NationStates Jolt Archive


Blackadder's Tedious Diplomatic Mission (Closed)

The Ctan
16-07-2008, 23:01
The briefing room was a large austere chamber in the windswept isle that was the home of the chief C’tan intelligence agency. A dark flint colour, the walls were featureless and undecorated, itself a form of austere decoration. “This briefing is classified under standard procedures. You’re aware, Blackadder, of affairs in the ‘Haven’ region of Earth; I think you should be bearing in mind your aides…”

Lord Senator Edmund Blackadder grimaced at the mention of the staff he was coerced into dealing with on a daily basis. He nodded, grinding his teeth.

“So, therefore, it’ll be no surprise to you that the regional interests of the C’tan require a little further intelligence, based on the recent build up of paramilitary assets by the Midlonian Church. Now, we’ve already been careful to make ourselves aware of a good quantity of this, via the usual methods, to be honest, we don’t have any human intelligence, and really, we don’t need to know it, it’s not our business. But it’s in our regional interest to let the Church know that groups outside their own nation are bothered by their build-up. We don’t want them getting too active and de-stabilising the nation, and thus, its main trading partners. While the impact on our imports from that would be limited,” Though, the moaning about lack of tea from George and Percy, Blackadder thought, would probably get intolerable. “another religious regime could impede regional freedom of action overall, which would inconvenience our markets and operations Earthside…

“Consequently, I’ve put through a request to have you assigned to go on a little trip, to visit a diplomat in Midlonia,” suddenly, Blackadder had a premonition, of fifty men with enormous handlebar moustaches, monocles, bowler hats and umbrellas, talking about sending ‘the working class back to the mill where they belong,’ “known for links to the church, for a ‘goodwill visit.’”

Blackadder didn’t much care for goodwill; he knew his voters weren’t generally amused by the kind of things Percy had blithely and obliviously informed him were the norm in certain Midlonian colonies, though to be fair, in reality, they weren’t so bad (Percy was, to Blackadder’s mind, much more rational than George in such things – he’d once overnight increased his melanin production just to see if he could give George a heart attack, alas, it hadn’t rid him of that lunatic, but George had most gamely attacked him, screaming ‘theif.’)

“And am I actually expected to take notes?” Blackadder asked

“Oh, not at all… If you see anything terribly interesting, otherwise, just subtly hint that they’re of interest to us, that’s all you really need to do,” the grey haired man sitting opposite him on the table said.

---

Blackadder’s home contained many comforts, a sizeable neo-rustic mansion, it currently had a number of servants, and terrifyingly, his three ‘aides.’ The man he’d just met, for a tooth-snapping, palm-scarring meeting had arranged for all of them, all immigrants. The most sane of them, by a very narrow margin, was Percy Percy, the most foolish fool ever produced by the Midlonian upper class. Closely following him in the long grope towards having a clue, George Colthurst St. Bartleigh, whose past, beyond ‘Questarian’ Blackadder had never discovered, and wasn’t sure he wanted to know about. Most foolish of all, and to Blackadder’s despair, longest emplaced, lowest intelligence, and smelliest, was S. Baldrick, (he didn’t know what the S was, he suspected it was something to do with the smell that accompanied the latter) whom Blackadder viewed as the worst and most cretinous of his ‘highly trained diplomatic team.’ Baldrick probably, Blackadder thought, ultimately came from Kalessin; he wasn’t sure, the descriptions of feudalistic field toiling, and muck-slopping sounded right, but Baldrick was too stupid to remember where precisely he’d been born, or how he’d come to leave. Or where he’d been in the meantime.

They were all inflicted on him as a tremendously sadistic punishment for a social faux pas he’d made years ago, and he was forced to accept by the grim prospect of his greatest fear, an audit, should he dismiss them (he’d long ago decided that remaining in his job, and rather rich, was far ahead of the removal of title and judicial punishment that would come with a conviction for… appropriation of funds). The trio had all been granted Asylum from some past misfortunes, and found gainful employment, thanks to Blackadder’s enemies, in his office.

---

Blackadder sighed in resignation as he returned home, the displacement depositing him in an open area at the side of the house he used primarily for just such a reason. He frowned, waving a hand at an ornate carved door with his family crest, passed down for dozens of generations at least, on it. It opened, to reveal, sitting by the fireplace, Baldrick. “Baldrick…”

“Yes My Lord?” he said, sounding hopeful.

“Baldrick. Go and cut your hair, and then get George to show you how to use the bath again. It appears we’re going on a trip.”

“Yaay.” Baldrick said, standing up, treating Edmund to the unpleasant sight of his current mode of quite scandalously indecent dress, “where are we going Mister B?”

“We’re going to enjoy a nice trip to Midlonia in order to meet some more religious fanatics, these ones, actually somewhat competent, which means, you’re going to have to get George to find you something to wear, too.”

“Why?” Baldrick sounded disappointed…

“Because, for the hundredth time, a leather posing pouch isn’t appropriate attire in my house, let alone when we’re going to meet rabid Christian Fanatics whose strange notions include suffer not the indecently dressed to live.” He proceeded to walk off and ignore Baldrick until the latter went away, taking a bottle of brandy from the bar in the next room, and head to his bedroom. He closed the door, and locked it. His residence was structured to allow him a modicum of peace when he was in that room, with most of the amenities on the ground floor, the servants’ bedroom, itself semi-separate from the rest of the house, and some recreation and health facilities in the basement, and his mandatory crew of contemptible aides confined to the first floor, Baldrick in a set of living quarters that were almost a house in themselves (unfortunately, he didn’t stay there, which had been the intent).

Of course, they never stayed there, hence the reinforced, treble locked, doors, and their leeringly gothic frames (he’d found that gargoyles scared Baldrick).

---

“Hup!” cried Percy, smashing the ball with the racquet. It sailed over the net, and George flailed at it with his own racquet. It sailed past Percy, who turned and watched it go over a wall. “What’s the score?” Percy asked.

“Two… plus five, carry the one…” George stammered, “LOTS!” he shouted, having apparently lost count.

They both laughed uproariously, and Baldrick hoved into view at door, “Mister George?”

“Yes, Balders?”

“Mister Blackadder says you’ve got to tell me how to look decent when we go to Midlonia…”

“I say!” Percy said, “back to the old country! What a Lark!”

“You could call up your friends…” George said.

“Oh yes… Because I have lots of them,” he said, with a forced smile, which completely fooled the other man.

---

Blackadder looked at his wretches. Baldrick had been dressed up in the same way as the other two, black and white suits, bowler hats, umbrellas.

He sighed, “Pathetic. Simply pathetic,” he said, looking at his watch, “On the other hand, we’ll be late, so, tell me you have at least packed changes of clothes…”

“Don’t be silly, Edmund, of course we have…” Percy said, picking up a suitcase, “Ready?”

Blackadder didn’t reply. He tried not to encourage them…
Midlonia
17-07-2008, 00:37
The woman who was walking along the cloister stopped and ducked abruptly into an alcove as a pair of figures walked by, talking animatedly to each other. She waited until the footsteps receded before she snuck out of the alcove again.

“Oh Miss Whiteadder…” one of the voices said quietly behind her.

With a pale face, Miss Whiteadder MP wheeled around, only to be confronted by the two figures who had passed her moments before. One, lithe and tall with grey hair and flowing purple robes, those of an Archbishop, the other, short and drum-like, wearing a simple. If sinister. Pinestripe Suit.

“Oh, Mr Sturm, Archbishop, didn’t see you there.” She said brushing a long blonde lock of hair out of her pretty green eyes.

“Yeees, hiding in the coal closet would do that, wouldn’t it?” The religious figure replied.

“Shit.” Whiteadder said very quietly.

“Pardon?” The Bishop roared.

“Soot.” Whiteadder said, louder this time as she pointed to one of her sleeves which she patted. “I was checking for soot.”

“You really are a poor liar, Whiteadder. Good at bending the truth, but a poor liar.” Sturm replied eyeing her up and down.

“What do you want.” she snapped.

“Well, considering your… previous monetary transgressions…” Strum began.

“Now, that money was just resting in my account until it was moved on, the Joyful betting had nothing to do with-”

“Yes, considering that, how would you feel about working some of that… outstanding debt off?” the Bishop said idly.

Whiteadder licked her lips. “How much.” she said after a moment or two.

“Ten Thousand.” came the icy reply.

“Done, what do you want me to do? Charity event? Recite the bible off by heart? A quick stroll to the moon and back?” Whiteadder said as she crossed her arms and looked at the Bishop.

“Oh, no. I felt like using your silver tongue for a change my dear,” The Archbishop said with a grin. “I want you to… entertain a guest from the Ctan, a Senator Blackadder. Ha, rather appropriate, don’t you think?”

“You… wait, what?” Whiteadder looked at him. “That’s it?”

“That’s it, aside from keeping him away from most of our paramilitary operations, show him the churches and the bumbling low-downs that just keep an eye on the churches, the charity work. That sort of thing also.”

“Uhm, aren’t you holding that massive combined arms event which you’ve been advertising heavily also?”

“Yes, coincides with his trip. Ironic, isn’t it? Daniel Melchett will help of course, I’m sure you can distract him with the Melchett Family reunion at the Melchett hall.”
“You mean the Melchett hall that’s right next to where the maneuveours are taking place?”

“Yes.”

“Not making this easy for such a paltry sum.” Whiteadder hissed.

“Yes, well, those orphans are still going quite hungry for the small paltry sum you lost…”

“Alright!” Whiteadder hissed as she whirled on her heel and left.

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

“Baaaaaaaaaah. Whiteadder.” The youth no more than 16 said. He sported a large handlebar moustache and slicked hair stood next to Whiteadder on the airstrip. “Bally good fun with all these foreigners, eh what? I hear Uncle Melchett’s invited them all to the big family do!”

“Yes.” Whiteadder said very quietly. She had opted for a cool, modern business dress suit that cut off at the knee, it allowed her to show off her shapely legs to this Ctani, brain dead scum bucket, if she couldn’t distract him from the whole task at hand, he could at least distract him with her form. After all, it was what the Ctan was famous for, wasn’t it? Blasphemers and perverts…

“Senator Blackadder?” She said cooly as she stood forward, making sure her suit and shirt underneath were undone ‘just so’ “I am your liaison for your journey here wh-”

They were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a lot of police sirens as several cars silently slid into place around them in a rough semi-circle. While the cars aesthetically looked like they had come from the 1930’s. Their silence denoted efficient and environmental Hydrogen engines.

Officers leapt out of the cars and trained rifles and pistols on one person in particular.

Percy.

An authoritive looking officer, largely from the flat cap he wore in comparison to the rest of the more distinct helmets the other officers wore, grabbed a megaphone and clicked it on with a wail of feedback.

“Lord Percy Percy of the Hartlepool estate. You are hereby under arrest for… Uhm. Hang on.”

The chief rummaged around in the back of his car before producing a thick looking binder.

“Arson, aggravated assault, appearance in public under the influence of narcotics or a drug other than those on the list of approved recreational devices, bail jumping, bribe giving for public office, bribe for witness, bribe for juror, burglary, cemetery desecration, desecration of a registered Holy Site, conspiracy to murder, criminal interference with health care services or religious worship in the first degree, false advertising, falsifying business records, forgery, fraud, grand larceny, insurance fraud, placing a false bomb and welfare fraud.” He looked at the binder. “Yeah, that’s all.” He finished before clicking the speaker off with another wail.

“Oh God.” Both Adders said at the same time.
The Ctan
19-07-2008, 21:50
“Oh God,” said Blackadder, it was in fact, a phrase he’d picked up from George, rather than a native C’tani one; in as much as there was a concept of a god, one didn’t invoke the term for god, save perhaps in significant rituals, “Percy, you imbecilic cretin… you sent ahead didn’t you?”

Percy laughed, “What a lark. I’ve stolen helmets, but whole cars, and uniforms. Todger Jacobs, is that you?” he started toward the police.

They didn’t seem impressed.

“These are policemen, Percy, you dolt…” Blackadder sighed.

“Well,” Percy spluttered, “I have diplomatic immunity…”

Blackadder sighed.

“Don’t I?”

“No. One, you’re an aide, you’re not accredited for such things save when acting under instruction, and even then, that’s a fairly liberal interpretation. It certainly doesn’t apply to things you did prior to even leaving Midlonia, let alone being posted here.”

“Well… you can’t just let them take me…”

“Yes I can, off you go!”

“But…”

“Aww, that’s damn rum treatment blacky!” George said.

“I can’t be associating with criminals,” Blackadder said, “obviously this terrible wretch should be brought to justice. Off you go!”

“But Mister B…” Baldrick said…

“Don’t worry,” Percy said, seeming to mistake a nervous twitch for a wink from the senator, “I’m sure this is all part of some cunning plan!” he said, cheerily ambling off toward the police, reaching into his pockets…
Midlonia
27-07-2008, 19:47
The prongs from a tazer shot out across the tarmac and buried themselves into Percy’s chest, he managed to look incredulously at them before 50,000 volts of electricity surged through them and into him, knocking him over onto the airstrip’s tarmac with a wailing scream.

Whiteadder merely stepped past them, Melchett in tow who merely glanced to the side with a quiet “baah”.

“As I was say-” another wail that dropped away as the body on the tarmac passed out and was carried into a waiting cruiser, which sped off immediately.

“Hrm,” Whiteadder said annoyed. “As I was saying, I am Miss Whiteadder, Member of Parliament for the Gregorytown and Priden seat and will be your escourt and guide throughout your stay here. No doubt you know of Mr Melchett’s uncle, the Necrontyr ambassador to the Greater Kingdom, who have invited you along to their family reunion.”

She leant in slightly, letting him see slightly down his top as she whispered. “I am afraid attending is mandatory for both of us.”