’s guards Heruss was sure.

He merely apologized quietly and straightened out his powder blue coat and rolled his eyes as Melchett had already bounded his way into the party, straightening his waxed Moustache with a flurry and eyeing the dining plates and free places greedily.

“Last time I do a favour for Commander Sturm. Last time I am anywhere near his idiot nephew.” he muttered, and then left himself wondering exactly why he’d sent General “Insanity” Melchett to this party to begin with. There were a lot of big-guns about at this party. They were late. It all seemed a bit faux pas, especially to a Vampire such as himself who had a memory stretching back several hundred years.

Taking in the room at a glance Heruss spotted some familiar faces. Some faces he only recognized from television…. He could also smell and sense another Vampire within the room. Not like the Freestians he had half spotted without actually registering who they were they weren’t actually vampires in the traditional sense smoothing his hair, which felt odd slicked back slightly as it was as he rarely didn’t wear his Dark Angels cap he scanned the room again with his eyes narrowed. Trying to pick out who it was. He had a feeling it was some ridiculous woman who seemed to be covered in feathers, but he just couldn’t tell with so many scents, so much noise.

“Asopher! Asopher!” Called Melchett from a table near to the Freestians and such, causing the Colonel to wince as the conversation in the hall dulled a little. “Well done you fucking idiot, now we’re all noticed and your bloody accent will know that the Midlonians have sent another idiot to a party like this.” he half muttered under his breath as he made his way over to the table.

“Lookit this Asopher!” barked Melchett again, but a little quieter. On his place was a large fish covered in a batter of flour with a slice of lemon, thick cut Chips [Or French Fries as some cultures called them] and some peas, which had been mushed slightly. “How the devil did they know? All I did was ask for something! And POOF! My favourite meal!”

Heruss merely rolled his eyes and sighed slightly.

“The Palace employes the rare Eldar 'Foodseer', which is only a slight divergance from the normal Path of the Farseer. They see what a person is going to order in the future and make it before serving it.”

“WOW! Amazing.” gabbered Melchett as he tucked into his meal.

Heruss regarded his own plate and sighed with a slight smile. Quite clever it actually was too. On his plate was a bloodied steak of good quality beef and something which raised his eyebrow, some blood potatoes.

These had been carefully grown in the Greater Kingdom. Quite interesting they were too. They were basically regular potatoes, but often attracted a kind of beetle that fed on the blood of smaller animals. They would also find this vegetable quite attractive.

The difference was that said potatoes were actually slightly interesting. They lured the beetles inside, which then snapped shut and they were slowly digested. Oddly though, said vegetables couldn’t digest the blood, and simply absorbed it into it’s membrane, while still leaving a large pool of blood inside the potato itself.
Beside that was a small flute glass with some blood in, scented so as not to offend anybody with sensitive noses, which he always preferred to do when not on “The Island” as mockingly called the Vampire reservation.

“Anyway, at least it gives our own domestic wildlife a sporting chance."
"Sounds like it could use it." Magnus grins in a less than serious way.

She is ah, very, very demanding of those who serve her but is exceedingly willing to work hard herself to set an example, especially with the, ahem, right encouragement.”

It was at this point Magnus would probably start feeling a foot running up the back of his ankle.
Some people might think that getting teased or hit on by a male is something new for Magnus. It isn't, really, but with Alessa's whimsy going in a different direction--apparently teasing is another thing she doesn't really get--he gets the feeling that the tao of flirtation is edging him on to the next available target. "Well, then, I simply must accept the offer. I'm relatively certain I can work it in. Somehow." He winks, and without a second thought pulls back his ankle to put some pressure on Semp's teasing foot. Normally, this is somewhat outside of his usual idiom but... well, like Sempero, he does believe in the concept of 'the more the merrier' and never, not once, has he opted out of a flirtation war. "Whenever working for someone new, though, one always has to rely on friends in the, ahem, extant organization to some extent." Another grin at Sempero. Ball's in his court now. To be particularly honest, it never really was about the sex with Magnus; it's fun, certainly, but not quite as much fun as just flirting. He's not going to try and argue a case with Alessa but, if Sempero's willing to, well, that's his call.

This has put him in the strange position of occasionally having to turn down propositions--for the longest time he was pretty much a joke who was brushed off without a second thought; funny what fame and fortune does--and he always tries to let people off gently. This... well, he'll see. The flirting's the fun part, after all, and beyond the first pass, it's only fun if it's mutual. "Well, I hate to eat and run but I haven't quite met everyone yet--especially when there are so many wonderful people to meet"--he grins--"and I've never quite understood why table-eating has to be a static affair. I hope to catch up with you later, perhaps...?"

With a pounce she snapped her paw out towards the plate looking for her bacon, she counted a good chance of success he was distracted with mating concerns after all, and she’d spent a long enough time with her, two legged companion, to know that offering food was not a vital part of that process for that type, although sharing a meal together helped.
What was that about adventure being around the corner? As Magnus gets up, he sees a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye, spins on his heel, grabs the cat in one arm, then sets it down on the seat in one smooth motion. Most of the course is done, but there's still enough in the way of scraps to make it worthwhile. "And this is an Eldar familiar sort of thing. Warpcat, meet Warlord Sempero, Lord Clodius, and Lady-Empress Alessa. Ladies and gentlemen, meet Warpcat. Now I must away..."

And off he goes, to flirt with someone else who fits his strict standards of looking generally feminine.

* - * - *

“Ah, Your Holiness – always the gentleman. Bene grazie, mi amico.”
"Rareeks irgeeth, Yahugh Wtbech;" the Patriarch growls good-naturedly and quietly in response to the 'Holiness' crack. It was her fault it got started; it was not her fault that it stuck.

“M’lady Hesche,” Nathi says by way of introduction, smiling warmly. “I’ve heard so many great things about you. Your father there must be infinitely proud – and I can see why. Truly a pleasure to finally meet you.”
"The pleasure is mine, ma'am," Rhiannon replies with a polite smile, although she wonders why Nathi's kid is looking at her funny and glances at her back for a moment before continuing. "Sorry. Anyway, my father's told me a lot about you too... I really must apologize for him. It's like a pathological compulsion." She means, of course, the flirting.

with comments such as inquiries into H’tzta’s current business ventures, the well-being of the other Keepers, a question to Speeks concerning how that irascible Razak is doing
"Some of our new biomimetic myomers are playing a key role in the SEELE suit and assault armor SLEP upgrade contracts, and..." H'zta smiles slyly. "I can't tell you any more beyond that. Trade secrets." She cants her head towards S.H.O.D.A.N. and flicks her ears. "Beyond that, the general trade in chemistry, metallurgy, and product improvement is going quite well. In fact, we have something in the works which could make the traditional cyberjack obsolete..."

"Julie's doing well and running the office over the holidays," Speaker says with perhaps only partially forced joviality. Nathi's favorite person is playing grinch back home, and Julie is of course watching the office while he does that to provide oversight. It's not really that big a deal, though, as it's not really as if Razak has much celebrating to do over the holidays anyway. "He's in his element, if nothing else."

"Ah yes, Oduh was regaling the rest of us with the tale of how he almost thought I had appeared in the cavern." A bemused chuckle accompanies the statement. The Eldest is certainly a capable flier, but he most certainly cannot teleport. "He and his sister may be the youngest of us, excluding Kiara, but after awhile age really becomes irrelevant; it was amusing to see him so flustered trying to describe everything that happened. He managed to knock half of his meal to the floor in his enthusiasm describing it."
"Oh, heh." While partially relieved that this meant 'taken' didn't mean what Rhiannon thought it could have meant, it does bring up issues of operational security. Then again, considering the Hacker's matronly chuckle to herself and the little patternmonger's eyebrow-quirk, probably only the mundanes don't know. Even some of them do, because of reports, and they keep dropping hints that someone with half a mind to could pick up. This whole secret identity thing is quite chafing... stupid wards.

"The exchange of knowledge is always better for the changes in perspective. I need to get used to... space travel..." Yeah, the old guy still has trouble with that concept. "...if I intend to journey to many of the places people live now. I fear there are too many places now I cannot travel to under my own power."
"Oh? I can fly," she says brightly, then turns down the fangirl and the 'hey he doesn't look too bad' knobs a bit, then corrects via caveat, "spacecraft. I haven't yet earned the privilege of flying around Dad's atomic rocketship, but for something like this, I'm sure I could twist his arm. Titan's got a bunch of great libraries and things to see and..." He's probably sold, you can ease up. "...I'd love to teach, and learn in the process."

“Yes, I believe that would be splendid.”

After leading the way into the dining hall, Vice Chairman Naelthasser chose the next available seat at the table, which was to the immediate right of his superior, the Chairwoman. Normally, he would have selected a better seat, away from her, but being late to the dinner left him at a slight disadvantage as very few options were open to him. So he accepted this fate rather reluctantly and warily. But, with courtesy coming before all else, the elf did make it a point to introduce this new friend of his to the ruling couple.

“Chairman, Chairwoman,” he began, maintaining his regimented demeanor as he always did while in public. “I would like you to meet Arch-Chancellor Kouran Al Raael. He is the Head of Studies at the Academy of Magic in Roania.”

“Ah, so this is the guy you’ve been gabbing to for the past hour like a little ol’ woman,” the Chairman chuckled. “I can’t complain though. At least you’re…enjoying…yourself….I think…”

“That I am,” the Vice Chairman turned slightly back towards Kouran. “This is Chairman Jack O’Neill…”

Jack waved with a smile. “Nice to meet ya.”

“…and this is his wife, Chairwoman Siri O’Neill.”

Siri merely nodded her head. “A pleasure.”

Sempero and Clodius nod in unison as Magnus departs, the latter tipping his head politely as the Pendran rises, whilst Sempero does a look of mock shock followed by a playful wink. “Later, maybe. Enjoy the party Mr Hesche.” He says with a genuinely warm smile. The two vampires turned to each other , Alessa miles away with her string on Semp’s lap the only thing remotely between them.

“Bit strong Semp, seriously.”

“Oh piss off. Gotta test the waters.” Semp grows serious for a moment, as does his opposite, then both burst out laughing that caused even the Roanian to notice.

“What the?” She asked with a puzzled expression, barely registering the absence of Hesche.

“Nothing babe.” Sempero nuzzled Alessa as returned her gaze to the game whilst Clo lobbed another morsel for the warp cat at the their feet with an almost bored expression on his face, the last piece before starting his main course, before something far more interesting caught his eye. He whapped Sempero on the shoulder with sufficient force that even the house AI noticed a little, but it was barely enough to distract the Warlord’s attention from Alessa’s receptive neck and shoulders.

“What?” He muttered as Clodius pointed.

“Midlonians. And I’ll be, if it isn’t Heruss?”

“Your old…?”

“To be fair he was with me on the final night at the Spire, Semp.”

“So was I.”

“Yes, but he’s also one of the reasons Franz…never mind. Look I really don’t want to discuss it here.” Clodius put on a genuinely serious expression now.

“Fair enough. Save your seat?”

“Please do.”

Sempero nodded, and amused himself by, accompanied by much pouting, stealing Alessa’s ball of string. She glared evilly at him, slapped him on the chest again, then resigned herself and proceeded to bat at the lose string as Sempero held it above her as she curled further into his lap. Semp’s own main course came up, and what looked like the head of a giant snake filled the platter, surrounded by what looked like (and indeed were) individual scale coated with small amounts of meat dipped in a sweet and sour sauce. The large head itself was coated in something similar, though otherwise it seemed almost untouched from when it had unexpectedly been separated from the rest of it.

Clodius meanwhile manoeuvred up to the Midlonian’s table, smiling brightly, uniform patted down and preened again.

“Colonel Heruss? Its been a while.”

Heruss looked up from his meal and stared hard for a second, a tiny dribble of blood rolling down his chin, which he quickly damped with a napkin.

"Clodius? It's certainly has been a while. How are you?"

Melchett was too busy munching into his fish to even notice that somebody had come over to the table. Grease from the batter had caused his moustache to glisten more than it had previously.

“Imp,”
<LOS Communications to Nathi>
{
<< Of course. Only natural, no?

<< It is good to see that, at the very least, this party only has a small number of dedicated outsiders doing their best to remain on their pedestal away from the maddening crowd. If our good friend wasn't there to keep them company, I'd be tempted to dedicate an avatar to neatly dismembering their philosophy.

<< We all know about me and neat dismembering, no? [sly smile analog]
}

The mechanoid queen runs through another few combinations of tastes and textures on her plate, then glances down at her family-in-mind. "Are you two making just enough trouble to make your mother's life interesting?"

"S.H.O.D.A.N., Dread Lady, a pleasure to see you both again."
S.H.O.D.A.N. smiles and bows her head a little with respect. She had kept his secrets, he had kept hers; now that hers are obsolete, with Carlos being long dead, it is less of a concern but he had continued to keep her secrets. With someone as... controversial as the Master Control Program, the ability to trust goes a long way and she was, honestly, quite thankful. "Likewise, Zeroel. I'm sorry I've not kept in touch like I should. How are things with you, the good Captain, and the Sky Marshal?"

She cants her head towards S.H.O.D.A.N. and flicks her ears. "Beyond that, the general trade in chemistry, metallurgy, and product improvement is going quite well. In fact, we have something in the works which could make the traditional cyberjack obsolete..."
S.H.O.D.A.N. grins from behind closed lips. "I'll buy you out yet, my pretty, just as soon as I can find a price high enough for Kraah. You're too noble, but Kraah knows he can just always negotiate the price higher. A lecher, a hedonist, and still keen as a razorblade." She chuckles softly, then transitions into a theatrically predatory smile. "I tease, of course. Competition is important for a healthy market."

Zeroel manages a sheepish grin. "Oh, I'm doing alright. They finally let me and Sierra out of Camp R to get back to our regular duties. ... Though I'm of the opinion that it was so they wouldn't need to try and cope with Becky rather than they actually found anything useful."

Yes, the tales of Sierra's daughter and her nigh-legendary 'power' to evade detection have probably gotten around. Test pilot Ymari is probably STILL complaining about an incident involving a pie and a gadget that the little kid had no business fussing with. The Shogunate's thaumaturgic researchers had managed to corral the kid long enough to try and figure out how she was doing it... except the kid somehow got away from them undetected to get into more trouble elsewhere.

"Captain Sierra is doing quite well, thanks to you. We're still working out the... anomalies?... of our situation still, but she and the Sky Marshal are still seeing each other, at least when their duty schedules permit. Becky's gotten pretty attached to him, actually."

"Of course not," Rene agreed, entirely straight-faced. "Although we're not as bad as you think ... probably. I don't know what my people get up to in the privacy of their own homes, after all."

"Um ... OK?" Erin twists her fork about nervously. "Officially it's the Khol'ekkhata D'mai Temple, it's the ... second largest in the Mother Country, after the Terev Nova Temple in Kel Eridhant, and the third largest in the Ascendancy now they've finished the Kereshk'hal Temple in Sun River City ... the one in Aestrakhant doesn't count, of course. What would you like to know?"

Aeselle was, well, clearly out of her element. More people had come to join their table, which was close to full now.

'I'd wondered why there were so many empty seats...'

Clearly, most of the others knew each other by name, title, or reputation, and many were on a first-name basis. She was having trouble just keeping up with who was who, as her briefing could have been considered sketchy at best. Konrad was being no help at all. Certainly, he'd managed to make something of an excuse and an apology to Iyanna about having simply not noticed the cat glaring at him for some of his food, but otherwise he was quite intent on eating his rather large portion, and simply nodding politely and greeting anyone who happened to glance at him. Stupid lout.

Not that she was much better, as she simply smiled and waited to be addressed. By what she could overhear, many seated at her table were national leaders, or simply very important, and were all the kind of people she was surprised to see at a party that anyone as lowly as her would actually attend. This, naturally, made her question how they'd managed to even get that invitation...

And she'd have killed for glass of her favourite wine, which she'd learned most humans called merlot. But her doctor had firmly told her no.

So, this strange feeling of be a stranger amongst friends made her appetite dwindle and desert her. She'd finished her crab-mushrooms, but her steak was only half-finished, and she poked at it a little to at least maintain the air of eating with everyone else. Despite the delicious rarity of what she assumed was actual nariyan-cooked steak, it all seemed a little overwhelming to her...

'Oh well... if they keep talking amongst themselves, there's no chance you'll need to execute a foot-in-mouth manoeuver...' she thought, a little dismally.

Goor shook his head slowly. "They may have risen from the commoners, but do they remember what is like to be one of them?"

He looks at Rave and then Max again, contributing to the origin explanations. "I was a tribal warrior, taken from my lands and trained to be a cold hearted hunter-killer who cared for nothing at all, except completing the mission... I was good at it too."

He shrugs and decides that, while Rave and Max were interesting conversationalists, he was interested in speaking to a few of these other leaders... He nodded to both and strode off, walking slowly between tables, before a familiar accent greeted his ears. Roanians... ah, should be a good start.

He stepped to the table where Alessa sat and took one of the last open seats. Slowly looking around, then at the food being offered, he made a low sound. I thought I smelled reptile meat. Mammals will eat anything... After a moment, he noticed a few were looking at him, questioningly. They have no idea who the hell I am. Not a surprise. "I am Goor, retired hunter-killer of Crimmond. Forgive me if I do not know who any of you are... I am not a politician. Though I rarely forget distinct accents." he nodded at Alessa. "Roanian."

"Ah yes, the things people do in the name of finding better ways to kill other people." Max sighs theatrically. "Most of my kindred were likewise created- either as weapons or as slaves."

Max watches as Goor departs before whispering to Ravelyn. "Rather bitter one, isn't he? Truly a pity." Then a jocular wiggle of one eyebrow. "However it seems now, m'lady, that it's just you and me with little to do with ourselves."

So, this strange feeling of be a stranger amongst friends made her appetite dwindle and desert her. She'd finished her crab-mushrooms, but her steak was only half-finished, and she poked at it a little to at least maintain the air of eating with everyone else. Despite the delicious rarity of what she assumed was actual nariyan-cooked steak, it all seemed a little overwhelming to her...

'Oh well... if they keep talking amongst themselves, there's no chance you'll need to execute a foot-in-mouth manoeuver...' she thought, a little dismally.Magnus has a soft spot for two things (well, many things, but two apply here): women and fish out of water. People who are purposefully being standoffish, due to senses of self-superiority or self-esteems so low that they have to tilt their heads back to look down their nose at people and at least pretend, he can do without. People who are just lost and feel out of place... well, it's his job as a diplomat and a nice guy to try and make them feel welcome, at the very least, and have a good time at best. The best way to do this? Drop in on them. That's why Aeselle may be surprised when this rugged-looking blonde-hair blue-eyed chiseled-jaw diamond-breaking-chinned muscular-without-being-disgustingly-so stereotypical ubermensch with rugged but manfully short hair that falls just right and a white tuxedo sits down next to her, but does it with self-confident yet non-aggressive politeness. "'Scuse me, m'lady, but is this seat taken?"

Magnus sits down and... smiles. Not grins, just smiles in a friendly way. Maybe this is because the ratcats are within line of sight, or maybe it's because he's just not always larger than life. "Excuse me for being so bold, but it seemed like you could do with someone to talk to and I figured that, since I was free, perhaps I could help. I'm Magnus Hesche." No titles, nothing fancy like that; just a friendly smile and a confidently open demeanor. Perhaps a little larger-than-life when it comes to the level of confidence and unassuming candor, but that's just because Magnus can only go so far from his core character and still be honest.

Rhiannon, meanwhile, glances over and finds herself torn. Her dad really is a nice guy. Her dad will also flirt with nearly anyone with breasts and a pulse. She doesn't know which category this latest development falls into, and so isn't sure whether she should be proud at her dad for doing the right, proper, heroic thing or annoyed at her dad being... well, 'chauvenistic' holds the wrong connotations. Being himself. Then she starts feeling a little guilty because it's not fair to be annoyed with people who are just being themselves...

...I don't know what my people get up to in the privacy of their own homes, after all."Elisa raised an eyebrow, "Really? The camera budget run dry or something? Or are you going soft and allowing people some privacy?" She smiled warmly at Rene, wanting her to be sure it's all in good fun.

...the one in Aestrakhant doesn't count, of course. What would you like to know?"Elisa smiled, hoping the shy priestess will feel calmer, "Oh, most anything, I suppose... I'm not terribly familiar with religion in Tsaraine in general. I've found that even when the religions are the same, it's very different nation to nation. So... um... whatever you'd like to share? Maybe your duties?" She grinned a little, it's hard to whisper around Rene, but letting Rene hear is half the fun, "Or, you could tell me things you've seen while fishing that would embarrass poor Rene here..."

Naj/Zeroel

“I thought she was awesome,” Marcus pipes up, with Naiya nodding enthusiastically.

“She could do magic,” she picked up right after, nodding sagely, the last bit almost whispered with no small amount of awe. The young Keeper really had made an impression, no doubt about it.

“And it’s a pleasure to see you again as well, Zeroel. I hope you’re continuing to do well and haven’t been driven completely mad yet with Sierra’s little bundle of joy?” Nathi replies with a pleasant smile, glancing at both her own kids to try and show she SO understands how kids can be.

Things such as AI/EI/shipminds/’aliens’ etc had become so common in her dealings since she first was introduced to his grand, wide multiverse, that she thought nothing of the fact that in the end, people is people, regardless of their origins. In an odd way, she found that rather comforting, and so much easier than having weird hang-ups about any one person or race being too ‘different’ to deal with. Adjust and live, as they said.

Vermi/Josef

Nathi gives Vermi a pleasant smile of relief. The last thing she wants is to offend or start any incidents, intentional or otherwise. Marcus of course simple beams up at her in between mouthfuls, though he does have the presence of mind to remember his table manners. He knows full well his mother expects it, after all.

“It’s amazing what having little ones underfoot ends up doing to oneself, Josef,” Nathi says with an amused grin. “Dare I say, perhaps even inspiring an honest streak? Shocking, I know. As for the frazzled, you’ve not seen me at home on a Saturday morning, have you? Of course if this gets around, I’ll deny it to my last breath.”

--- --- ---

Most likely, given their entrance, everyone noticed the two new Midlonians – Nathi, with a slightly arched brow, being curious as to who these particular two were, and the children with muffled giggles, mostly due to the sight of a grownup getting away with mildly rowdy and flamboyant behavior – something that was always fun to watch.

Speeks/H’zta/Rhiannon

Nathi wriggles her brows impishly at Speek’s reply, and nods sagely at the info on Razak. There is no way in hell she is going to taint such a pleasant occasion with her opinions on ‘that goddamned prick Hawke’ – this is definitely not the time and place – nor push any further on her old friend. They all know him well enough to understand certain things, after all – Speeks more than any of them – and there’s no need to call more attention to it than necessary.

“We’ll have to drop in on him again sometime,” she says, her smile turning a bit mischievous. “Maybe ask him to give the twins diving lessons.”

To H’zta, she nods thoughtfully, her expression clearly more inquisitive the further the ‘ret elaborates on things, only to leave it hanging a bit – as expected. “You never cease to amaze me with the things your company comes up with. How Speaker ever manages to keep up with one as brilliant, and dare I say sly as you, I’ll never know. Then again, someone needs to keep him on his toes, no? You let me know if you need any say, investment funds or the like. That all sounds rather promising.” That last bit with a somewhat sly look at her sister-in-mind.

Of course when Rhiannon mentions flying, she again has the twin’s attentions, with Marcus squirming a bit in his seat, trying not to be rude, but finally blurting out an excited “You can fly spacedy ships too? Do you get to do everything like your dad does? He’s amaaaazing. Almost as good as my Zio Timo. Are all those stories true? Can he really do all that stuff? Can you do it too? What about—“ before he’s cut off mid-sentence by his mother, who hushes him gently but firmly.

“That’s enough, Marcus. Let’s not overwhelm the nice young lady. My apologies, Rhiannon – he absolutely loves flying, and I’m afraid he’s grown up with some rather impressive stories, and well … you know how it is with the little ones” she says a bit sheepishly.

Naiya meanwhile grins a little at her brother’s outburst, watching Rhi again for any signs of well, anything really. “I’ll bet she can do all sorts of things,” she says with a little smile, before turning her attention back to daintily sampling some more from her plate.

Shodey

<LOS Communications to Shodey>
{
<< I wouldn’t have you any other way, sister mine. [hug analog] And I’m very, very glad to see you here.

<< You’d noticed we have the usual random ‘mustn’t enjoy ourselves while looking down our noses’ people milling about? Though I’m not certain I quite recognized this ‘friend’ with them … do tell?

<< And yes my dear, I know how deft with the cuts you are. [mischievous grin analog] It would be amusing to watch, I’ll admit, though I somehow doubt they’d be worth the effort.
}

The two children both nod and grin at their adopted aunt, exchanging knowing looks between them. “You should have seen the mess Naiya made while playing with Kostya,” Marcus offers, quick to get one up on his sister.

“You helped, Marcus,” she replies accusingly. “And that’s not near as bad as what you did down in the exercise room.”

“At least they’ve stopped coloring on the walls,” Nathi interjects with a mildly tired yet very fond look at her two little terrors. “Now my biggest ‘threat’ is going out to the gardens and being unexpectedly pounced – something I have Shorty to thank for, no doubt.” It’s obvious that last bit is very much not a complaint in the least.

"I don't think he's bitter," Ravelyn said in return and was quiet for a few minutes. "Yes, nothing to do..." she commented. She didn't want to approach anyone. If someone approached her she would allow the company, however, she didn't really feel like talking.

"Sometimes I wonder how people can gorge themselves on so much food and still be able to eat more."

Alessa had been sitting quite contentedly in Sempero's lap, ignoring the remainder of the world and occasionally batting at the piece of string he was dangling when the mood took her. For the most part, she could probably have happily stayed that way until the meal was over and it was time to start walking around again, only occasionally picking at the food in front of her, though when she did her jaws and fangs made quick work out of the meat.

Sometimes, when the feelings of affection overpowered her contentedness she leaned up and kissed him to reassure Sempero she was still there, kisses he responded to quite thankfully even if he wasn't all that concerned in the first place. His free hand, now that the distraction of Hesche was gone, busied itself gently stroking along the soft skin at her waist.

This pleasant time was interrupted by the appearance of Goor. Alessa looked up and smiled a welcome at him, and indicated he could take a seat with an idle wave of her hand. "Good evening, mister... uh...?" His introduction soured her present good mood, but only slightly. "Ah. So I see. Mister Goor, then."

Her mood soured yet farther upon his boasting, and she looked up and around. "You were with the... blooddrinker, yes?" Alessa asked, with another smile. "I am Lady-Empress Alessa Annirere." She considered, for the barest of seconds, and then smiled as if bestowing a favour. "You may refer to me as Your Majesty, or Ma'am." Technically it was a favour, as it was a significant drop from her normal form of address of 'Your Most Radiantly Angelic and Eternally Illuminated Majesty.'

She indicated the large male whose lap she was comfortably nestling in. "This is Sempero Dryiad, Warlord of the Navarrok Guard." She yawned and gently nudged Sempero in the ribs to distract him from what could very well be considered a feeding frenzy. "Lord Sempero, this is Mister Goor."

Sempero’s actions are surprisingly wordless as the couple ate, like most Freestians far too happy to lose himself to physical displays, though careful to keep it in tone and in keeping with the needs of the families present. He was good, and being good meant being disciplined enough to know where the line was and to stay before it. Added in a continuous and genuine feeling of protectiveness and it was easy to read from the body language that he did care, actions motivated far more from true affection than from lust. Coming from people who knew Sempero, it would seem terrifying.

They were interrupted, of course, not that he minded per se, they were here to meet and greet after all, but the stranger, a fellow reptilian with a wonderfully inflected tone that gave his words, such as they were, the airs of a roughened man annoyed by the grandeur around him.

Just like some ghouls he knew, really.

He let Alessa do the introductions, he merely reclining, some muscles tensing, and his senses suddenly flitted into life, watching his fellow reptilian move. Hormones and drugs flooded his system from natural glands, an adrenaline rush fearsome and terrifying in its power and complexity. But on the surface he barely dropped and then quickly regained his smile.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Goor.”

******

Clodius went from serious to friendly in about a heartbeat, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Its good to see you old friend.” He glanced at Melchett, propriety overtaking revulsion so that the Freestian’s hand shot out in greeting. “Sir Clodius Maxilimus, a pleasure to meet you.”

There was history between the Commonwealth and the Greater Kingdom, wars and cooperation, redemption and reform on a scale other countries could seldom boast. There was mutual respect too, between some at least, and there were extremely good reasons why Clodius considered Heruss a true equal. The slobbering general he greeted here on the other hand…

Goor bowed his head in what would seem respectful, until he spoke. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Annirere." Bold and obviously meant to get under Alessa's skin. He nodded to the man as well. "Warlord Sempero." Oh, and a little salt under there as well.

He eyed the food again and picked up a piece of what he assumed was a centipede. "And I thought I ate rough in the deep swamps and woods of my homelands." He looked at the two of them. "The upper class eat these because they want to?" Overall, he seemed... amused with the surroundings. Probably using humor to compensate for the fact that he found this whole event... unnerving.

"This is General Harold Melchett." Heruss simply winced slightly as the General slurped down half a pint of beer, belch quietly before offering a greasy hand, which Clodius shook with a barely held plastered face.

"Clodius, may I have a quieter word over at your table perhaps?" Heruss asked as he stood up and picked up his flute glass. As he passed by Clodius he whispered. "Two things. One I want to get away from General "Insanity" Melchett before I snap his neck, and two... I do have a pressing matter in regards to a certain item you and I know about."

Heruss moved quickly over to the Freestian Table, he nodded to Semp who was half discracted by Alessa.

Asopher bowed low. "Your Most Radiantly Angelic and Eternally Illuminated Majesty, I am Colonel Asopher Heruss of the Dark Angels Regiment." he said with diplomatic warmth, before taking a seat. He just glanced at the Goor with some mild disdain...

OOC: Only one person is actually eating centipede. As mentioned in some detail before, each person is getting whatever they want. Consequently, if you've sat next to Alessa, you've either got your own plate, with whatever (excluding sapients) Goor would like to eat. Or Alessa's which contains deep fried whole lizards, and some kind of steak. Sempero is eating the head of a giant snake.

Incidentally, if you are interested in the local 'commoners' you can look up how they're spending the holiday in the first post. While Serendis and her direct family aren't commoners by a long shot, many of the 'thousands' there with them most certainly are. The same is the general pattern, (disregarding those, like Anarfion, who actually have to be doing something) everywhere else in Menelmacar.

Of course, as neither Goor nor Rave were predicted as being here, it's reasonable and likely that they haven't been given any seats (which would give a less charitable reason why Rave's not dining, I suppose) or food.

Alessa did not get insulted. Very easily. Her eyes simply turned to ice, and she cut Goor direct, turning instead to Heruss. With a smile, she inclined her own head from her comfortable reptilian throne. "A pleasure to meet you, Colonel. It's a delight to meet someone who understands how to talk to royalty." She directed a glare towards where Goor was sitting. "But I believe you're a good friend of my friend Clodius over there, yes? Let's not stand on ceremony, Asopher." She said with a warm smile. "Call me Alessa, please."

Only the barest tightening of her grip on Sempero's legs, and the uneveness of her breath, indicated how furious she was and how the normally placid woman was internally seething.

"And Goor the Bore... My my you're still alive? Alessa you are aware this sycophant is practically communistic in his outlook, correct? All 'greet the poor as equals' and asking all who have lived longer or are richer or in power to still act like your every day bumbling steel plant worker, correct? Some of the stuff he espouses is like listening to an Eurusean Propagandist on drugs. Quite as to why you're giving this delusional idealist the time of day beggars belief...." he simply shook his head and took another draw from his glass, which briefly showed his fangs before he smiled broadly as he turned to Semp.

"Semp, how are things at Navarrok? Hopefully better than at my home I'm sure..."

Semp doesn't get angry, but he is a gentlemen and does not like to see the woman he is with insulted in the manner Alessa just recieved. Pompousity aside, there were certain levels of respect one's position entitled one to. He shook his head as he felt Alessa tense up, before glancing briefly, eyes going completely black for a moment through inner eyelids, and fangs bared for the briefest of seconds before turning away to smile warmly at Heruss.

"Been a time since I saw you."

He moved slightly, keeping his arm between Alessa and Goor, and relaxed again. "Navarrok is the same old bunch of religious and political nutjobs. Glad to get away from it to be honest."

Clo coughed briefly behind him as the other vampire retook his seat. "Heruss, the matter you mentioned?"

Asopher furrowed his brown and sighed.

"Yes, that. I don't really want this heard by the idiot General back there but some items are missing from out vaults... they're a monacle and pocket watch."

His face had turned slightly ashen by this point.

"You know what that means, right? The Attendant told you what had to be resealed? We don't know who the hell has taken them and we've launched a full investigation. But we just haven't found any clues or leads as of yet."

Goor chuckled gruffly. He had gotten under her skin. Wonderful. Once teh subject of communism comes up, he leans back and laughs heavily. "Communist?! That twig-boy Max is telling you tales, sir. Obviously he forgot I loyally served a nation that proudly named a vessel 'Communism's Bane'. I'm far from one of those misguided fools that follow the Marxist and Leninist Doctrines. I just assume that in a gathering of world leaders like this, well over half of them have no idea how the commoner is affected by their rule. I merely suggest they live a day or even a week in the shoes of an average citizen and see what the nation looks like to them. I ask merely for a change in perspective, not a drastic shift in socio-economic values as would be the case in so many of these nations."

Who would have guessed he knew so many fancy words...

"Doubt it." Muttered Heruss. "I seem to recall quite a few news articles on the famous Goor. Along with the nonsense you seemed to have espoused about leaders not knowing what actually happened at a base level. After all, most of these people are at the top simply because they were better than their common peers. Also, just because you came from a nation who named a ship "Communists Bane" does not mean your own outlooks err on the side of that of the Marxist-Lennist idealogy." He took another sip of his drink.

"Indeed most of your distain for the affluence here seems to stem from some gruff personalized mission and sense of misplaced duty. After all, a servant of the state from Gholgoth would seem to be more than able to cope with the affluence your own societies show. The converse difference of course is that Gholgoth doesn't go for sensible forces and affluence such as this," he motioned to the party, "but affluence within it's armed forces, I'm sure if this took place on a battle ship and served...simple food for simple minded men and women who dedicated themselves to the worship of warfare."

He then paused in thought.

"Of course, looking around here at the guest list, you seem to be far out of your league to actually have been invited here to such a high-brow gathering when you're little more than a well trained grunt. I may be a lowly Colonel in rank but I have influence within my respective nation as the Prince of the Porphyrian Kingdom." He motioned to Semp and Clodius, his ankh cufflinks glinting slightly in the light.

"My colleagues from the Commonwealth are highups in their respective orders, dear Alessa here is the Empress of Roania. You... are nothing. Infact it's an outright puzzle as to why you're here at all as you're nothing, no influence, no money, no power, no political sway back in your home nation, nothing but a broken old man doing little but what desperate attention seeking old men wish to do with their last days. Cause a nuisance, a nuisance that could, I am sure, be dealt with easily by the security set up here, so perhaps instead... a mild annoyance?" he simply twitched a lop sided grin.