NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: Read bottom OOC!

Unlike in most other nations, all manner of events in the Grand Unified Federation of Perimeter Defense, formal or informal, began in the early morning. This could be attributed to the country's militaristic society and its regard for efficiency, and is the reason why, on January 11, 2010, the birthday party of its leader, Directress Adrianna Cain, began at 0530 hours sharp.

Now one could speculate that the actual "party" or "celebration" began at 1500 hours the day before, January 10, when the preparations were commencing at the venue - the main event center of Citadel III (one of the nine skyscrapers that served as political centers). While every citizen was invited to join the celebration, which extended six stories upwards into C-3 and thus presented a lot of available space, there was also the responsibility to help out in the decorations, the preparations of food and tables, and countless other things implicated in what was perhaps the biggest party in the contiguous region. This time period could be considered the celebration because everyone was quite chatty, and giant TVs were set up for participants to watch while they were resting, and loud music was constantly being blasted from immense speakers that looked like blast doors in some mighty nuclear silo.

Since the preparations covered such a wide range of items, from logistics to arrangement of seats, there was naturally a large number of epic occurrences as well. One of which was recorded as "Loss of Balloon 640," which came to be when a young woman involved with the respiratorily complex job of balloon inflation exclaimed:

"This pack of balloons reads 640 balloons. One is missing."

Thus the frantic search for rubber construct number 640 began, with several search parties totaling almost a hundred people. There was no end of commotion from observing foreigners concerning the abject silliness of such an endeavor as looking for a missing balloon, but in this case it was reasonable cause for a cute scavenger hunt that led them to the nearby nuclear silo - in proper radiation-screened attire, of course. Eventually, the 640th balloon was discovered being used by a particularly well-endowed man, attempting to sow his seed into an equivalently well-endowed woman without the due effects, both of these characters quite naked.

Meanwhile, in other parts of C3, people were shuffling about chairs and RFID tags that contained the names of whoever was going to sit on them. There was some controversy about putting the Allanean partygoers next to the Questarian representatives, which led to a physical brawl between Jason Kyther and Linda Surian, both Perimetrian citizens who shared opposing beliefs. The fight was eventually stopped by the appearance of Administrator Pierce Pearce, who picked both up by the collar and forcibly sat down on a sofa, where they remained for about an hour.

At her small home a few kilometers away, the party girl herself, Directress Adrianne Cain, was trying endless numbers of dresses and hairstyles on, not bothering much with makeup. With her was Administrator Caulfield, a metrosexual who often berated his superior for her militaristic and cold appearance at most public addresses and in diplomatic conferences. She may have been a supreme military leader and a warrior unlike any other, but her femininity was perhaps the most awkward thing in the world for her. This time, he was making sure that she looked her best.

"Your eyes are fine!" Caulfield yelled.

"No, they aren't!" Cain shouted back. "Heterochromia is uncommon enough, but green and blue eyes? I look like a cat!"

"Cats are cute," Caulfield replied idly. "Besides, even if people find them odd or unattractive - which they will NOT - they probably won't detect it from afar."

"I'm putting one of those green color-changing contacts over my blue eye."

"Don't. You've never paid attention to what other people think of you as a social being, since you work effectively and efficiently as a leader anyway, and that's all that matters. Besides, woman, and allow me free speech tonight, you look fucking hot. I'd always thought that you were naturally pretty but you were hampered by those fatigues and that infernal M107 that you insist on slinging over your shoulder. Now I see that I underestimated your potential when dressed up and with hair fixed."

"Well, thank you," Cain said. "But I still need to disagree on some things. Like this hair, why is it wavy?"

"Blonde and wavy look good for your stature. You're quite tall."

"Okay. Now, the dress. It's black, and I don't like it."

"Well, everyone else did."

"I don't, and that's what matters, yes? I'm the leader of a huge fucking military nation, for Christ's sake. Give me something that describes my position and my nation's position, as I am something of its representative."

"At the same time, it needs to be elegant. Look, it's a black dress, simple and relatively modest."

"Chanel," Cain suddenly said. "Our local branch of Chanel has had access to our restricted materials for years. They have a metadress..."

"A what?"

"A Metadress! It's a dress made of optical metamaterials, makes light bend around you so you look like you're made of glass. We use the same technology in our Birdcloak™ system. I want one of those for tomorrow."

"I've heard of that. There are only twenty-five in the world, aren't there? And not sold outside Perimeter Defense?"

"That changed a few months ago, when Anna Wintour herself came over to appeal for the Metadress line's globalization. Apparently, the terms of haute couture these days somehow include making women look like glass statues."

"You, uh, seem to know a bit about the fashion world..."

"I like reading," Cain shrugged. "All right, get that done for me. One Metadress, use my mannequin over there." She pointed to the back of the room.

"Yes, sir. Oh, and one more thing: Please don't bring one of those ugly ghillie guns. Take something elegant, like a model XM8 or a Havendesign rifle."

"Relax, Caulfield, I'm not wearing a gun tomorrow."

"My relief. Good day, sir."

*****

Such were the preparations for the party. However, let us now fast forward to 0600 hours of January 11, 2010, at which time the gates had already been opened and people had begun streaming in at a relatively meager rate for now. Of course, this did not mean that the cast of characters already inside was not unique.

Being open to the general public on top of the international community, there was no shortage of unusual personnel in attendance. One of these curious persons was one Gladys D'Osmound (http://i195.photobucket.com/albums/z157/Flatterland/dosmound.jpg), who correctly surmised that the cake was, in fact, a lie, for unbeknownst even to her, Adrianna Cain would be receiving a birthday rack of roast ribs, as expedient for cake which she'd never liked anyway.

For a participant, there was much to do, proving that the work of the event specialists so painstakingly hired was effective. For one, at the back of the Citadel, there was a full four-storey mockup of a special-forces room-clearing activity, which anyone may attend with paintball guns. There was an open field nearby, which was hit by orbital godrods twice an hour in place of fireworks. There was also a firing range for all manner of antitank weaponry, from AT4s to Javelins, and RPG-7s to SRAWs. Flying overhead were the various UCAVs of the country's military, which could be commandeered by anyone to play some aerial laser tag. In general, these were things with which anyone from PD would have great fun and consider as cause for socialization, but which would alienate a lot of foreigners.

Of course, inside the venue, there were more traditional things like stand-up comedians, singers and live big-band music. There was something for everyone in this party - even those who weren't military freaks - and it was much hoped that everyone would have a great time.

Let the party commence.

OOC: Now you see it. Anyway, this is open to all Somewhat Important People from your nation. Do not crash the party or your posts will be ignored. You are free to interact with Cain and other participants. Create your own story arcs at your own risk; there will be many story arcs that I am to write, and otherwise. No death here. No aliens here, this is MT, but I am told that Roanians are to arrive.

OOC: Everyone MUST love Gladys D'Osmound!

Eric Wright and Andre Romell arrived in style, by air, dressed in business formal, all black. As the major stockholders in the most powerful Maniacan arms corporation, the pair operated as joint Heads of State in the Free Market Network, and commanded one of the most powerful militaries in the world. Their matching all-black attire was accented with gold and platinum jewelry from head to toe: chains, pendants, tie clips, earrings, belt and shoe buckles--even their pitch-dark sunglasses featured small diamonds in the bows.

Eric Wright's Jehri Curls did not scream dignified, but few could argue with the weight of his pocketbook. Romell's hair was buzzed tightly, but his hairstyle and somewhat harder features (and arrangement of metal) were the only visual distinctions between himself and his business partner. Even their light brown skin was nearly identical in hue.

As they walked slowly towards the locale, Wright turned to Romell and asked, sleepily, "what are we here for anyway?"

Romell replied with a grin, "make some connections; steal some expensive silverware...."

Wright responded with a subdued but genuine chuckle.

((OOC: This looks like it would suit my nation unusually well, us being mercenaries and all. On an entirely unrelated note, I must call into question the practicality of carrying around a fifty cal sniper rifle around everywhere. They are heavy, bulky, and awkward to maneuver. They have no short range use, and incredibly limited medium range use. If your looking for size, an m-4 type chambered for the .50 beowulf round might suit you better. If your looking for the status of a sniper rifle, something smaller, like an m40 or msg-90, would be more practical.

Something came up, so I'm gonna have to post later, I shouldn't be too much later though, probably no more than 8-10 hours))

OOC: The point behind the toting around of the big rifle is for counter-assassination. Adrianne Cain has had five marksman assassination attempts made on her from the outside, and she has personally killed all of them from the same distance as that at which they shot her. She once wore a long, flowing dress to a public speech, and used herself as a windage flag. :| Besides, in PD you're allowed to carry your gun around for no reason at all, and the bigger the better...XD

IC:

A young-looking woman, wearing a dress that seemed to be a little too big for her, was the one to receive new guests for the 0600-0645 shift. She was chatting up her college sophomore friends when she saw the new arrivals, and frantically ran over to greet them.

"Greets! Welcome to the party." She righted the tablet PC that she was carrying around, slipped her P90 under her armpit, and tapped it to life. "Names?" She inputted their responses quickly. "All right! Please keep these in your pockets." She gave the two arrivals a pair of little metallic chips. "RFID tags. For anything you need, just use these. Thanks, and have a great time!"

Valerie stepped out of the vehicle, and slung her FN SCAR-H across her back. Her blonde hair fell down past her shoulders, it was bland, just like the expressionless look on her face. If one looked deeply into her eyes they could she wasn't here, and she never would be. She was always at home on the battlefield. The blood, the screams, the explosions, the gunfire, it all made her smile. She was a true warrior, more at home with in a hail of gunfire, than anywhere else.

Her partner was not quite as grim, although he was worse for the wear. His short black was cropped to a ghost fade. He had stubble on half of his face, the other half was half of a Glasgow smile that, while completely healed, still had thick stitches. His UMP-45 was slung with a one point sling, a combat knife was attached to the sling, and a .45 USP was in a holster on his hip, set for an underhand cross grip.

The pair proceeded towards the check in table.

"Valerie. Consul of The Mercenary State of Nation of Fortune."

She flipped her weapon around her back almost effortlessly. Rifle/pistol transitions were difficult to do, she displayed a steady hand with this surprisingly difficult task. The second her rifle was in her hand, she cleared it for the clerk to see. She flipped the weapon back onto her back, and reached to clear her .45 USP.

"Gats Underhill, Consul of The Mercenary State of Nation of Fortune."

His SMG was ready at hand so clearing it was a simple task, along with that of his pistol.

((OOC: Thats the point I'm trying to get across. Using such a big weapon in that manner is unlikely. The damned thing weighs almost thirty pounds, not counting ammo. That rules out any shots from the standing, least if you want accuracy. Unless you are incredibly strong, no accurate shots from the kneeling either. Theres a reason it's called a special application scoped rifle.

This is all not mentioning the fact of target acquisition. Nothing is worse than a sniper, especially a good one, however a good one wouldn't have missed. Having been shot at by snipers in the past, trust me, you aren't going to find them, unless they are incredibly stupid. Even if you do spot where they were, they aren't going to be there after they shoot. Even if you managed to see them, with a weapon so huge you couldn't maneuver it in time, get a stable prone position, and get good sight picture/alignment before they could get another shot in.

For reference I'm an 0311 Marine, and with any luck, and a whole lot of PT, I'm gonna be an 0321. Trust me on this, war is, no shit, my job.

No offense intended towards you, I'm just trying to help out in the realism factor.))

Eric Wright began his partying at a table with a tall Coke, authorizing the mobilization of support troops to Catholic rebels in The New True Cross via wireless device.

Andre Romell began his partying across from Wright, with a Lemon-Lime soda, making sure no one was watching him.

OOC: Thank you for your concern. However, PD has always been over-the-top and will remain as such ^_^ I should also mention that in the old RP thread, Cain had used an M21 which she propped up on the podium. Posting as soon as my invited friends do.

OOC: It is possible to fire the M21 from supported kneeling, and there's been documented instances of trained snipers doing so standing. Adrianne is superhuman, likely augmented, and, as PD said, it IS over-the-top. Now, I promised to post, and so post I will.

PD's player wanted Alex to be here, so here he is.

IC:

The vehicles were all painted black – large, wide Allanean Arms Dominators, over 2 meters wide and Satan himself only knows how long. They rolled up to the building in amazing silence, and then the doors swung open, silently, on their hinges.

First to exit, from the front vehicle, was Marshal Shiunji Watanabe. His hair was a strange tinge of gray – as if he had died already and been buried, his skin pale, and he wore a bluish-purple outfit. His combat boots were purple, too, and one could just barely see the grip of a full-sized ABK-1 bowie knife printing underneath his pant leg. He wore a full-sized Teen Dream automatic pistol in a SOB holster, too. The pistol, too, was in the same atrocious color as the rest of Shiunji's clothes.

Out of the rear vehicle emerged Jennifer Stossel. She wore a long, flowing dress made out of the finest fine silk, and the mithril-and-pearl necklace at her neck glinted only subtly as she paced towards the entrance. Naturally, she was armed – with a pair of elegant long-barreled revolvers. To her left was her brother. He wore a grey suit tailored especially for him by the Royal Tailor of Derscon, and of course he was armed to the teeth (at least by non-Allanean standard). Visible were his DRS-83 Designated Marsman rifle ( http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12594175&postcount=3) – it's body replete with inlays of gold and precious stones – a full-sized officer's pistol and a pair of bayonet-knives. The pistol was completely plated in silver.

There were other Allaneans of various note – Kevin Nivensky, dressed in a traditional black-leather suit and carrying a CAR-15, his wife, in a most excellent mink coat, her armament a barely visible LadySmith, and of course Richard and Mathilda Rabbit, who carried matching UMP-45s [colored in pink and gold of all things!].

Then there was the breathtaking Singular Sam – the famous Allanean stripper and, well, alternative cinema star. She was most glorious – she wore two enormous black-framed pistols in shoulder holsters, an FS-2000 rifle hanging behind her back, and a pair of heavy commando boots. And that, of course, was all she wore.

* * *

And finally, the last vehicle opened it's doors and there he was. Alexander Kirillovich Kazansky, President of the United States, former Emperor of Greater Prussia, Count de Centreville, and so forth. He was dressed most immaculately – a black suit made by the Imperial Tailor of the Scandavian Empire.

There were jewels aplenty – on his long, slender fingers there were rings of mithril, platinum, and gold. In his hair, a circlet of silver, inlayed with sapphires and emeralds. Even his regular black-rimmed glasses were replaced with a pair that had it's frame done in black adamantium.

And of course, Alexander Kazansky was armed. He wore his weapons of office, the famous dual gold-framed Desert Seagull ( http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13421734&postcount=12) pistols, on his hips. On his back hung the Sword of Allanea, his famous longsword, it's blade tempered in the blood of Atopian Nazis and Iragian Stalinists. He wore a brace of regular pistols too – six USP .45 clones, manufactured in Allanea of course - on a pair of black leather belts. Two more pistols protruded from his high black boots. Finally, on his hips was a pair of knives.

He made his way pas the throng of guests, until he was directly in front of Adrianna Cain. He was slightly – only slightly taller than her, but he still looked somehow like a boy. Adrianna must have felt as if she was returned to her own teen years, standing in front of him like that – and then he smiled with that famous shy smile of his that was almost unimaginable in a man with his biography.

And then he said, simply: "Happy birthday, Adrianne. "

Eric Wright looked up from his diplomatic affairs to examine the new arrivals.

"That's ridiculous. Know what I mean?" he inquired of his comrade, who was also inspecting the guests with a raised eyebrow. "There's a certain point where enough is enough, and I think it's a little bit before a diamond encrusted headband. Swear to God man, and look at the heat he's packing. As if you'd ever need that many guns, at a fuckin party. How does that motherfucker even walk?"

Andre Romell shook his head and held his hand in front of his golden Equilibrium of Liberty pendant.

"I wonder how his taxpayers feel about that. Probably proud as hell. Maybe he'd like to buy some expensive weapons though, finest in the world, we should ask. Maybe he'd join CAWK too."

Eric Wright grinned sideways. "I'm not sure how I feel about your forgiving tone, Dre, but you were always the businessman. I owe you everything, man."

Romell returned the grin. "Don't get all teary on me man." He shifted his gaze to the other partygoers. "Hey check out the girl."

Wright turned around quickly. "She is not very classily dressed for a formal event." He slid his sunglasses down his nose so as to peak over them. "And what the fuck is with all the guns? We fuckin make guns and we don't carry that many guns."

Romell laughed audibly. "It's a dangerous world, hombre. Try to make some friends, alright?"

Whenever any Grummian leader found himself needing to travel abroad, a simple passenger airliner from the Corporation’s subsidiary airline would often be used. But contrary to what many may think, these aircraft were in fact full of your everyday passengers, bound for any one of the international airports they served. And often enough, these leaders would wait amongst the hustle and bustle in the same terminals as their citizens, be stranded for hours in snowed-in foreign airports, and be seated next to these same hot and sweaty people in coach. It was never thought of to do anything else as it seemed so normal to be amongst the citizenry. Anything else was deemed extravagant, unnecessary and too full of fanfare.

However, due to the unexpected trip to Perimeter Defense and because it was a nation that currently had no air service from Northrop-Grumman, a single white Boeing 787 with red striping touched down at the designated airport, not filled to anywhere near capacity but instead carrying just five people: the three person crew and the two guests for this party. Such a flight would have cost the national airline dearly but knowing this, Alakantar O’Neill, the son of the current Chairman and Chairwoman of the Corporation and now the Governor over its Martian territories, had paid for every one of the empty seats out of his own pocket. This was the least that he could do and the less burdensome for everyone.

Now as he and his date entered into where the party was to be held, the drow tried to do his best at adhering to the usual Grummian idea of keeping a low profile in public situations, but unfortunately he did stand out, mainly because of his race. The obsidian-colored skin and snow-white hair tied back behind him certainly did not help him, neither did his tuxedo that he thought would best fit this occasion. Now it just seemed that he was overdressed for all of this.

Glancing down and readjusting his crimson bowtie, he seemed his usual picky self and grumbled a little under his breath.

Arielle touched Alakantar on the shoulder. "You look fine, love." She told him with a smile. "Except for this little speck of lint." She dusted his shoulders off, then tugged him down to her level and kissed him on the cheek. "I do wish you had worn a normal suit, though. That bowtie looks so silly."

Arielle, however, looked absolutely radiant. She was dressed in her favourite china dress which clung tightly to her delicate curves, and she looked more than prepared to outshine all the humans surrounding her. "What do you think of my outfit?"

Alakantar finally stopped fiddling with his bowtie once Arielle had made the comment, trying not to draw too much attention to what he now believed was a silly part of his clothing. So, with his newly freed hand, he placed it gently around her waist and turned his attention upon her.

“I think it looks absolutely stunning, dear,” he grinned widely, pulling her close to his side. “And I think the person in it is even more so. You certainly can light up the room.”

Naturally the presence of all these goddamn guns would seem to be more than a curiosity for first-timers to Perimeter Defense or those not experienced with her culture. However, it was a fact well-known in historical sections or among diplomats and politicians that within the country, everyone was required to have some form of high-powered firearm - not one per household, but everyone. It was also something allowed to tote these said weapons around the country, and there was not a place within Perimeter Defense that disallowed the holding of guns.

Now Directress Adrianne Cain was celebrating her 30th birthday today, and interestingly, while the purpose of this event was that birthday and her, there was still a disproportionate number of people who did not know what Adrianne Cain looked like or how old she was really becoming. When the tall, blond woman, wearing a dress that made her look as though she were made of glass, was greeted by Alexander Kazansky of Allanea a happy birthday as "Adrianne," she responded with a little smile.

"Good evening, President Kazansky. Thank you." She reached her hand out to shake his.

At that point, there was a murmur among the foreigners nearby, who had suddenly realized that that was, in fact, the very Adrianne Cain who was celebrating her birthday, and they felt a little strange, since they had been heretofore waiting for her arrival. Anyway, they commented on her dress, with terms such as "never seen anything like it before" and "there are only twenty-five of those" and "metamaterials, it seems, even fashion is penetrated by that militaristic nature of theres," with a scoff.

Adrianne Cain was unaccustomed to any sort of formal social interaction by this sort, and at the same time was also marveling somewhat at the man who stood a little higher than her (she was looking upwards), so she quietly attempted small talk. "Do you like my dress? Metamaterials are a curiosity."

That aside, there was earlier the sound of a massive impact outside, and many guests had run out to view the source of it. By this time, the orbital godrods had started falling on the fireworks field, and would continue to do so every thirty minutes. This field was lightly guarded; while no one was allowed to go in, it is likely that no one would want to go in either.

Food was being served as Adrianne nervously asked of Kazansky an evaluation of her Metadress. Chicken teriyaki, endless variants of lasagna, a Mongolian buffet bar, salad bar, roast omnipede (which was the Perimetrian national animal), pesto on every class of pasta, and much more, were being distributed among the buffet tables on all six floors.

The entertainers had started shuffling in; these are too numerous to discuss. Outside, onomatopoeic swooshes and subsequent booms signaled the opening of the AT range, to which guests were invited to blow things up from afar. A new addition to the repertoire of fun stuff was "sniper pinata" where pinata targets were situated between 400 and 600 meters away in a field, and guests could take their choice of weapon and receive all the candy - i.e. gift certificates, cash, jewelry - that were stored within if they hit a target.

The three-storey special-forces mockup outside had undergone structural integrity tests and was now ready for some fun. The teams were divided into the Counter-Strike classic: Terrorists and counter-terrorists.

It is a most fortunate thing that one of the event specialists' ideas was shot down by the board of entertainment. This idea involved even more fireworks - the detonation of clean nuclear weapons directly over the party venue. This would cause no end of EMP, blast damage from any altitude, and deafening sounds that would make the party no fun. For this idea, in fact, that event specialist was removed from the board and given a bad name for a time.

Meanwhile, a young man assigned to the 0645-0730 shift, and carrying some repeating shotgun, came to greet Alakantar and Arielle - even though it was still 0630.

"Good morning!" he said, looking at the man first, then at the woman - at whom he began staring. Following a jab by one of his colleagues, who had noticed him frozen in time, he proceeded. "Uh, sorry. Names, please?" He received their names, distributed their RFID tags, and invited them in. "Your assigned seats are over there, but technically you can sit anywhere, and request for a change of official seats if you wish. Oh, and just as a precaution, that is Adrianne Cain." He pointed in the direction of the glass-dress woman and the Allanean President.

OOC: Curious. My real name is Arielle. Also, next post will include one of the first short story arcs.

"Hey! Check this out, Sis'! They have sniper piñata!" – Wilhelm Stossel jogged off in his usual hurried pace, checking over the DRS-83 as he went. He was after all a Scout-Sniper at one point, and this was going to be fun."

Singular Sam, in the meanwhile, had her eyes on an innocent-looking (and male) party attendant. "Hello there, Gorgeous." – grinned the stripper. "You look lonesome and bored out there."

* * *

Kazansky smiled. "A metadress is a fine concept. Of course, it's a little too – modest, I should say, but it fits you quite excellently. Now, I do have a present for you – it's just a little… too big to bring into the hall. I've had Kevin over there help me with it."

And in fact, the people at Allanean Arms had done a fine job at that. A decommissioned Navy CVN has been located for the purpose, and redone as a luxury ship. It still had some aircraft facilities, of course, but now it also had two private cinema halls, a swimming pool, and a wine cellar with some of the finest wines in Greater Prussia. It had a 'gun cabinet' big enough to hold a division's worth of guns, and it even had a 'computer room' stocked with the latest in Allanean entertainment electronics, chief of which was a Dawkins-series gaming computer – in layman's terms, a supercomputer-grade gaming machine.

They even threw in a copy of the beta of KKNDK 2 : Nuke and Liberate.

"Now, I know it sounds a bit bad, but…" - a hostile observer could even claim Kazansky blushed – "you are a curious person, Adrianne. Tell me, do you dance?"

((OOC:I was never arguing about the M-21, namely cause it's nothing more than a modernized M-14. Hell, I have made accurate standing shots with an M-14 at around 500 meters.))

Valerie was bemused by most of the attractions, almost all of them she had done by the time she was nine.

"It's amusing to think that some people find this sort of thing new and different," she said almost in passing to Gats.

He nodded, being not much of a conversationalist himself.

"Does that mean you want to try something?" He asked her after thinking for a second.

"I don't think so. Most of it's so routine by now, but it has been a while since I shot a SMAW...." She got a quick look on her face as she remembered the associations she had with one.

((OOC:Gotta finish this post later))

Eric Wright reached under his jacket for his hip, where his handgun was under his belt beneath his jacket. He held it up in the air and turned around to shout at the crowd, which by now was noisy and not paying any attention.

"Hey, look! I've got a gun too!"

He replaced his gun as he turned back to the table and looked at Andre Romell. Quieter, he said to his compatriot:

"And it'll kill you assholes just as dead as the thirty pound million dollar shit you're toting."

Andre Romell laughed. Eric was funny this evening. "You seem a little defensive about how heavily outgunned you are, Mr. Wright."

Eric Wright looked up, and in his somewhat high-pitched wheezy voice, retorted:

"Don't call me Mr. Right, fudgepacker."

Andre Romell slammed down the rest of his coke and waved his hand for another.

"Now that is a big-" Adrianne's voice trailed off as she stared agape at the massive aircraft carrier. She pointed at it, saying, "It's really-" Then she noticed the question about dancing, and her eyes, observing Kazansky's face, narrowed. "President Kazansky - should I be taking this as a-" She was, however, interrupted by a sight in the corner of her eye - Administrator Caulfield mouthing "Go for it you stupid bitch!" So she turned to Kazansky again, and said,

"President Kazansky - Alexander, if I may. I...well, yes, I can dance...a bit. But the music hasn't started yet. Maybe, for the time being, you would like to join me over there for some UCAV laser tag?" She smiled weakly, not knowing if she made the right offer. Perhaps Caulfield would have said, "Ask for some music!" or "Sit with him and chat him up!" but those weren't precisely things with which she was comfortable. Yet.

Elsewhere, possibly on the third floor, there was a certain ruckus spawned by the scream of one of the guests:

"My son! Where's my son!" She was frantic, and should not have been since everyone was given an RFID tag - but she admitted that she neglected to put his on. "He has a purple tuxedo, black pants..."

Then, at the same time, the third floor's security chief was given a radio call by one of the volunteer snipers outside: "Uh, sir, someone's running into the fireworks field."

"What?" he responded. "Who the hell is that? And wasn't that place barricaded?"

"Yes, sir, but only for show. Anyone could climb up that fence. He's not responding to the megaphone, either."

"All right, what does he look like?"

"Illuminating...small guy, possibly a child, purple tuxedo. Black pants."

"Jesus Christ, that's our missing kid!" The security chief ran over to the woman and broke the news to her, at which point she jumped over a table and ran for the first floor to get outside. By this time, people were looking on as the young boy ran into the field, where in about five minutes, a tungsten spire would fall from the sky and send everything to hell.

"Stop the godrods!" the woman screamed to no one in particular, but the response was:

"We can't, the timer's locked against party-crash hackers! No one would go on that field anyway!"

"My son is on that fucking field!" She burst into tears as she cried out his name, "Andre!" from behind the barricade. He could easily run back within five minutes, but he was obviously too happy about having a good, wide open field on which to run.

The woman turned back to the onlookers, guests, citizens, whoever was there. "Someone, please save my son!"

Valerie and Gats started making their way towards the rocket range, to presumably shoot a SMAW, or something similar. As they were pushing through the crowd, some guy next to them shouted something about having a pistol. Gats stopped, he wasn't too interested in the SMAW range anyway. Valerie pushed onwards.

Gats turned towards the men, and he heard the comment he made about killing people. He stepped closer, and they started bickering about something mundane. He stepped behind one of them as he started waving his hand in the air.

"While it's true that pistol will kill someone, it just doesn't quite have the same psychological effect as a fifty cal bullet bullet ripping your arm off without even hitting you. Nor does it quite send the same message as someone sticking a knife in your kidney."

Gats was a large man, at least 6'3", and he was well built from a lifetime of grueling work as infantry, and carrying massive loads of equipment. The large scar and stitches started at the corner of his mouth, and went back almost entirely across his cheek.

"But then again, some of these people are idiotically over armed, especially with such extravagant weapons. Seriously, silver plated pistols, and who in the hell carries a sword anymore, especially when he has so many pistols."

*******
Valerie had noticed Gats' absence, and she completely and utterly failed to care. She continued making her way towards the range. Suddenly a woman started screaming about saving her child.

She had a general disposition that natural selection was king. Raised that discipline and common sense was the best way to stay alive on the battlefield. Every consideration made was a quick assessment of risk over benefit.

The woman showed something Valerie had little concept of, fear and love. She had only ever known fear as a child, the NoF's school system had weaned her from relying emotions like fear. Not to mention that she was an orphan from birth, having known little about her conception into this world, she had never known love.

She briefly considered shooting the child on the field, considering it would probably be less painful then being incinerated. She decided against it, as it would probably not make many people happy. She watched on as the scenario played out. However she still felt something was missing.

"Fuck it," she muttered under her breath and hopped the barrier.

She sprinted onto the field, and snatched the kids collar. Quickly she turned around, and half dragged the kid back to the edge of the field, so he could be brought back to safety.

Valerie and Gats started making their way towards the rocket range, to presumably shoot a SMAW, or something similar. As they were pushing through the crowd, some guy next to them shouted something about having a pistol. Gats stopped, he wasn't too interested in the SMAW range anyway. Valerie pushed onwards.

Gats turned towards the men, and he heard the comment he made about killing people. He stepped closer, and they started bickering about something mundane. He stepped behind one of them as he started waving his hand in the air.

"While it's true that pistol will kill someone, it just doesn't quite have the same psychological effect as a fifty cal bullet bullet ripping your arm off without even hitting you. Nor does it quite send the same message as someone sticking a knife in your kidney."

Gats was a large man, at least 6'3", and he was well built from a lifetime of grueling work as infantry, and carrying massive loads of equipment. The large scar and stitches started at the corner of his mouth, and went back almost entirely across his cheek.

"But then again, some of these people are idiotically over armed, especially with such extravagant weapons. Seriously, silver plated pistols, and who in the hell carries a sword anymore, especially when he has so many pistols."


Eric Wright looked up at the enormous man standing behind his business partner across the table and listened quietly while he spoke. An attendant brought Andre Romell another Coke and carried the old glass away. Wright smiled when Gats was finished.

"Haha, yeah, that's what I'm talkin about man. I swear to God I could walk right up to him and put a bullet through his head, and what would all those guns do for him then? My body would probably be shredded beyond recognition before it got all the way through his skull, but we'd both be dead. And his body would be heavier to carry away."

Andre Romell was impressed that his friend had not used one expletive in an entire spoken paragraph. As Wright finished his last word someone shouted "Andre!" Romell snapped his head up and smiled. "Hey, that's my name!" But was disappointed when it came to surface he was not wanted.

For a second, of course, Kazansky – and some of his henchmen, too – were momentarily distracted by the incident on the fireworks field – but as someone has reached the child before they did and began dragging him to safety, they returned to their activities. And of course, in the case of the Allanean President, 'activities' meant Adrianne.

"UCAV laser tag? That sounds quite amusing. This involves, I suppose, some robots, and we shoot at them with these nifty lasertag rifles? You would be better than me. But that said… it sounds really cool. Lead the way, Miss Cain!"

"Andre!" the woman said with relief as the young boy made his way into his mother's arms. "Thank you so much, ma'am," she said to Valerie, as she caressed her child, visibly frightened by what had happened. There was applause about the onlookers before everyone returned to the party. Various guests offered handshakes to Valerie for her bravery.

Adrianne had been peering out the entrance at the action about. She turned to Kazansky. "Brave woman." Then upon hearing him speak, she laughed a bit and took him outside, to a series of laptops and their attached control apparatuses. "When I said 'UCAV laser tag' I did not mean that we shoot at UCAVs. I meant this." She pointed at the laptop's screen, which showed what appeared to be a full-motion aerial view of the party venue.

"We are going to shoot at each other with the UCAVs' laser designators." She pointed up to show dozens of UCAVs of every sort, from Predator B drones to the advanced FQ-45 planes, based on the X-45 concept. She pulled a joystick/throttle combination aside and banked an FQ-45 sharply, nearly smashing it onto a Predator, which dodged the wing rather quickly. "This is a multiplayer game, divided into the red and blue teams." She beamed brightly at Kazansky, before realizing that she must have looked very strange.

"Uh, excuse me. Does it seem a little too tacky for you?" she asked lightly, still holding the joystick.

Meanwhile, Allanean vets and sub crews within the Citadel had come to the topic of the Perimetrian U-Boat Incident (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=540830). There was plenty of discussion concerning the undersea detonations that were used to destroy the Rapture just a few months prior. Some people joked about the extremism of Captain Dionisio Enriquez, which they likened to the Londinians' November Revolution.

Elsewhere, Questarian visitors were with the family of the late Andersen Lederman, discussing her book"So This Is War?" (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=534546) and its impact on the Havenic community. There was a lot of talk about how she was technically biased against the Allaneans because she was at the homefront of it all, while others defended this perspective since it offered a very real, and gritty approach to a war that was never meant to be.

It was altogether a very interesting day, and it was only 0700 hours by the master clock.

Kazansky appeared confused. "So wait… we control these things… like that? There's no screen and cockpit view, we just… guide them? Oh well. Give me a joystick. Stevie McQueen does not run from danger!"

"Oh, but there is a screen!" Cain said as she shoved a laptop onto Kazansky's free hand. This showed a full HUD with target readouts that marked enemies as red, and allied UCAVs as blue. "Now, let's party on."

"Why, this is going to be…" – he choked down the words "fucking awesome" as his UCAV began to take off in a mad vertical, so as to dive down, strafing Red-Team UCAVs with laser fire.

OOC: I shall be with you shortly via IRC.

Natalie Kensington, the Californian president stood among the crowd's power elite, busily running her eyes around the room to see whom of the many women attending the party were single and wouldn't mind some discreet meeting later on at her suite. As she stood there idly swishing her Vodka martini around in the glass she looked around wondering if she was out of place in this whole get-together thing.

After deciding she was too bored to stand alone, she walked to the bar and struck up a conversation with the bartender.

((OOC:My apologies, the internet connection here gave out for a few days, so I haven't been on as much as usual, not that it looks like anyone responded anyway (that is besides SC). Hope I hadn't killed the RP))

Gats was amused by these two unusual fellows, he hadn't spent much time with people outside his country, and topics other than war were considered not terribly important.

"Ah, yes, but then to plan the perfect assassination of a foreign leader is not an easy task, least if you want to live. It, however, makes it alot easier that he is in a large crowd, his bodyguards can't just murder every civilian near him, and they are doing a horrible job."

***********
Valerie was less than bemused by the results of her humanitarianism. A couple smiles, handshakes, and a light round of applause, not that she wanted a large deal of attention. Her brain processes were defiantly a few fuses too short.

She made her way over to the bar, and she looked around. Another woman was shwishing a martini around in it's glass.

"Why hello there," Valerie said, her bright green eyes had a glimmer of mischief in them.

Eric Wright was in turn amused by the man whom he'd stricken up a conversation with, although that may have had more to do with his being so large. Eric Wright was skinny (his old enemies referred to him as a 'skinny punk kid') and he always found something comical in bigger than average men.

"I guess no matter how well and meticulously you defend yourself all it takes is a half-second and one bullet to make it all meaningless. Guess that means you should try and enjoy life huh?"

Andre Romell sipped his Coke and nodded forcefully

"It's a dangerous world, hombres," he said without realizing he'd used the exact same phrase ten minutes earlier.

OOC: Sorry for the delayed reply. Had some compy issues!
IC:
Adrianne Cain wrestled furiously with her controls as her FQ-45 dove about and dodged various lances of manually-targeted laser designator fire. She then came face-to-face with Alex's craft, on the opposite team, and found herself in a rather heated dogfight. Which lasted all of thirty seconds, until she began saying:

"Alex, wait, you're supposed to be dogfighting, not trying to- stop that! No, I said stop- fuck!" She screamed the last word as the two leaders' UCAVs collided and exploded spectacularly. Her mouth agape, she dropped her peripherals, pointed to the burning wreckage on the ground, and said, "You just threw away a total of $56 million." She looked very serious for a while, then started laughing insanely. "$56 million!" she said in between laughs. Bystanders thought she had gone mad and started to question her ability as Directress.

Elsewhere, Administrator Jackson Greer of U-Boat Incident fame was with a college, Administrator Miriam Land, observing some interesting conversation.

"Hey Miriam," he said to Land. "That Fortune woman's hitting on the Office of Integration gal." The Office of Integration was the Perimetrian equivalent of a Bureau of Immigration, and those who worked under it were somewhat known for their rather cold attitudes.

"En-oh-eff?" Land pronounced the acronym. "She's gonna get herself into a rather boring morning if she keeps it up with that one."

"Yeah, that's-" Greer took a look at Land's eyes, dilating and quite large as they were focused on Valerie. "You tossed sheets with some girls back in your days, Land?"

"S'right," Land said idly. "I've been exclusively hetero since graduation. The meat's fine, really, but sometimes, you know, there's that want for a little more reciprocality."

"I...have no idea what you mean by that. However, here's a shot for ya."

"Yeah," Land said dreamily. "I wonder what it'd be like to play for that team again after all these years..."

"Like this!" Greer pushed Land off her chair. She scolded him but decided that he was right and walked over to the two women.

The Integration worker stood up as she saw Land coming. "Administrator Land," she said.

"This isn't a working environment, Laroche," she laughed. "However, Jackson Greer over there wants a word with you about someone you let into the country a few weeks ago. Apparently, Greer was beaten by this guy at a game of StarCraft - SPAWN MORE OVERLORDS - and now he wants revenge."

"Of course, Administrator." She looked rather nervous as she walked stiffly away.

She alone with Valerie, Land sat where Laroche had been. "Morning," she said lightly.

((OOC: Just in case you're curious, the proper, least how I see it, notation for people in my country is "Nofian." Don't worry about the computer issues, it happens, same with me randomly getting busy.

Also, I wouldn't say she was hitting on anyone. I personally was just trying to bring SovCal into the RP. Valerie is a little, well completely, out of her fucking mind.))

"Indeed, indeed. It is in fact a dangerous world. Although, I suppose you two haven't spent much time in some of the more dangerous parts, have you?" As Gats said this he got kind of a distant look in his eyes.

*********
Valerie looked at the newcomer, and her eye did kind of a twitch.

"Good morning," Valerie said. She shot a quick look around, not quite sure if she had been talking to someone she shouldn't have.

Kazansky smiled, looking as mock-innocent as he could - “What, you mean kamikaze runs are against the rules? Why, I am so terribly sorry, Adrianne – you don't mind if I call you Adrianne, do you? - I will of course make sure all the costs to your nation's military are recouped. But hey – we can always pretend it was a kamikaze run!” - Alex restated. Now to hope Adrianne would laugh, rather than get angry...

Natalie stood there swishing her drink around in her martini glass trying to entertain some form of a conversation with the bartender when her attention was grabbed by a woman standing near her.

Turning around she quickly took in the woman's curvaceous figure and what she was wearing and without drawing too much attention licked her lips, before looking directly at Valerie's brilliant green eyes, she chuckled to herself seeing the mischeif in them, set her drink down and began absentmindedly smoothing a slight wrinkle on her black sheath dress down along her waist as she made eye contact "Why, hello to you too." with a grin that matched the mischeif in the woman's eyes.

She took her drink again and with a small sip she smiled. "I am so sorry, it must be this party, I don't know very many people here and I am uncomfortable around people I don't know. My name is Natalie, Natalie Kensington. President of the Californian Commonwealth... and you are?"

OOC: Valerie might have a new friend ;)

"Well of course they'll be recouped!" Adrianne laughed off. "I would not mind if it were Juudesign whose UAVs were destroyed, but when it is our millions that are implicated, I think I should have them back. Considering that you never even paid us for the loss of the Leviathan - ha-ha, I should add to that!"

Adrianne threw the controls back onto the table. "Kamikaze run, then." She then went with the cleanup crew to help salvage the burning wreckage of the large UAVs.