NationStates Jolt Archive

The newspaper blew forlornly across the still-smouldering ruins. Neville didn't need to pick it up; he knew the story by heart.

The UN Building - perpetually overcrowded and under-repaired due to the UN's chronic funding shortage - was burned down today in what some say was an insurance scam on the part of UN SecGen Catherine Gratwick. Others blame Gatesvillean anti-UN extremists and Ardchoille insists it was those damn Kennyites. Temporary accommodation has been provided.

"I dunno what we'd have done without Harry," Neville muttered gratefully.

http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2188/2370024089_7f318300ba.jpg

His eyes watering -- no doubt from the acrid scent of wet, burnt wood -- the BarLord pulled a dog-eared photograph from his wallet.

http://hubpages.com/u/138476_f520.jpg

"Remember what they said when it first started, Violet?'' he mourned.

... a kind of a marriage between a quality English pub and a gentlemans' club ... A few billiards tables maybe, possibly a dart board, a few private-looking alcoves, a menu catering to all tastes, beers from around the world on tap, most spirits known to man somewhere about, wood-panelled walls, leather chairs and a collection of old maps and portraits of old diplomats on the walls.

"Sure,'' agreed Violet dryly. "And also, 'possibly as a result of the unusual stress under which we have been working -- many delegates have been behaving in manners which are ... er ... less than becoming for a representative of a sovereign government at such an august body as this'. Yeah, I remember that. Ooooh, yeah, do I remember that.''

"But, 'over time, the Strangers' Bar evolved into a kind of private club to which the politicians could repair for food, drink and convivial company aside from the strain of legislation','' Neville protested.

"Fine, fine, so it did. Well, Dazza's in the van right now working on the food, thanks to the Gnomes we've got everything out of the cellars, and I think the Thessadorians are seeing to the convivial company, so let's get on with it.''

"You've gotta hand it to the UN diplomatic corps, they know how to make the best of things,'' Neville said approvingly, eyeing a cluster of customers.

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A Portal opened, and Wolfgang and Kyle stepped out, followed by other delegates escaping the building. A Guardian in fire-armor stepped out, his dog-like helmet looking slightly demonic, only compounded by the red suit's burnt appearance from decades of firefighting, and the man began waving people through, telling them to watch their step, even though there wasn't one.

Kyle pulled off his own rebreather. "I assume, Mister Neville, that this does not disrupt the serving of drinks?" He turned, and exclaimed, "Ah!" and headed towards the activities.

Arson? Why are you looking at me like that... I wasn't even in town when it happened!


http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v251/Tindalos/UN/Verm.jpg
Vermithrax Pejorative
WA Observer
The Federated Technocratic Oligarchy of the Most Glorious Hack

This has got to be one of the best A1s in Nationstates history ever. LOL

Adding to the fluttering of papers, the groan of burnt metal, and the wafting aroma of asbestos and glass dust were the hordes of unwashed and unkempt former UN delegates, amonst whom the Snefaldians roamed. Harmalan Shandreth's glasses were broken, and he was mumbling to himself.

"Damn. We waited months, months! to get an office. Stole the damn office of the Allech-Atreus folk, never came back... now it's all gone and fucked up. Good god!"

The scene was horrible, truly horrible, in it's widespread devastation. Someone had tried to construct a shelter out of several exploded file cabinets holding records of the many resolutions eliminated from the lists by the Secretariat, another group climbing out of a hole in the floor (looked like the Ausserlanders, so that's where they got off to) and the representative from Minyos was hanging from the gigantic Yeldan statue in the courtyard. Harmalan couldn't tell if it was by choice or if someone had taken advantage of the devastation to settle old scores.

The former UN-gnomes were running amok, while malfunctioning Yeldan Destructory bunnies were running equally equally so. The figure of what looked like Susa Batko-Yovino stood atop a pile of bent and twisted steel, firing a rifle at the diminutive servants of the erstwhile United Nations and screaming incoherently. The rotting corpse of Sheikh Larebil bin Cluich was hanging out of a broom closet; it seems no one had bothered to clean him (or his head) up those many months ago.

As he stumbled across the wreckage, he passed the office remains of numerous delegations. Pawing his way up a hill of paper, he was knee-deep in the "concept division" paperwork of Love & esterel- thousands upon thousands of illegible, rambling proposals talking about hand-held media devices and rainfall patterns. Another mound of proposals condeming the Gruenberg delegation for rampant lunacy and attempting to simultaneously repeal all non-worker-friendly resolutions indicated he was in the vicinity of where Community Property's rooms had been.

By scent and by sound (the stench of Sir Albert and the humming and praying of Kawaiian refugees) he found the ruins of the Stranger's Bar, and the improvised boozing station established by the eminent BarLord.

"Neville. Tequila Slammer, and make it snappy."

Carina sat near a partially burnt flag of Brutland and Norden as the staff moved stuff around. Her babies were crying. She opened a few buttons of her blouse, she latched them onto her nipple, and cradled them, one in each arm. Some of the people looked at her as she breastfed her babies.

"Me sognece a beresso," she told Knut as she eyed the boozing station.
("I need a drink.")

Knut gave her the evil eye. "Tu allateco la natu! To dell'oaberece."
("You are nursing babies! You can't drink.")

"Il es aquo me s'riferecche. Sgece me aquo."
("It's water I'm referring to. Get me water.")

As Knut went searching for water, Carina could not help but chuckle at the thought of this "august" body known for its flamey goodness now sitting as a smoldering pile of rubble. Only another structure was more flamey that this one, but that was another forum...

A dark cloaked figure comes out of the smoke and dust. It becomes apparent that his gas-mask has served him well for once. He looks around, sighs, and sits down on a pile of mostly singed (and partially dissolved) resolutions.

Well, I guess that's that. All that work. All that maintenance. All of the bugs that I've installed. All gone. Still, it had a good run.

Can't let it get me down though. There's a new bar to build and a new organization to create. This time (hopefully) we can contain reality better.

The tired figure, now with renewed life, stands up, grabs a bottle of expensive champagne and smashes it against a burnt out filing cabinet.

I hereby name this smoldering heap The World Assembly Stranger's Bar! May she grow and prosper! May she become a great club for all! And may she serve us unmeasurable amounts of hard liquor!

Sakura Yamamoto had beamed out of the bar when the alarm was raised.

As the World Assembly as it was now known was getting back on its feet it was logical to assume the Strangers Bar would do the same.

So here she was beaming into the scorched and water soaked bar.

She as usual was wearing a kimono and was accompanied by her aide. They hadn't lost anything since their office was in orbit. They'd also been able to get a shower as well.

"Two beers please?" Sakura asked looking round at the first customers of the new bar or rather the old bar that had emerged from the ashes as the women sat on slightly singed stools.

... And may she serve us unmeasurable amounts of hard liquor!

"Not unmeasurable," Neville interposed. "Definitely not unmeasurable."

He drew a line on a wavering tally he was keeping on the back of UN Resolution Number ... oh, who cares?

"It worked for pre-literate barkeepers, it'll work for me," he assured himself.

But the nagging thought that he was undercharging whined through the back of his mind like a dentist's drill.

Mmm. 'swarm in here.

No, it's really warm.

Maybe I'll get up and have some of that smoky bacon.

Oh hell, it's on fire!

The process of extricating himself from the now-ruined UNSB, having been essentially comatose for some weeks, was one Courror could have done without. Physically and mentally challenged, the physically and mentally challenging task of negotiating bits of burning wood and running, flaming bar patrons had been taxing enough by itself. The need to fetch his effects from near the melting Acme Device, all the while dodging bottles of exploding spirits busily propelling themselves in all directions, only compounded the problem, although he had been able to get a superb Dali picture of a clock. Well, that was what he'd tell the staff anyway, assuming there were any staff to tell.

With a shock of cold air in his smoke-filled lungs he had emerged, choking, gasping and cursing, from the conflagration of the UNSB - to find himself almost seamlessly walking into what appeared to be the self-same United Nations Strangers' Bar. He staggered dazedly up to the front desk.

"'scuse me ma-- er, my, er, good man!"

"Mmyeees?" The concierge-receptionist-weapons-confiscator-thing-dude stared at him balefully.

"Is this the United Nations Strang--" he didn't get chance to finish, as the man grabbed his charred flight jacket.

"No it bloody ain't!" he hissed through gritted teeth. "You want us to get bloody sued?!" He spun Courror round and pointed to a carved sign, its script inlaid with delicate gold filligree:

The World Assembly Strangers' Bar

The workmanship, as in the previous bar, was superb. The only slightly jarring part was the large, less-than-straight black line through "United Nations". And the blackened edges. And the smoke.

"I see," Courror replied. "In that case, here are my effects," he pronounced, and deposited them with a flourish. Proceeding down the steps, past a pair of flaming bar stools whose occupiers seemed unimpressed by their new surroundings, he ambled as steadily as he could to the bar and ordered a Winter Island Warmer. The barkeep - who he could swear had had more hair prior to today - looked at him blankly. Courror sighed.

"Look, it's simple enough. Triple Scotch, double rum (white or black), a dash of brandy and a small can of pure oxygen. And while you're at it, can I get 20 cigarettes, please?" Courror placed a tattered, but unsmoked, note on the bar and sat in a cloud of his own kipper-like smell.

With tears in his eyes, Ambassador Christophe Boco stumbled into the World Assembly Strangers' Bar.

"Gone! All gone..." he muttered desolately as he collapsed on a barstool with a mournful expression. His own expression was almost as mournful as the barstool's. He ordered a lemon vodka.

"At least you're still here," he said to Neville. "A bit of stability." He paused at that, wondering whether Neville could really be described as the epitome of stability. "All that history, gone! It's just not the same any more. Cheers." He drained his glass, and looked round at the patrons of the shiny new bar. There did not even appear to be a Kawaiian shrine here. Strange how you don't miss these things until they're gone.

Wait, that didn't make any sense either.

He sighed.

"If the UN building was burned down, any idea how they're going to raise it from its ashes on April 2nd?"

He tried to drain his already empty glass again.

"I suppose architectural improvements would be too much to hope for..."

Former UN Ambassador, and yet to be ratified WA Ambassador, Kevin Rudd, slumps listlessly into his armchair and mutters to his guest and advisor, verlordoo, Errinundera's Ambassador to Australian Labor Party, "It's all an evil plot to stymie Australian Labor Party's plans for a seat on the Security Council."

verlordoo murmers reassuringly, "This too shall pass."

In the park across the street from the UN Building's remains, the entrances to three large wabbitholes and a number of smaller ones appear.
Mixed columns of ambassadors, other diplomatic missions' staff, and UN staff (but no Destructor Bunnies...) start to pour out of these passages, shephered by invisible figures who are wearing fluorescent armbands and earbands -- and, in many cases, hardhats -- so that their locations can actually be identified for a change. Quite a few of the refugees are holding large glasses of an orange-coloured liquid.


(A couple of minutes later, over at the new Bar...)

"Whew, thirsty work that!" Harvey exclaims, "but I think we got everybody else who was still inside the building out safely. I don't know whether you managed to get the Carrot Beer out in time, too, Neville, but we're bringing a fresh supply of it up from our colony here anyway and it'll be with you very shortly. Give a pint of it to anybody who wants one, at our expense, and tell them that that's because by our calendar it's New Year's Day and time to celebrate!"
"Yeah, what a pity we lost the fireworks..." mutters another Wabbit sadly.

"Blimey, What a fire that was" stumbled three Bruces still slightly inebriated from having stop. "Haven't seen a pub fire like that since the great Carrington fire of '87" another one of them commented.

"You boys should be glad I was there or other-wise you would be toast just like the strangers Bar."

"Hey does that mean our tabs have also been destroyed in the fire too?" the third commented who looked hopefully at the BarLord.


Sheila meanwhile managed to direct them around to some seats and just sighed... before looking at her watch and going "That's the time already?! I need to go like a lizzard drinkin' and get back to Shielas and Bruces quick-snap."

She ran out of the bar leaving her three male compatriots alone...

Exhausted by her efforts throughout the night's tumultuous events to bring aid and comfort to hacking, singed and smoke-stained delegates, Violet took a moment to gaze at the cataclysmic scene and reflect on the infinite capacity of the human mind to adjust to almost anything.

Even now, she saw, the patterns of the Strangers' Bar were being repeated by delegates seated on wooden orange crates, plastic milk crates and a bunch of empty fire-accelerant-liquid containers that someone had carelessly forgotten to recycle. The same little cliques were gathering, while the tireless UN -- no, she'd have to call them WA Gnomes, now -- scuttled to and fro around themextending and developing the Bar's temporary quarters.

There'd been a moment last night when it seemed that the Gnomes would throw off the calm competence of centuries and give themselves over to partying like there was no tomorrow. But eventually they had ended their revels and returned to their duties ...

OMG! Most (http://www.flickr.com/photos/74837734@N00/64331061/sizes/o/) of them had returned to their duties ...

Was this a gnomen of things to come?

Fortunately the airship that was serving as this nation's UN offices had its gasbag filled with helium, rather than with flammable hydrogen, so the few of the embers flying out from the devastation that came into contact with its outer surface before it got completely clear of the rising column of smoke and hot air did no more than smudge its skin slightly. Keen-sighted viewers on the ground might have noticed that a couple of dozen much smaller shapes were flying in formation around this vessel, as if escorting it...
The ship circled the burning building at a safe distance for a while, with observers aboard keeping their eyes peeled for any other fliers who might need help, and then descended at the far side of the park where it unloaded some non-StEdmundan people who'd been in the building's uppermost floors when the disaster started.
Alfred Sweynsson and his wife Lady Elizabeth, both wearing ordinary clothes rather than penguin costumes on this occasion, walked across to join the people who had assembled around the new Bar (with a team of armed St Edmundan marines accompanying them, just in case...)

"New Year's Day?" Alfred remarked, on hearing Harvey's words. "It's that occasion by our calendar, too, and just before the fire was noticed I received authorisation from home to offer every other diplomat in the Building -- apart from Felix and his staff, and their Yeldan allies, because they drew arms against our mission during that debate on the caveman's resolution a few months back -- a drink each on our tab to celebrate it. I suppose the offer's still open, if enough stock has been salvaged to go around: Might help to cheer people up a bit, no?"

Dictator Rickards sheffled into the new bar with his head hanging low. (Sigh) "It was bound to collapse one day." (Tear) Lifts head with new, happy expression. "Well, we better get to decorationg this place with the proper corors!" He runs around, throwing green streamers around, putting up banners, etc.

The smell of smoke slowly filtered into the ventilation system of the HotRodian bunker under the World Assembly parking lot. Accelerus Dioce awoke with a snort, his nose trying to rid itself of the scent that smelled so unlike the industrial smog he was accustomed to in his home country. His brain started to register the fact that this wasn't a normal kind of smoke, and as usual he overreacted, opening the weapons closet and pulling out a Vanderjagt grenade launcher. A hole appeared in the parking lot shortly thereafter, and a fierce-looking crazy man climbed out, looking for targets. But the only targets available were burning pieces of paper and office supplies. Disappointed, he sighed and started putting up warning signs around the hole. It was the third time this month he had destroyed something. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but it was mostly because he was bored. Maybe things would be less boring around the UN now that it had all burned down.

When the first cry of "Fire" was heard, Lewis had known that there was a problem. How could anyone think that yelling that was an April Fool's joke, and yet here people were continuing their buisness as usual. He watched as people relised that the building really was on fire, delagates running, screaming, and tripping over one another, trying to be the first out the door and by extension, the first one safe. He urged the Wolf-like delagation to leave, after they had gone, he sat and waited for the way to clear. After the throng had gone down enough for him to be able to exit without holding up anypne else, the fire had really taken to the liquor now, and the blaze was strong. He strained to see the door as he hobbled his way toward the area where he had entered. When at last he had found the door, the flames were taking on a whole new form, they were turning from the yellows and oranges of most fires to the blues, greens, and whites of a fire that was both burning through protective shields, and hot enough to burn from feet away. Taking one last look at the room, he burst through the door, one of the last to stand in the UNSB. He was badly burnt, and in need of help, so he presed one of seven secret buttons on his cane.

Later in a northern Drasangan hospital:
Lewis awoke to find both his fellow delagates, and a myriad of other government types in the room. He said in a feeble voice, "you people act like I was in trouble there." Tears fell from the eyes of the junior delagate. To her he asked, " the UN has fallen, hasn't it?" her nonverbal reply told him he was right. "You go, make Drasanga's voice heard." He would live, he'd had far worse injuries. These ones would heal, and then he could get the truth on what happened.

Prince Rhodri ambled up to the makshift bar as if nothing much different was going on. In that he was tired, irritable and in need of relaxation, nothing much different was going on. The rest of the Gobbannaen delegation had evacuated at the first sign of fire, leaving him to pack the diplomatically sensitive papers and Stuff Nobody Wanted To Lose into a briefcase and a fire-proof sack respectively. Bloody typical of the commoners, he thought, taking advantage of the Royal Family's one evolutionary fringe benefit like that.

As it happened, the Gobbannaen office had survived at least somewhat. Thirteen stories up in the air and singed to near uselessness, but basically intact. It was just a shame that nothing else nearby was useable, or even present. Whichever druids had put up reinforced Spirit Walls just in case Sheik Larabil's ghost decided to drop in had thoroughly overdone the job. While the floor, walls and ceilings had gone, the badly burned contents were still sitting up there in mid-air, being a menace to navigation and common sense. Perhaps he could get a lift up there in one of the passing airships, Rhodri mused.

He brushed some ash from his Ambassadorial robes, quietly thankful that they were carefully made to be as non-flammable as he was to avoid public embarrassment. Carefully not leaning on the bar in case it fell over, he said, "A pint of Dark please, Neville. It seems to be that sort of day."

"I wonder how the fire started", Harvey mused. "H'mm, I know somebody who might be able to find out." Turning to face along the Bar (although, of course, few of the people present could actually see him do so...) he yelled out _
"YO! JIMBO!"

There was an exasperated sigh from the air over a seemingly-empty seat a few places further along, where anybody who can see Invisible Wabbits would observe an elegant-yet-tough-looking male Wabbit wearing a dinner jacket, a white shirt & a black bow-tie, and a glass containing a vodka martini ("stirred, not shaken") was set down carefully on the section of bar in front of that stool.

"You know how much I hate being called 'Jimbo', 'Harv'," another wabbitish voice replied, "The name is Bunn... James Bunn. Mis-calling me like that doesn't make me want to look into this situation for you, and anyway I'm waiting for orders from W. Apparently there have been some coyote sightings far too close to home for comfort, and he might be sending me to" (He was interrupted by the sound of a piece of music, which fans of Swing might recognise as the first bars of Artie Shaw's sometime theme-tune 'Nightmare'...) "Just a minute." (He unfolded a panel from his wristwatch, to reveal a mobile phone.) "Bunn here. Oh, hell-oh, Pennyroyal, what news from the old burrow? Get plenty of carrot during the Spring Festival, did you?" (People nearby might faintly hear a girlish giggle, over the phone, in reply to this question...) "So, what does W want me to do... Uh-huh. He does? Alright, can do, will do: Bunn out." (He put the phone away again.)
"Well, it seems that I'm at your service after all. Have any witnesses come forward yet to say which part of the building it was where the fire was seen earliest?
Oh, and can any of you tell me what that is?" He pointed up in the air to where, in the space above the smouldering ruins that formerly been occupied by the UN Strangers' Bar, a small wooden structure could be seen hovering undamaged...

At this point Harvey's brother Harry, having finished supervising the refugees' movement out of the wabbit-holes wandered across to the bar. Once he'd checked that Dicey Reilly was unharmed, although too busy to speak with him at the moment (let alone to do anything more FUN than that... ;)) he ordered a drink for himself and then enquired after the well-being of another individual...
"Hey, Neville, did that Dragon of yours get out of the building okay? I suppose as a fire-breather himself he should be pretty resistant to heat, but I haven't seen him since yesterday evening when I asked him to guard our New Years' fireworks so that nobunny would try setting them off ahead of time."
(The crowd's hubbub suddenly decreased drastically for a moment, as many of the people around him had apparently been stunned into silence by his words...)
"Hey, what's everybunny looking at me like that for?"

"You fudd!" exclaimed Harvey. "You complete and utter FUDD!!"

Sakura could see the bar was as busy as ever and although it was makeshift for now she was confident the WA would be up and running very soon.

The gnomes efficiency was legendary after all.

Lt Commander Hoshiko Sato waved to Shez from the Sheila and Bruces delegation as she left and figured the Bruces would have been here anyway even if they were sitting on orange boxes and plastic milk crates for now.

Sakura thanked Neville for the drinks and paid in cash. They did have a tab but only used it for special occasions.

So moving over to where the Bruce's were she smiled beer in hand and asked "how did you Bruces get away from the fire?"

A prelude to swapping of stories at the very least.

Serifina Karin stared at the ruins of the old UN building, ash smudges on her face, tears and burns in her dress, and her hands empty. "My home... That briefcase was the only thing I had in this place, and now, it's gone. This is horrible. Absolutely horrible."

Finally, some time later, she turned and trudged her way to the temporary bar, looking about as dejected as a woman could get. "Vodka. And lots of it. And to hell with the chances of home finding out..."

A rather ashy Richard York stumbled into the "bar" followed closely by the very flustered Fiore Acquerello.

"Now do you see why I didn't like the supply closet?" said Fiore, her voice with a caustic edge to it

"Yes." coughed Richard, he then patted a section of her head that started to smoke.

"Thanks." she said

Richard picked up a couple of orange cartons and set them down by the makeshift counter

Fiore scanned around looked at the other delegates while Richard called over Neville

"A scotch on the rocks, please."

Fiore said "Make that two, thank you."

She then looked over to Richard "I wonder what'll happen now?"

He could only shrug and scanned the bar to see if Carol had made out okay

He found where Carina and Knut were with the twins and headed for them

You no it wouldn't have been bad if they would have posted something like a notice about us using the un symbol and name. This is just as bad as when I was forcing nations to be colonys under my control I was succesful with 5 colonys until nations were telling them to revolt. So when it started I took control of all 5 colonys changed the password and waited till they chesed to exsist. But any way nation is now a grand Empire and are flag is a true Prussian flag.

Who cares?

Harmalan Shandreth
ambassador of tequila
minister of slurring

Out of the shadows, a short, dark-haired woman with curly hair and hazel eyes stepped, picking her way gingerly around piles of wet, smoky rubbish being gathered up. She looked around with wide-eyed bemusement, then shook her head at the irony of the situation.

The hedonistic leaders of Katganistan had finally seen fit to bestir themselves enough to send her as their ambassador to the UN -- and they were, of course, a day late and a dollar short. She shook her head at the destruction.

"Cripes, I need a drink," she muttered, and looked up at the front of The World Assembly Stranger's Bar.

"Eh, how bad could it be?" she asked herself as she steeled herself and walked inside.

Scrawney the ten-inch brown squirrel escaped the UNSB with the only damage of a slightly singed tail. As he tentatively returned to the newly chirstened WASB and sat down at his previous stool...or where it used to be. "Aww...the nuts are all burnt. Is there a waiter here?"

IC:

A man stumbled headlong into the bar and collapsed on the floor, hitting his head against the bar as he fell. Surprisingly, he didn't fall unconscious, but stood right up and surveyed the smoking ruins with satisfaction. He adjusted his cowboy hat so that it covered his eyes.

The man said aloud "Is there any beer in this bar?" He said "I've come along way on my own, through rivers, through typhoons, and through natives and robbers, yet I've staved them off. I've heard of the terrible tragedy that has befallen this "Stranger's Bar", and I suppose it is now fit to give a parting toast to the former "UN Stranger's Bar! and on with the World Assembly bar." He raised an invisible glass and said "Oh, you don't know who I am? I am Richard Fallbrook, the new delegate for Calizorinstan. The last one resigned because of this "World Assembly" business. And I for one don't blame him in the least."

Hoshiko Sato had left her Ambassador to talk to the Bruces and headed back to the bar. There she recognised Scrawney and a few newcomers she didn't know.

"Hey Scrawney" she called out adding "I'm sure the gnomes will have us back in business soon enough. We're already voting on the resolution that will establise the WA."

Hearing another voice introduce himself she turned and said "Fallbrook san, I'm Lt Commander Hoshiko Sato and part of the Neo Kirisuban delegation" extending a slender hand. She was wearing her red jacket and black trouser uniform but was unarmed today.

The fire had ravaged the wooden furnishings of Sir Cyril's Office, and had been aided by the large amounts of Ordnance in Pointy Blatherstock's "den", before the massive building collapsed. The first thing the entire Cobdenian delegation did was simple: sod the fire drill, and get the hell out of there any way they could. The former was a stroke of genius, in many ways. Few had understood the neccessity of wearing life jackets in the previous fire drills (the purpose of them had now become clear: to give delegates something to bump lesser delegates out of the way with whilst charging like a moose on heat towards to exits), many were confused by the order for trousers to be removed in case of fire, and lastly most were confounded by the operations of the fire extinguishers ("in case of fire, notify the relevent authorities and obtain form 753 'Permission to extinguish', insert the form in slot A and one US quarter in slot B. Incline the ratchet to 54 degrees and shake the exitnguisher vigorously..."). And so, in the haste to get out, Sir Cyril the other members of the Cobdenian permanent mission made for the time portal in the Cobdenian offices, hoping to make it that nation's balmy climes.

Unfortunately, no-one had realised the full extent of the effect of fire on time portals. Sir Cyril ended up 1969 in a hippy commune in California ; Pointy in Revolutionary France (unfortunately, he was not executed). Other members were spread from Dan to Beersheba.

Sir Cyril wasted no time in getting the feel of his new surroundings. Whilst it would have been pretty easy to get back to Cobdenia, or the UN, he decided to stay a bit. By a bit, I mean seven seriously stoned years, during which time he had become particularly adept at cultivating opium poppies. Eventually, he left (well, he was forced to leave following the arrival of the DEA), and headed back to the UN, where he belonged. Many of the delegates stared at this now long haired, caftan and cheesecloth wearing, representative as he strode up to the burger and beer van.

"A large scotch please"

He turned to the hush delegates

"Freinds, I see this not as an end, but a new beginning! From these ashes, we will build a new United..." he was cut off as someone whispered in his ears "...really? oh! Erm...from these ashes we will be a new international organisation that bears no relation to the one in New York with the pretty building and the lovely blue flags. A new beginning, with new, decent, resolutions, and none of that early rubbish. A new building, that does not violate building codes in every country excepting Glog A larger bar with a mini bistro, and free opium for the masses! Oh, and does anyone know a good tailor?"

"Saludos, Ambassador Sato" *does 1/2bow of body and tail.*

"Opium? No thank you, that's not good for humans, imagine what it would do to my person."

*waits patiently to hear if there is a waiter or not*

"You're right Scrawney. I certainly don't fancy chasing the dragon" Hoshiko replied before looking at the vastly different Sir Cyril.

"What happened after the fire?" she asked adding "if you need a good tailor I could take you to our starship. With matter replication it would be easy to make you a few suits in a short period of time."

All burnt down? *The Mad hatter mused over this*
well now the other Mad hatters are certainly interested in the new lodgings, of course we'll get a nice insurence payout for the fire damage, just as well i took it out last week eh?
Of course i would do no such thing as burn down such a respectful building as the UN one, i have suggested on numerous occasions for other people to burn their house down, perhaps this influenced the firestarters.
*The Mad hatter, takes out a piece of paper and nails it to the door of the new World Assembly building, upon which is written all the failures of the late UN*


This message was inspired by a Martin Luther production team, and shares no responsibility for the burning of the UN building.

"Alcoholic Acorn Juice does enough...speaking of which, is there a bartender to take my order?"

Suddenly, with a belch of smoke and flame, a portal opened, and leaping from the burning UN bar, Scelestus Nightweave fell heavily to the ground. He slowly lifted his head, unsure what to expect. While he was obviously not in a burning building, he couldn't quite see if he was in a building at all; his eyes were wet from the smoke, and his face was smudged with soot.
"Quite glad I didn't forget how to make a reality gate. Wouldn't have fared so well..." he muttered. Through the fog, he could see a squirrel- an old friend?
"Hello, there! Any idea what happened back there? and by chance, where might I be now?"

"You are in the 'World Assembly Strangers' Bar' or 'WASB' for short. It's been a few hours since they put out the flames. Most of the old crowd is back. Except apparently the bartender."

*Waits for order*

Scelestus looked around, rubbing at his eyes a little. Scrawney came into clear view slowly, along with the rest of the building. "oh.... Well, any clue who did in our old pub? I rather liked the musty smell the chairs gave off" muttered Scel in a fit of nostalgia...

"We're not sure Scelestus. Theres a few wild ideas going round but as long as theres delegations still around business will continue.

I liked the old place as well but the new bar might be even better when its up and running properly" Hoshiko softly replied drinking from her beer.

"We're not sure Scelestus. Theres a few wild ideas going round but as long as theres delegations still around business will continue.

I liked the old place as well but the new bar might be even better when its up and running properly" Hoshiko softly replied drinking from her beer.

Scelestus smiled at his fellow bar patron. "I liked that chair..." he said calmly before turning to an open section of air. With a carefully executed gesture, Scel opened another reality gate, ash spewing from the old UN bar. After a moment of looking around nervously, the man reached through, gently hoisting out a relatively-clean chair. It smelled of burning wood and varnish, but the chair itself was in remarkable shape.

Scel sat the chair down at a table, getting in it and smiling. "Still warm," he said peacefully.

"We could probally donate some furniture to the bar in the meantime. We're in orbit so the fire never damaged our offices.

It won't be what the patrons are used to but its a step up from orange boxes at least" Hoshiko replied sipping more beer.

Byron was pumped, there he stood in front of the usual barflies, adrenalin was coursing through him as though it were his blood. Things were moving in ultra slow motion, the smoke black thick and heavy reminding him of his war days on the heavily damaged SS Medusa, his first Naval command....

[start flashback sequence....] He had returned via the portal to the Venerable Libertarians 40th floor office space the previous morning and had slept. the staff had all left early to attend a function as the new Templar Crusaders Municipal Zoo was being opened and Byron, exhausted from his trans-dimensional wanderings had jumped on the couch to sleep for the first time that week. Lady Sofia had kissed him tenderly as snoozed before she departed happy that Byron was safely home from the adventures through space and time.

There was a loud alarm sound Byron hadn't heard before. He ignored it, probably a fault in the boards that the UN maintenance division had neglected having wrapped itself up in so much red tape and paperwork regarding the fault when it had been discovered, if it had been discovered? The noise became overbearing and Byron sat up cursing the din that kept him from his much needed slumber. he switched on the light noticing the thick black smoke that now was hugging the ceiling of his 40th floor office. "Bugger me!" he remarked in surprise, Suddenly there was a lick of orange light flickering from under the closed door of his office. "Crud!" he exclaimed, realising he had managed to ignore the noise for a whole 2 hours which was a little troublesome now that an escape to safety was a rather imminent requirement. he wet a towel and placed it at the base of the door realising that time was of the essence and a solution was urgently needed so as to avoid his own barbecuing.

He paced the office, back and forth. Self defenestration was ultimately the only solution but there was the small matter of the 40 story plummet to consider and the lack of any usable parachute. The alarm stopped. but rather than silence Byron became aware of a loud and distinctly odd sound that was that was coming from the adjoining private bathroom. A loud scratching, and a shrill "EEEEEKKKKKK!" noise. He picked up a letter opener and opened the door slowly. With a rush the door swung open forced by the weird creature within. "How the F*ck?" was quickly followed with "What the F*ck?" as Byron gaped in amazement at the odd creature now perched on his desk. Suddenly it dawned on him. this was one of the weird creatures that once lived and controlled the office, one of the genetic freaks of nature that was spawned by the Genius of DemonLordEnigma who had owned the office prior to Byron and senator Sulla's expedition to clear the 40th floor office space of the dense jungle it had become since DemonLordEnigma left. They had cleared the floor, forcing the weird creatures into the basement levels to haunt those poor lost Delegates or in some cases devour them.

However, Byron now beamed a wide smile. The creature was four foot tall and looked to be pure muscle. Its talons cut into the solid mahogany desk like steel blades and the feiry look from its three eyes was indeed haunting. But Byron smiled even wider as the creature appeared to be winged. Byron cared not now how the creature found its way into the bathroom now he had an option other than project Lemming. Byron lifted his chair and flung it at the plate glass window. It bounced back four times the glass holding its integrity akin to a windscreen accepting the fate of a hapless gnat on a motorway. He picked up his pneumatic UN Paper stapler from his desk and planted the punching end on the glass driving an acme drop forged steel staple into the glass. It cracked slightly and on the fifth slap of executive chair it shattered filling the room with a heavy wind and gratefully accepted fresh air. The creature made a bolt for the window and as it cleared the ledge, its wings now opened like a majestic glider,powerfully flapping it suddenly realised it was not soaring to freedom but flapping its way to the ground level weighed down by Byron. Byron had clamped his big hands to its third leg, an appendage that was centred under the creatures body short of its tail that seemed for stable perching than for any other pertinent reason of evolution.

His feet touched the ground as the building burned, huge flames now flickering from his office window some 40 floors up. He released his grip and the creature made its escape now freed of its burden. Byron sat on a flagstone watching the UN burn. A fire lit in him, the adrenalin still burning his muscles as it dawned on him what the consequences of this momentous event would be. As the building topled he spied a group of people in the distance and walked toward them.
[/flashback....]

"hullo chaps" Byron shouted as he approached the barflies now assembled in the unfamiliar surroundings of the out doors. "Looks like i will be making a new donation soon" he quipped, standing there in front of the blackened faces of the barflies, Still beaning inanely, adrenalin coursing his veins...

Upon witnessing the appearance of Lord Byron on a winged creature, Sir Cyril could not help but slip back into his full, previous self.

"God Lord, it's true about what this stuff does to one. I'll stick to the scotch from now on" as he layed down his opium pipe.

Byron was unsure what was more odd? His egress from a towering inferno on a winged creature or the appearance of Sir Cyril in Hippy garb. Regardless Byron gripped the man's hand in a firm handshake. "Sir Cyril old friend, Good to see you made it out reletively unscathed", Byron remarked. He was beaming hugely as he spied Neville and Violet a few metres away. "Did everyone get out ok?" Byron enquired still wagging Sir Cyrils arm with the exuberance of of a person abandoned on a desert island for several years of solitary confinement on meeting his long awaited rescuers.

Sakura could see the bar was as busy as ever and although it was makeshift for now she was confident the WA would be up and running very soon.

The gnomes efficiency was legendary after all.

Lt Commander Hoshiko Sato waved to Shez from the Sheila and Bruces delegation as she left and figured the Bruces would have been here anyway even if they were sitting on orange boxes and plastic milk crates for now.

Sakura thanked Neville for the drinks and paid in cash. They did have a tab but only used it for special occasions.

So moving over to where the Bruce's were she smiled beer in hand and asked "how did you Bruces get away from the fire?"

A prelude to swapping of stories at the very least.

Oh, um, oh yeah," the Bruces stirred apparently somewhat out of it before actually managing to reply to Sakura...

It's Sak, right, yeah? Well when the fire alarm went off we went 'What the bloody hell was that.' The smoke from the fire made us but but no way were we leaving the pub without taking some beer with us."

"That's right burning beer is out-right tragedy it is..." while the Bruce spoke one of them collapsed on the table. "...Oh, don't worry about him, he's just had a big day... where was I ... oh, yes. So you know we went down and helped out lugging by barrels of the stuff around. It was hard bloody work, I have no idea how the small gnomes did it but eventually we did... however we were so determined we forgot about the smoke. If it's wasn;t for sheila coming back to look for us we would of been singing in heaven's choir that's for sure."

Lewis came back to the bar, he needed a drink something feirce, and he needed away from all of those burocrats asking him to fill out forms, and rally alleigences. His burns had been cured with some obscure hybrid of an aloe vera plant. While looking worse for the wear, he seemed to fit in in the new decour of the new pub. He found his way to the drink station and asked, "can I get a bottle of Everclear please?" After paying for his bottle, he found a seat next to a hippie and a gentleman who looked as though he crawled out of hell ,saying as he sat," name's Lew," and asking, " what can I call you gents, and what happened?" he proffered the bottle to both of the former UN delagates unsure if he was welcome, then simply not caring, they'd let him know if he wasn't welcome and he'd leave, that would be that.

Coughing, from the wreckage of the old bar arose Sir Bodsworth Rugglesby IV. He tried to dust the ask and soot of his clothing, thankful that the initial attack and dropped the floor out from under him, saving him from the alcohol fire that erupted seconds later; he stopped to pull off a particular large and stubborn peice of ash.

With a cry he read the scrap, from his book: "In case of interdimensional attack..." Sobbing, Sir Bodsworth realized he was standing knee deep in the ashes of his entire library of books that he'd moved into the bar with him.

At about that time, the front door swung open, revealing Tom Marvolo in meticulusly clean clothes.

"I'm soooo glad I was taking a tour of the compound...that fountain kept me clean and the fire dried me off!" he shouted triumphantly, before gaping at the ruined bar.

"I hate to be a killjoy, everyone..." he tried to shout over the surprisingly active warzone, "But did anyone consider that this building is generally reported to use interdimensional (and intradimensional) effects to contain this entire building, despite it's unsustainable size? Wouldn't a masive, extradimensional attack and the subsequent fires, time travel, and dimensional hole-ripping unbalance all that carefully crafted work? And since the...WA gnomes all seem to be here and in the general assembly hall, nobodies reinforcing all those building floors..."

Marvolo prayed that somebody who could fix and/or understand the exact intracacies was listening.

"Eh, how bad could it be?" she asked herself as she steeled herself and walked inside.

"It can get very bad!" a nondescript Secretariat member (his nondescription foiled, unfortunately, by the blazing Tetragrammaton Sign of מאכס upon his brow, and also by the fact that he was eight feet tall and radiant with otherworldly light) replied cheerfully, raising a glass of some arterial red liquid in greeting. "And it will always get worse before it gets better! But be of good cheer; His justice is sure, and though the road to the World To Come is long, His purposes cannot be put aside by so small a thing as massive interdimensional attack by lawyers. Confusion to our enemies!"

"I hate to be a killjoy, everyone..." he tried to shout over the surprisingly active warzone, "But did anyone consider that this building is generally reported to use interdimensional (and intradimensional) effects to contain this entire building, despite it's unsustainable size? Wouldn't a masive, extradimensional attack and the subsequent fires, time travel, and dimensional hole-ripping unbalance all that carefully crafted work? And since the...WA gnomes all seem to be here and in the general assembly hall, nobodies reinforcing all those building floors..."

Marvolo prayed that somebody who could fix and/or understand the exact intracacies was listening.

"A killjoy, eh? Do you not know that We of the Secretariaphim are the very reapers of Hope, the assassins of Joy, the swift hand of the Tetragrammaton Lord? When Joy is killed, you will know it - for surely it is a splendid thing to look upon the lamentations of the vanquished! But whilst this inhabitance, as you say, lies simultaneously in all realms, touching all lands and bound to none (it is thus an interdimensional locus, a weak point, which is precisely why it is here that this attack has fallen!) you are incorrect to say that the building's size was unsustainable; why, simply ask the Maintenance staff, or any Delegacy shoehorned into the air vents, if the building was infinite in volume - you will receive an answer in the negative.

"No, this is all entirely mundane reinforcing." The Secreteriaph looks up to the charred husk of the Gobbanium delegation's former office and adds "Well, most of it. No, you've only perfectly normal structural collapse to fear (and not in a hurry to meet your Maker, are you?) - you should be fine so long as you don't overload the floor. Well, what's left of the floor. Or try dancing. Actually, making any sudden movements is right out. Pull up a stool and have a drink or twelve! So long as you're in one place you'll be fine. Ish."

Sakura smiled noting the Bruce's bravery so there would still be alcohol to drink.

She drank more of her pint and replied "ours wasn't so dramatic. We just beamed out and it was after Sheila's tour of our starship. It looks like we'll need to donate something to the bar recovery fund at this rate so we can make this a good watering hole again.

By the way my ladies will be ready for the match as planned. Captain Sato has picked a twenty woman panel and the crew is looking forward to it. We've selected yellow as the team colours."

*snip*

Kyle walked over to Courror's vicinity. "If you need to kill yourself, there's still some fire left," he joked as he procured another drink and sat down. He was ordering office space for his delegation in the Commonwealth. Didn't really NEED an office on site, what with the portals and all, did he? That'll show Wolfgang, the old beast.

"While you're at it, why don't you find out if others would like to rent offices on the cheap?" Wolfgang transmitted with a chuckle, having deduced what the pup was doing.

Damn him! Can't I win once? He turned to the man. "Say... need an office?"

"Excuse me, excuse me, thank you..." Pierre-Jean Delormebleu (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/pierre_jean_delormebleu.html), apparent diplomat, random hanger-about and Official Marzipan Distributor (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13123460&postcount=175) of the now-defunct United Nations, pushed his way through a largely imaginary crowd as he made his way to the bar. "I think it's important," he said, gazing at Neville intently before looking around at the assorted diplomats in the WASB. "Very important! The image of this organisation is at stake."

For a few moments, he responded to the blank stares with a blank stare of his own, until he obviously realised nobody knew what he was talking about.

"Our image!" He waved sheets of paper about dramatically, then sat down, and spread them over the bar top. "The new building of this dignified assembly. I think we should start afresh, burn down the ashes of the old. I have several interesting designs..."

Not seeming to care whether anyone was actually paying attention, he went on:
"Of course, there's this. A little too classical, though. Lacking in boldness, in vision..."

http://img502.imageshack.us/img502/6976/wa1kz4.jpg

"Or this, much better. A perfect harmony of style and functionality combined."

http://img502.imageshack.us/img502/6493/wa3yz6.jpg

"And my absolute favourite, with subtle pastel colours. The design encapsulates the solidity of our organisation through a sound, rectangular base, along with a hint at our rising achievements, ever higher and higher, with the tower."

http://img227.imageshack.us/img227/5391/wa2smallxx3.jpg

He looked up from his notes and images, beaming.

"Superb, is it not? I do think our friend Taf Drater Dratsab (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/taf_drater_dratsab.html) would have been proud."

Sir Cyril woke up in his office chair, back in his immaculately cut morning suit, his hair back to it's normal, short length, and he was seven years younger. The UN building was upright, and so was he. He felt the desk in front of him, and looked at the pictures in his sideboard.

'So, it was all a dream', he thought to himself. His secretary entered,

"Is there anything I can do for you, Your Excellency"

"Yes, can you bring me a large scotch, I just had the weirdest dream. I dreamt that the UN building had collapsed, and I was a hippy"

"Oh, yes sir, that all happened. This is the dream"

"What? Oh sh..."

He woke up again, this time in a chair by a burger van in front of a pile of rubble. He was, once again, a hippy.

"Bugger"

William Smithers walked into the bar and quickly claimed an empty area. He was followed soon after by the rest of the Board of Directors of the former UN Building Management, who came carrying a couple of card tables and some folding chairs. "OK, I hereby call this meeting of the UN Building, oops, I mean the World Assembly Building Management Board of Directors to order. We'll start by reading the records of the last meeting."

"We can't," replied the board's secretary, "they were destroyed in the fire."

"OK then, moving on. Mr. Scott, what's the status of the building?"

It's a total loss," Ken Scott, the VP of the Building Maintence department replied. "87% of the building's structural support beams were either weakened or destroyed by the fire. In fact, I'm surprised the wreckage is still standing."

"Are you saying we need to condemn the building?"

"Definatly."

"OK then, condemn the building, take it down,and we'll rebuild on the same site." Smithers turned towards the Human Resources Director, "How are we doing on personnel?"

"Only about 42% of our employees made it out of the building alive most of them in the Maintence of Order Department, as a result, we're going to lift the hiring freeze temporarily."

"OK, we'd better wrap this up, Neville's giving us the eye because we're doing business in the Bar. Let's try to get everything back up and running as quickly as possible. Meeting adjourned."

Tom, upon being reassured that the building was possibly safe from interdimensional...whatever...made his way to the bar.

"Large whiskey, please! I think this is the best time to forget about my refined imag," he remarked to whoever happened to be beside him as he dug through his pockets, finally removing a deck of cards, still soggy from his stay in the fountain. Wiping off the bar in front of him, he laid out a hand of solitaire. He had already decided that it was best to let Sir Bodsworth alone until he had recovered.

Shandreð shook his head at each of the Ariddian's pictures. "No, no, monsieur. We need something grandiose, inspiring, new. Glorious."

http://i11.photobucket.com/albums/a188/kuroutesshin/petronas.jpg

"This! This one! A perfect design, duality, function and form. With basements extending into the earth to keep our gnomish "friends" happy, high spires to tie the Flibblites airships to, and an excellent number of ladies' lavatories for the Cobdenians to use as office space! Yœthe Gørr's statue can sit right in the center of a reflecting pool between the two towers!"

Cleary heady with drink, he is now on top of a table and shouting.

"The new World Assembly! Shining like a beacon! A fresh start! A shrine to Max Barry, may He Be Praised! Insanity and diversity, all welcome in the new world body!"

He falls off the table.

"Hmph." The Secretariaph casts a caustic eye (glowing and crackling with eldritch fire) over the Arridian proposals. "We shall burn the Bilbao Guggenheim to the ground before we see it inspire the NSWAHQ building ... and besides, do you really want delegates' offices visible from the street? Everyone knows far too much of what goes on in them already, and the truth is too vast and horrible for your puny mortal mind to imagine ... the second resembles nothing more than a precarious stack of shipping containers ... and the third is a design only a Kennyite could love, if a Kennyite could know love.

"But as for you -" the Secretariaph turns to cast his fiery gaze upon Shandreð - "Take not His name in vain, puny mortal, lest We smite thee! Though verily, your piety does you credit - and We like your proposal, with its connecting skybridge so very perfect for despairing delegates to plunge to their doom! Yes! Room for all, and a great water between to accept the fallen!

"There is but one problem; you shall need a lot of bake sales to fund such a structure. Based on current Gnomish reconstruction funding reports, you'll be more lucky to get this;"
http://www.thecopydude.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/02/domsovj.jpg
"Or this if you're lucky, and hallow the name of the Tetragrammaton Lord in reverence and fear;"
http://www.nyc-architecture.com/SCC/moscow-hotel.jpg*
"So if you want your fancy, shiny towers, you'd best be prepared to pay for them!"

* Presumably it's Eurusean Cultural Appreciation Day in this mockup, thus explaining the giant Cyrillic letters on top.

"The towers one is good...but could it have a park...filled with trees...and nuts?" *sits back dreamily imagining the new building with it's park* "And maybe the bar could be outside! I could sit in a tree and sip my acorn juice" *slips back into daydream*

* Presumably it's Eurusean Cultural Appreciation Day in this mockup, thus explaining the giant Cyrillic letters on top.

OoC: It's the brand name of a Russian beer called Baltika. It's quite nice, if you like aluminium.

Fiore had overheard the delegates talking about the structures for a new building, and was intrigued so she walked over to them


"Well I have a few suggestions. For my first proposal, I say we make a building out of shipping containers, it would permanently solve the office shortage issue and they can be removed quickly if need be."

http://www.floornature.com/worldaround/img_news/nws209_1_popup.jpg

"For my second and favorite proposal, I like the tower idea. This would be a spire giving inspiration to the world, it would be a grandiose building capped by a statue of Madam Secretary Gratwick surrounded by a observation deck/pool with ample airship parking. Now I give you my design."

http://www.archinect.com/images/uploads/palace_soviets_01.jpg


here (http://neatorama.cachefly.net/images/2007-06/palace-of-the-soviets.jpg) is another view


"Of course, we will need to start baking immediately..."

Sir Bodsworth Rugglesby IV shook himself to regain his composure.

"Damn it, Bodsworth, you're better than this! You didn't bring your first editions, so you didn't lose more than a few hundred urgles that could quite easily be recovered by your insurance policy..."

Realizing the bar was functioning again he wandered over to see the building proposals.

"I say," he remarked to the gathered delegates, "But since we have the chance to redo the building, let's at least do it right! Why, with the space mutating and mystical abilities available to this agust body...or soon to be body at any rate...we should be able to design a building of true epic features! I think I once read of a building which was capable of rearrange its internal and external forms...we could have all these fine proposals in one building! Not to mention, you don't want an office next to Snefaldia or the Kennyites? Then move it around! Why, we could even have a fundraising drive that allows the biggest contributing staff to have the office closest to the bar!"

Sir Bodsworth's eyes glazed slightly at the thought of stealing the slot closest to the WA library or archives, or hall of records, or whatever they called it here.

Scelestus stood up momentarily. "I've put a new subject up for discussion in the World Assembly. I would highly appreciate you all helping me with my new proposal. I plan to put it back up later."

Sir Bodsworth Rugglesby IV shook himself to regain his composure.

"Damn it, Bodsworth, you're better than this! You didn't bring your first editions, so you didn't lose more than a few hundred urgles that could quite easily be recovered by your insurance policy..."

Realizing the bar was functioning again he wandered over to see the building proposals.

"I say," he remarked to the gathered delegates, "But since we have the chance to redo the building, let's at least do it right! Why, with the space mutating and mystical abilities available to this agust body...or soon to be body at any rate...we should be able to design a building of true epic features! I think I once read of a building which was capable of rearrange its internal and external forms...we could have all these fine proposals in one building! Not to mention, you don't want an office next to Snefaldia or the Kennyites? Then move it around! Why, we could even have a fundraising drive that allows the biggest contributing staff to have the office closest to the bar!"

Sir Bodsworth's eyes glazed slightly at the thought of stealing the slot closest to the WA library or archives, or hall of records, or whatever they called it here.
Smiling, Scel spoke once again. "I'd just be happy to have an office in the area. It's quite a trip between Vrall and the WA every day, " he said with a laugh

"So whats the idea you have in mind?" Hoshiko replied sipping her beer.

She was the ambassadors aide but she sometimes had good ideas of her own.

"I know all about having an office close by. Its only a short commute by transporter beam for our team every day" she added.

"So whats the idea you have in mind?" Hoshiko replied sipping her beer.

She was the ambassadors aide but she sometimes had good ideas of her own.

"I know all about having an office close by. Its only a short commute by transporter beam for our team every day" she added.
Scel looked almost saddened. "I want a transporter beam... but no... The best I got is my reality gates, and even then, no one's supposed to know about those..."

"The former idea would certainly cut down on the number of cakes you'd need. As for the latter ... have you seen Secretary-General Gratwick's face recently? Not something you forget in a hurry, oh no. The old UNHQ's glaziers' bill was high enough with all the defenestrations without shattering every window which catches that frown, and wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command in a passing reflection!*

"And your proposal, Sir Rugglesby, would require a cake baked out of pure unobtanium, of such deliciousness it would be fit for the Tetragrammaton Lord Himself. And if you do manage to make such a thing, We shall be forced to confiscate it for the Secretariaphim - purely in the name of interdimensional security, you understand. Mortals may not taste the ambrosia of the Most High."

* Get out of banning free card** for anyone who gets the reference.
** Card not valid in all jurisdictions, including yours.

***ARDCHOILLEDIT: Ooh, ooh, if I win, do I get a "ban somebody purely on a whim free" card?
† No. You win an anteater. Greater Boblandia (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13578266&postcount=132) has already won the card, perhaps by accident.

"Technically nobody in a MT nation is supposed to know we have transporter technology either but its not something you can easily hide or could hide in here. You can't exactly hide a pioneer class starship in orbit either" Hoshiko replied sighing slightly.

They could run cloaked but that would lead to the exposure of even more technology a MT shouldn't be able to get their hands on. The Neo Kirisuban's had to be careful not to advance the technology level of nations accidently or by design.

It was the most important standing order each crew member knew about.

"With all due respect to the Most High," Sir Bodsworth replied, somewhat indignantly, "I'm sure Neville could attest that the bar tab run up by several thousands of ambassadors and their staffs, in addition to employees and contractors, added up to quite a pretty penny. Frankly, he could quite probably bankrupt most nations by requiring their tabs paid in full. We don't need to bake a cake...we need hops!!! (or to use bar tab payoffs as funding)"

"Technically nobody in a MT nation is supposed to know we have transporter technology either but its not something you can easily hide or could hide in here. You can't exactly hide a pioneer class starship in orbit either" Hoshiko replied sighing slightly.

They could run cloaked but that would lead to the exposure of even more technology a MT shouldn't be able to get their hands on. The Neo Kirisuban's had to be careful not to advance the technology level of nations accidently or by design.

It was the most important standing order each crew member knew about.
Scel smiled wryly. What Hoshiko didn't know was that he was not only foreign to the WA, but foreign to his very nation. He had come from another land, a city coincidentally named Vrall as well. His arrival in Vrall was all chance, as was his election into what went on to become a very tightly controlled nation. Scel was a paranoid man, and for good reason- he didn't flee his true home for fun, after all...

"Hmmm." The Secretariaph looks intrigued. "What say you, noble BarLord? Shall we cause an international economic recession, destroying governments, driving workers to poverty and stockbrokers to suicide, to fund the World Assembly?" He grins, cheerily. "I don't know about you, but We are in favour."

An annoying looking (more so than usual) Guardian with a green sport-coat began walking about the room. "Office space for rent! Temporary or permanent in the CWG by portal! Always low rates with Commonwealth Land Control!"

Wolfgang opened a portal beneath the man's feet, causing him to fall back into the Commonwealth.

"I know we're dog-related, but... barkers?"

Hoshiko gave Scel a little smile back and replied "at least you can commute. Homes 30 light years away for me and the WA team.

The closest we'll get to going home is heading back to our starship after a day in the general assembly."

She sipped her beer knowing the bar would rise from the ashes again. There was enough people here that wanted it to happen.

Hoshiko gave Scel a little smile back and replied "at least you can commute. Homes 30 light years away for me and the WA team.

The closest we'll get to going home is heading back to our starship after a day in the general assembly."

She sipped her beer knowing the bar would rise from the ashes again. There was enough people here that wanted it to happen.

Scelestus nodded in mild sadness. Though he now had a home in a nation under his rule, he still had to contend with the fact that he'd abandoned his true home (Drendia) in an entirely different dimension. He got lost among realities long ago, and to try and return now would take the remainder of his life.

For a short time, Scel contemplated trying to open a gateway to his friend's home world- give her a few hours to see her family, whatever family there was on the other side. " Hoshiko san (did I get that right?), I could hypothetically give you a way home. It would last a sadly short time, but still, it would give you a chance to see your home..." he whispered softly, barely getting his words heard in the room.

Lew walked through the wreakage, now quite drunk (the bottle was long ago drank), and ran into Scott Coleman, "hey Scott, you sonofabitch, we need to get a bottle and sit, I gotta get some stuff of me chest."

"Lewis, you're drunk, I'm taking you back home."
"Home, we have to get to the front, not home, shall we?"
"Lew, the war is long over, we won."
After a breif arguement, that caused several delagates to turn in shock, Scott eventually wreasltd Lew to an area away from the others and with a slight pop, they were gone.

http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2266/2384350592_b796b9f9b9.jpg

Ambassador Christopher Windcharmer of Havensky was happy.

He had longed pestered the Senate to allocate enough funds to have a full-time office at the United Nations. It wasn't enough, said he, to simply show up - cast the vote - and move on.

Yes, his region did have a very active and talented Secretary of the UN Affairs. Yes, to this point Havensky's top priorities were not relations at the United Nations.

But, finally, he had pestered enough senators to get him enough funding for an office. Sort of...

To save cost, his office would be mobile. They were giving him the mid-size yacht Advocate of the Republic to travel to the UN and to work from.

At first, he'd been furious. He has wanted an OFFICE not an RV. However, the yacht was really nice. Leather seats, a king-size bed, a large flat-screen tv that could double as his computer monitor. He could get used to this.

They were getting close to the UN now, and his pilot was parking the airship at a nearby landing strip. Soon, Christopher was walking outside towards the locations of the grand United Nations building.

He looked up......and saw nothing.

Bewildered, he checked his communicator to make sure he had the right address. Yes, this was the place but there was nothing but.....ashes.

Extra! Extra! Read all about it! United Nations collapses in a smoldering heap!

WHAT?!, thought Christopher. He quickly ran up to the paperboy and grabbed a paper. He read the paper quickly, although he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

He looked up from his paper, and spotted a group of professional looking people walking what appeared to be a burnt out bar.

"Might as well get a drink"

Sakura smiled noting the Bruce's bravery so there would still be alcohol to drink.

She drank more of her pint and replied "ours wasn't so dramatic. We just beamed out and it was after Sheila's tour of our starship. It looks like we'll need to donate something to the bar recovery fund at this rate so we can make this a good watering hole again.

By the way my ladies will be ready for the match as planned. Captain Sato has picked a twenty woman panel and the crew is looking forward to it. We've selected yellow as the team colours."

"It's a pub... It's every Bruces duty to help in anyway possible, should there be something like that happen. They're the life blood of our society, where friends go to have a bite of Lunch, where families go out for tea, where bachelors that can't cook to save their own lives basically live. They provide accomodation for travelling Bruces and Sheilas with their families. Business is done over a beer... Without pubs everything would collapse overnight. It'd be horrible."

"Oh, yeah, yellow sounds nice." They didn't seemed to be that interested in the colour of anything. It was perhaps an automatic response like "Yes, dear" "That's nice dear". Meanwhile Things back in the Free lands were getting started for this match.

OOC: I'm just about to post the thread in a moment... And it was Union wasn't it?

"Hmmm." The Secretariaph looks intrigued. "What say you, noble BarLord? Shall we cause an international economic recession, destroying governments, driving workers to poverty and stockbrokers to suicide, to fund the World Assembly?" He grins, cheerily. "I don't know about you, but We are in favour."

"Well, ah, your Seraphicnessissity, I wouldn't want to put the WA's accountants to all the trouble of a full audit of the Bar's accounts," said Neville, his mouth suddenly dry.

Violet, catching his eye, flicked a cigarette lighter on and off, on and off ... really most annoying, when he was trying to conentr-- oh! Of course!

"I mean, now they've all been destroyed in the fire, it wouldn't be fair to call in just the ones I remember, would it?" he babbled happily. "No, I think we'll be appropriately rewarded if we just trust to the well-known honesty and generosity of the Bar's patrons. No need to go over the bills. I mean, that's all history now, isn't it? Not the least nead to go into that. All water under the--"

"Here's your tea, pet," said Violet, "Drink it all up, now!" she urged, pressing it upon her boss before he spilled anything. Anything else.

Christopher Windcharmer was always listening, for better or worse.

So upon hearing the discussion of bar-tabs bankrupting nations, he instantly started looking for a price sheet. Surely the drinks here couldn't be THAT expensive?!

(Windcharmer makes a note to himself to request for funding from the Senate next year, just in case)

Two blazing eyes, vaster than worlds, more terrible than the heat of a thousand suns, burn afterimages into Neville's retinas. On the Secretariaph's brow the Tetragrammaton Sign of מאכס flares with the light of the Highest Authority.

"'Appropriately rewarded'? ... Yes, I rather think you shall. Very well. In which case you had best get baking, for a large skyscraper is worth more than many cakes. Ladies and gentlemen - I bid you adieu."

The Secretariaph stands, bows to the assembled shell-shocked disaster sufferers, and disappears. The fabric of reality reknits itself behind him, leaving the bar-goers with, perhaps, the faintest echo of a laugh;

"Appropriately rewarded? Oh my yes."

Scelestus nodded in mild sadness. Though he now had a home in a nation under his rule, he still had to contend with the fact that he'd abandoned his true home (Drendia) in an entirely different dimension. He got lost among realities long ago, and to try and return now would take the remainder of his life.

For a short time, Scel contemplated trying to open a gateway to his friend's home world- give her a few hours to see her family, whatever family there was on the other side. " Hoshiko san (did I get that right?), I could hypothetically give you a way home. It would last a sadly short time, but still, it would give you a chance to see your home..." he whispered softly, barely getting his words heard in the room.

ooc: Hoshiko is her first name but its close enough :)
ooc2: its rugby union Sheila's and Bruce's

"I'll get back anyway at least once a year but getting to see Kirisubo Primus again would be nice" she whispered back in reply grateful for the chance.

##

Sakura could now see the place the pub had in S & H culture and why they had stayed to save the beer.

She did a mental calculation and worked out what was left in last years budget before the expense accounts went home. Not that she had much in the way of expenses anyway.

She could donate to the bar quite easily as well as paying her very small bar tab.

"I'll be back Bruce" she added before slipping back to the bar to get another beer.

"Neville I'm sure this will cover our bar tab" she said handing him a bag of 100 space credits. The 'coins' were thin and square and she added "would you be open to the idea of donations to the bar reconstruction fund?"

The delegate from Greater Boblandia dashed through what might conceivably be called a threshold just in time to see the Secretariaph depart. “Damn,” he spat as he crouched on a concrete chunk that didn't appear to have too much rebar sticking out. The foreign ministry had instructed him here to collect a coupon that the nation had inadvertently won. (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13578088&postcount=65) He was supposed to wave it around ineffectively should the nation ever be banned from the World Assembly.

With the Greater Boblandian UN offices in approximately one trillion little bits of dust by now –thank God for offsite backups- there was no reason to go back to work anytime soon. And it did appear that, in spite of all odds, the taps were still running.

A broad-shouldered man in a violently green suit wanders into the bar. He carefully steps around the small piles of rubble and stops in front of one of the UN Gnomes, who is weeping into his hot chocolate. The man kneels and does his best to console the poor little being. Then he stands, shakes his head once, and moves to the bar.

"I never thought I'd be glad to be that far down the waiting list for a UN office. Praise Greyface, I suppose, Eris help me. I'd like a single malt whiskey, please, and a shot glass of water. Thanks, barkeep."

The man dips his finger in the water and lets four drops fall around the whisky glass in a vague square. The fifth goes right into the glass, which he picks up and sips with a sigh.

"The name's Grimly Doubled Kipperbang, but you can call me Kipper. I suppose I'm the Minister of WA Stuff from Myopedia. The only problem with with being Discordian is that you never know if it's bumhole or breakfast time..."
--
With thanks to Barbara Trumpinski-Roberts, who helped me out last time I did this

Shandreð shook his head at each of the Ariddian's pictures. "No, no, monsieur. We need something grandiose, inspiring, new. Glorious."

http://i11.photobucket.com/albums/a188/kuroutesshin/petronas.jpg

"This! This one! A perfect design, duality, function and form. With basements extending into the earth to keep our gnomish "friends" happy, high spires to tie the Flibblites airships to, and an excellent number of ladies' lavatories for the Cobdenians to use as office space! Yœthe Gørr's statue can sit right in the center of a reflecting pool between the two towers!"

"Indeed, let us not forget space for the statue," Delormebleu said, nodding approvingly. "But is this design not, perhaps, a little... bland?"

Fiore had overheard the delegates talking about the structures for a new building, and was intrigued so she walked over to them

"Well I have a few suggestions. For my first proposal, I say we make a building out of shipping containers, it would permanently solve the office shortage issue and they can be removed quickly if need be."

http://www.floornature.com/worldaround/img_news/nws209_1_popup.jpg


"Innovative, distinctive,.... cheap, yet functional and colourful!" Delormebleu said enthusiastically. "Yes, this could do quite nicely. Although perhaps with a few more odd angles..."

"Of course," he added, "there is another design which I think would... encapsulate the functionality of the Un- the World Assembly. It would need to be expanded on, though. A few extra levels built on top..."

http://img391.imageshack.us/img391/9679/wa4smallnx6.jpg

Byron stood back a bit from the Delegates. It was a dismal sight before his eyes. The great dignitaries of the world assembly seemed to misconstrue the Strangers bar for the General assembly with their talk of the new premises. He sat down and gave it some thought. The Strangers bar was not usually for discussing ideas on WA but rather an escape from the day to day business of the assembly. Then it dawned on him. the reason was the very lack of a bar. The presence of a bar would divert the attention of the delegates from the construction of a new HQ and return the Strangers bar back into what it once was.

He busily Made some calls to Uramoco which had recently diverted its business interests into construction and made a few dictates to the board. A few hours passed and trucks and crew arrived. Men in hats held plans out and pointed while debating its content. then Digging equipment arrived and trucks containing steel panels and within hours a structure formed from the green field site adjacent to old UN building.

http://www.bookoftents.com/assets/images/t1-16p-1.jpg

Further trucks arrived with items from a full length mahogany bar to pool tables to a full on karaoke system equipped with the latest top 100 charts compiled from every WA member nation.
Bar pumping systems, A bistro section and furniture of all tastes shapes and sizes arrived and were piled into the various nooks and crannies of the temporary structure.

Finally a delivery van arrived, the word ACME emblazoned on its side, and a strange gizmo made its way from the van to the staff area behind the bar.

Byron approached Neville. "Old friend, you are a master of your trade, and no master should be with out a place to ply that trade. The strangers bar has been the oasis of calm and an escape from the affairs of the General assembly for many delegates. I hope you don't mind me supplying this temporary bar until more substantial accommodations befitting a grand master of your trade is supplied as part of the new WA HQ. All thats needed now is for you to populate the bar with every conceivable beverage and libation from across this world and the strangers bar has a new home. Albiet temporary."

It had been a near thing. Had the old nekomusume not been next to the bar when the fire broke out, she probably would not have had time to unhook the small wooden birdhouse-like structure from its mounting pole and dashed out the door with it. As it was, she narrowly escaped death from both smoke inhalation and the trampling crowds of Kawaiian refugee/pilgrims fleeing the burning bar in panic.

But miraculously, she had made it out, the last surviving Kawaiian Shrine in hand. The precious relic, now bereft of its home, sat forlornly in the midst of the crowd of refugees huddled outside the smoldering ruins of the former UN building.

"It looks so lonely there," the Nuncia mused to her grandmother as they stood guard over it. The drone of chanting pilgrims formed a mournful backdrop to their conversation.

"I've contacted your uncle, my dear," the old nekomusume said. "Told him of the fire, and asked him what the kittens want us to do with the Shrine now that its home is gone."

"What did the Prophet say? The Cute One alone knows if the Manifestation will return," the Nuncia said, worriedly.

"Don't fret yourself, dearie. According to the Prophet, just as our people are now homeless, so then is the Manifestation. The Shrine should be kept here for now, but it should be made mobile."

The young Kawaiin girl mused, and said finally, "A festival palanquin, then? I suppose we can build one for it."

The old nekomusume nodded. Before the day was out, work on the Palanquin began. Craftsmen were drafted from the refugee crowd, costly woods and metals were salvaged from the smoldering ruins of the former Strangers' Bar, and yet another run was made on the Church's bank accounts to finance the elaborate construction.

Work continued feverishly day and night, and by the third day the mobile home for the Shrine was completed. The beaten metal roof, the carved pillars, the wooden gate, and the statue of the Cute One surmounting the structure were all put in place. With great ceremony, the little wooden Shrine was fitted within its much larger housing now, before the whole item was lifted on poles and hoisted upward with cries of victory over catastrophe.

Those cries echoed through the rubble of the former UN building as the pilgrims carried the new, mobile Shrine to the new World Assembly Strangers' Bar. Staking out a place once more to set it down, they carefully placed the Palanquin in its new temorary home. Screens were set up around it, and for the time being at least, the Manifestation of the Eternal Kawaii found Itself, like Its people, once more in the company of strangers.

http://members.cox.net/troykpics/hkflags/hello-kitty-shrine-small.JPG

(artist's depiction of the Shrine of the Manifestation within its housing palanquin)

After Knut had brought her water, Carina sat there, staring blankly at the makeshift Stranger's Bar. They had been planning for a christening party for her twins but then... the UN just blew up. It as a good thing they survived, especially her children; if her still-unbaptized and still-unnamed twins died in the explosion, they wouldn't go to heaven.

It was hard looking for a Nord-Brutlandese Catholic priest to go to the United Nations, let alone plan for a party in the UN. It would be easier if they were in Brutland and Norden. That's when she got an idea. Why not bring the World Assembly to Brutland and Norden?

At that moment, Adam di Sadalucco went to her and gave her the satellite phone. It was a phone patch from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs back home. They had heard about what happened and were concerned. She allayed their fears - nobody was hurt, but she opened her proposal. The reply was quick, decisive, and surprising...

After the call, Carina stood up from sitting on a box and joined the delegates from Ariddia, Snefaldia, Cookesland, Tsaraine, and Venerable libertarians in discussing plans for the new World Assembly Headquarters. She looked at the building designs they were proposing... some were nice, some were, er, unique. "Hello, delegates," she began as she adjusted her baby daughter's position in order prevent the baby from tugging on her nipple too much. "I see we've got an interest in building a new headquarters for the World Assembly. It's nice to see many suggestions, and I'd like to pitch in ours." Her baby boy stopped sucking milk from her right breast but she kept him on the nipple. "We are offering a nice semitropical island for the location of the headquarters. As far as I know it is big enough for all of us and it is currently uninhabited. What do my fellow delegates think?"

George stepped through the bar doors. He let the door close behind him and he looked up. "It smells like the UN did," he thought to himself as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

He'd always wondered what that smell was, now he understood that it was alcohol. Cheap alcohol. He looked around and smiled. The last time he was in here, things were slightly less, cordial.

He took a seat at a table next to a jukebox. The strange thing was colored like a jukebox on the outside, but for some reason had no interactive displays, or even buttons. He eyed it suspiciously before saying "I think we need something appropriate for the circumstances, I'm thinking 'Original Fire'?" The Jukebox lit up and began to play.

"They're talking about architecture," He said incredulously to the waitress as she came to take his drink order, "The original fire inside has died, but the riot inside moves on. Pepsi, please."

After the call, Carina stood up from sitting on a box and joined the delegates from Ariddia, Snefaldia, Cookesland, Tsaraine, and Venerable libertarians in discussing plans for the new World Assembly Headquarters. She looked at the building designs they were proposing... some were nice, some were, er, unique. "Hello, delegates," she began as she adjusted her baby daughter's position in order prevent the baby from tugging on her nipple too much. "I see we've got an interest in building a new headquarters for the World Assembly. It's nice to see many suggestions, and I'd like to pitch in ours." Her baby boy stopped sucking milk from her right breast but she kept him on the nipple. "We are offering a nice semitropical island for the location of the headquarters. As far as I know it is big enough for all of us and it is currently uninhabited. What do my fellow delegates think?"
Alfred Sweynsson joined the conversation.
"St Edmundan law makes anybody who wants to gain full citizenship perform several years of 'national service' in the armed forces, or a suitable equivalent, and as we haven't actually fought any wars lately -- and none of our neighbours pose any serious threat to our security -- quite a high proportion of those people actually end up in the Kinglish Engineers on jobs such as building public infrastructure. If you can provide a suitable site then I'm sure that we'd be able to provide the necesary workforce. Oh, and one of the Godwinnian Commonwealth's other members is Bali Lo (http://www.nationstates.net/bali_lo), which as you know is located quite close to Brutland and Norden, so getting our people to the island that you're offering would be easy enough..."


It had been a near thing. Had the old nekomusume not been next to the bar when the fire broke out, she probably would not have had time to unhook the small wooden birdhouse-like structure from its mounting pole and dashed out the door with it.

OOC: So if that is there, what is the small wooden structure that one of the Wabbits pointed out (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13574108&postcount=21) was hovering in mid-air where the Bar used to be?
Ideas, anybody?

Alfred Sweynsson joined the conversation.
"St Edmundan law makes anybody who wants to gain full citizenship perform several years of 'national service' in the armed forces, or a suitable equivalent, and as we haven't actually fought any wars lately -- and none of our neighbours pose any serious threat to our security -- quite a high proportion of those people actually end up in the Kinglish Engineers on jobs such as building public infrastructure. If you can provide a suitable site then I'm sure that we'd be able to provide the necesary workforce. Oh, and one of the Godwinnian Commonwealth's other members is Bali Lo (http://www.nationstates.net/bali_lo), which as you know is located quite close to Brutland and Norden, so getting our people to the island that you're offering would be easy enough..."
"Yes," she muttered, vaguely familiar with the country. She's quite sure Captain Lambourne over at the South Pacific Forum (http://z1.invisionfree.com/forums/theSPacific/index.php?act=idx) would know the country better. With difficulty, she retrieved a map of Brutland and Norden (http://img519.imageshack.us/img519/984/brutlandandnordenroadmaqb1.gif) from her pocket and showed it to them. "We are offering two islands: the first is Esolo di Cavallo, or Horse Island. It is quite near our capital, Kingsville, and the international airport in Tonzivibbia. I know there is a vortex for interdimensional travel near there... if you don't mind being plopped by the portal into the Blue Sea."
http://img337.imageshack.us/img337/410/cavalloislandti6.png

Carina then showed them another area in the map. "Also in the middle of the Blue Sea are the uninhabited Esolu d'Astri or Star Islands... We can build your buildings and airport and interdimenstional portals in one or two of those islands."
http://img85.imageshack.us/img85/6183/starislandsdq5.png

"If you also like, I think I can get some pictures of the area..."

[OOC: Sorry, nations weren't able to host the UNHQ in their own borders (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=454833), and I doubt the WA will be any different. It also appears that this continuing discussion on the HQ is better suited for a separate RP thread.]

Here's my nomination for a new WA site:

http://img529.imageshack.us/img529/3770/1773818861767c9e4f36mcg6.jpg

[OOC: Sorry, nations weren't able to host the UNHQ in their own borders (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=454833), and I doubt the WA will be any different.

OOC: Oh. So what about specific regions hosting it? There's certainly enough room left on the South Pacific's map to allocate a reasonable-sized island as a "Sovereign WA Territory", and that was the very first region in NS...

"Do I have to get my own Acorn Juice?" Scraweny walked around, looking for a surviving bottle fo Acorn Juice. Not finding any he sat at a random table. Wonder why the staff isn't back yet.

Fris' specific ruling says no (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=9957382&postcount=14), I'm afraid. The WAHQ is quite separate from any existing region - it inhabits, like Faerie, that space east of the sun and west of the moon, on the other side of the sky, in the region of Nevernever, during the dreamtime. That all your nations are each able to access this pocket universe without difficulty is simply a miracle of Gnomotechnology, like the fleet of helicopters that moves your nation about when you switch regions.

Fris' specific ruling says no (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=9957382&postcount=14).

A careful re-reading of that thread reveals that any mention of fire-proofing was omitted. From what I heard, the place burned down.

Perhaps a new location mythos isn't a bad idea (but I would avoid specifying that it is in a particular region).

Here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13583955&postcount=3) is a guideline or two on location and architecture discussion. Have fun!

"The twin tower design on a repulsorlift platform with a park in the middle over the equator of the planet. For latitude of this platform, it should be farthest away from land as possible." Scrawney finished his speech and went back to musing where he could get some quality acorn juice...without getting up of course.

(this good?)

Prince Rhodri wandered over to the architectural conversation, nursing his pint and wishing fondly for the days when Neville had several more than decent porters on tap, rather than just the Oh My God We've Run Out Of Everything bitter. Perhaps he could persuade a few of Gobbannium's breweries to source for the BarLord in his time of trouble, as a humanitarian gesture...

He saw some of the proposals and winced. "Sorry," he said as a few of the more artistically inclined people glared at him. "We're afraid our experiences at Rhagfyr College have given us something of a prejudice against glass frontages. The student accommodations we were put in had glass walls on the sides facing into the courtyards. We frequently saw rather a lot more than we wanted of our fellow students.

"We also didn't enjoy using the college's terribly pretty glass-fronted library. In the summer, we boiled; in the winter, we froze; when it rained, we got wet. Not the happiest of memories, we're afraid."

ooc: Hoshiko is her first name but its close enough :)
ooc2: its rugby union Sheila's and Bruce's

"I'll get back anyway at least once a year but getting to see Kirisubo Primus again would be nice" she whispered back in reply grateful for the chance.

##

Sakura could now see the place the pub had in S & H culture and why they had stayed to save the beer.

She did a mental calculation and worked out what was left in last years budget before the expense accounts went home. Not that she had much in the way of expenses anyway.

She could donate to the bar quite easily as well as paying her very small bar tab.

"I'll be back Bruce" she added before slipping back to the bar to get another beer.

"Neville I'm sure this will cover our bar tab" she said handing him a bag of 100 space credits. The 'coins' were thin and square and she added "would you be open to the idea of donations to the bar reconstruction fund?"
Scelestus slowly smiled, though the smile was still a sad one. He got up, and with a carefully executed gesture, opened a wide gateway across time and space, across reality... a reality gate...... "Ready when you are... Just be sure to be back within 3 hours- that's when the portal seals itself. From there on out, I'm unable to do anything to help," said Scel nervously. He hoped that the gateway wouldn't do any harm. He couldn't think of a single time anyone had crossed through his gates before... The thought left him almost numb...

L.O (Hello)

I am wondering if there was a language that uses just letters to say words, like F meaning Have and 9 meaning Nein?

One Duff Beer please.

"I'm ready. Do I just walk into it?" Hoshiko asked wanting to make sure. Three hours would be enough and she'd make sure to remember where the gate left her at.

L.O (Hello)

I am wondering if there was a language that uses just letters to say words, like F meaning Have and 9 meaning Nein?

One Duff Beer please.

"Haha, if there is then you'd need a bloody lot of letters" one of the Bruces commented, before the 3 man party engaged in laughter. "Here, put that on our tab. Come and have a beer with us... though surely you can find better than Duff."

OOC: So if that is there, what is the small wooden structure that one of the Wabbits pointed out (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13574108&postcount=21) was hovering in mid-air where the Bar used to be?
Ideas, anybody?

OOC: Good question. A vision sent by the Manifestation? The Kawaiians already think the Invisible Wabbits are an aspect of It, after all.

"Haha, if there is then you'd need a bloody lot of letters" one of the Bruces commented, before the 3 man party engaged in laughter. "Here, put that on our tab. Come and have a beer with us... though surely you can find better than Duff."

How about some warm sake? *takes a seat*

And I'll get one for my friend Kawaii too.

Fiore pondered the idea for a minute and then said to her fellow delegates:

"I kind of like the idea of moving the WA headquarters to a non-specific tropical island. Plus if the Defenestratinator V.2 is used again as i'm sure it will they'll be landing in the nice soft ocean rather than someone's apartment in another part of (former) UN City."

"The only downside I can foresee is that we would have to worry about is space, so maybe the towers idea isn't so bad after all."

"I'm ready. Do I just walk into it?" Hoshiko asked wanting to make sure. Three hours would be enough and she'd make sure to remember where the gate left her at.
"yes," whispered Scel, looking through at the world beyond.

Hoshiko nodded and stepped through the portal finding herself back in Neo Edo again.

The clock was ticking and she went of to find her family and to pay them an unexpected and brief visit.

Excited by the idea of the tropical island, Sir Bodsworth chipped in again.

"Perhaps an entire archipelago would be best...with a large central island for the regular WA building. Then, if we got fed up with each other, we'd have smaller islands to visit, temporarily. Perhaps even move the bar to one of them..."

Sir Bodsworth was distracted by thoughts of beach-front margaritas or relaxing with a pint in the comfy chairs inside.

Scelestus turned from the gateway and laughed a moment, jumping into this side conversation. "I kind of like that idea, except personally I'd have a mage or similar being set up an alternate reality self containing the WA, and have each member set up their own little domain near the WA building. Nothing large, but like, a floating realm here and a gothic terrace there. MAybe a big pretty island full of parrots. I dunno.."

"What no-one likes my idea?":( Scrawney goes and sits in a corner by himself, stealing the newest guy's beer along the way.

Scel watched the clock closely. It had only been a few minutes, and already the portal was slightly smaller and dimmer. It would last a little longer than 3 hours, but by then it;d be too small to use. It'd be beyond purpose... he looked back to Scrawney, who was scuttling by with the new guy's beer. Scel plucked it from the small friend's hands, slinging it back to its true owner with a graceful arc.

"Why you got to be so mean???" *goes to find his own beer* *returns and sits on Scel's head.

"theft is mean, thank you!" he replied, scratching Scrawney's chin.

OOC: Good question. A vision sent by the Manifestation? The Kawaiians already think the Invisible Wabbits are an aspect of It, after all.

OOC: I believe it's the Gobbannean offices (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13574067&postcount=20), which due to magical wards to protects them, survived the conflagration and are now the only thing hovering vulnerably over the UN Building.

IC: The elderly Snefaldian ambassador ambled into the vicinity of the bar with another gentleman, and the two could not have looked more different. The ambassador was in the habitual embroidered robes of his religious order, while the other man was outfitted in a perfectly tailored black suit, his hair combed back and a cigarette smoldering in his lips. His eyes were wide and piercing, and he proceeded with a calmness and poise Shandreð didn't have.

"Neville, two Allásë cordials, please. And a round for the bar, on my tab."

The other man smiled, revealing white teeth. "Right-o, Harm, but your last drink's on me. There's due a little extravagance, I think, on your way out."

The elder man adjusted his pince-nez and chuckled. "Quite right, Nëm. Though there's been quite a bit of extravagance the past few months. A toast, then, to the inauguration of your term as ambassador." He raised his glass of lime-green Neeri liquor and the other man did the same.

"I have to say, Harm, you're going to be a hard act to follow. I wish you'd stay on as advisor. I doubt Neville would mind having you in the bar more often- one of the more calm customers, I'm sure." he gave a chuckle.

Shandreð shook his head, taking a drink. "I think it's time. This whole World Assembly business is too much for me, I was never the right man to lead a strong delegation- and that's what we need now. Besides, I'm going to have a tough enough time piecing what's left of my offices back together. We were the inheritors of all those Allech-Atreus folk left behind; and though I heard they came back some time ago there's nothing left."

The other man was Dr. Nëmô Taranton, the new ambassador, and he smiled at the last comment. "Well, we can thank you for saving all that. The Harmalan Shandreð Exhibit of Xenoartifacts at the Grand Library is still pulling folks in. I just hope I can follow you."

"You will, Nem. You will. Neville, let's have that round for the bar!"

OOC: I believe it's the Gobbannean offices (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13574067&postcount=20), which due to magical wards to protects them, survived the conflagration and are now the only thing hovering vulnerably over the UN Building.

OOC: By the way, anyone's free to have stuff (up to the entire burnt office contents) to fall out of the sky any time they want. It's not like those wards were actually supposed to keep things physically protected, after all. Just don't kill anyone who didn't agree to it, OK?

Scelestus turned from the gateway and laughed a moment, jumping into this side conversation. "I kind of like that idea, except personally I'd have a mage or similar being set up an alternate reality self containing the WA, and have each member set up their own little domain near the WA building. Nothing large, but like, a floating realm here and a gothic terrace there. MAybe a big pretty island full of parrots. I dunno.."As Scelestus chatted the portal that had been opened suddenly shifted and a stepped through in a business suit. He wore black sunglasses that seemed to absorb the light around them. Other than that and having short, well trimmed claws instead of fingernails, he looked like a normal human. As he stepped through, he turned back to the portal and it shifted back to it's original location.

He then went and sat down at an unoccupied table and a holographic laptop appeared as he began typing into it.

OOC: I believe it's the Gobbannean offices (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13574067&postcount=20), which due to magical wards to protects them, survived the conflagration and are now the only thing hovering vulnerably over the UN Building.OOC: Well if nobody's going to state IC what that object is, I'll just go ahead and do it.

IC: Several bar patrons looked up as the mysterious small wooden object began to slowly descend to the ground. As it drew closer it was revealed to be an airship. The airship gently landed.
http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w166/bak42/rtn5au.jpg
A door in the side of the ship opened and out stepped Bob Flibble along with his PA Timothy Schmidt and his personal chef Sven. "So, did I miss anything?" Bob asked.

Tom Marvolo looked up from his game of solitaire at the newly arrived Bob Flibble. "No, you simply missed everything. But don't worry...the bar is still working, so nothing else matters."

Sir Bodsworth looked back at the airship and nodded approvingly before turning back to Scelestus. "Hmm...that is interesting. But I would like to hear some of the other delegates think about beach-front WA buildings..."

Nice airship! ;)

Tom Marvolo looked up from his game of solitaire at the newly arrived Bob Flibble. "No, you simply missed everything. But don't worry...the bar is still working, so nothing else matters."

Sir Bodsworth looked back at the airship and nodded approvingly before turning back to Scelestus. "Hmm...that is interesting. But I would like to hear some of the other delegates think about beach-front WA buildings..."Silently the man from The Popotan who had just arrived through a portal hijacking, looked over at the comment about beach-front WA-buildings. As he did so, his holographic computer disappeared.

"I for one, would not like it. We have enough beaches where I am from. I would prefer varried setup." He looked at Tom Marvolo with his black shades abosrbing the light around him.

A desk falls out of the sky...it hits the newest members beer(nothing else).

Two white sparkling beams of light appeared in the bar and when they faded there was Ambassador Sakura Yamamoto and Captain Yuki Sato of the 'Empress Midori'.

Sakura wore a lemon yellow kimono and Yuki wore civilian clothes for this visit. She'd settled for a strappy black top and a mid blue pleated skirt which settled just above her knees along with flat shoes.

She was as small and slender as Sakura was and wore a crossed swords comm badge on her top. This rested above her right breast and she wore her dark hair long and free resting half way down her back. She was also in her mid 20's and very pretty.

"This is the temporary home of the strangers bar Captain" Sakura mentioned to their colleague who commanded the ship which was her 'office'.

As Scelestus chatted the portal that had been opened suddenly shifted and a stepped through in a business suit. He wore black sunglasses that seemed to absorb the light around them. Other than that and having short, well trimmed claws instead of fingernails, he looked like a normal human. As he stepped through, he turned back to the portal and it shifted back to it's original location.

He then went and sat down at an unoccupied table and a holographic laptop appeared as he began typing into it.

Scelestus noticed the figure that had just stepped through his portal. He... had he...? He had.... it had... "Excuse me," asked Scel calmly, walking up to the man slowly, "where are... you... from? How did you do that to my reality gate..? Have you been to a planet called 'Drendia'?"

He intended to release no information at all, but he'd slipped. He couldn't stop himself.

"Drendia?" The man's frow furrowed as he turned his attention to Scelestus, his black light-absorbing sunglasses trained on the man, "Drendia...Drendia..." The man shook his head, "Sorry can't say that I have....why...should I visit there?" He asked the man with an obvious suspicious tone to his voice as he attempting to deflect attention hoping the man would forget about asking more about the portal.

He attention was diverted temporarily at the arrival of Sakura and Yuki before it rested back on Scelestus.

Wolfgang stood from his position, and walked over to Kyle. Sensing his elder approaching, Kyle reached for the nearest filled shotglass and downed it. "Come on, boy. You've a date with the Alpha and the Commonwealth Broadstreaming System." Annoyed he had to reach up to do so, he grabbed the pup by a fuzzy ear and pulled him through a portal that opened on his mental command.

IX, still seated nearby, raised his eyebrow. "Organics are strange. It's just a promotion," he said quietly. Then he had a thought. "What if a new Bar and Assembly room are constructed, and then just have different 'landing pads' or mooring points and such, where people can bring in a vehicle for their own office, or even construct their own office there? Permanent portals or teleporters or such could be installed for transport to and from the communal areas. Or, I suppose, walking and elevators, if that's your thing. It would also greatly ease the financial burden of the Assembly itself."

Two more Cobdenian representatives appeared from the time zones to which they had been banished. One was a tall, elegant looking man, with a Roman nose who was inexplicably wearing spandex, the other was a short southern European, crinoline clad individual.

"Moriarty? Where did you get to?"

"Sapristi yakamaloo! I ended up in revolutionary France, and yourself, Grytpype?"

"I became a bass guitarist for 1980's heavy metal group....not a pleasant experience, if you ask me"

"Well, what do we do now?"

"Now, we make some money."

Hercules Grytpype-Thynne, the economic adviser, and Count Jim "Puff Daddy" Moriarty...

"I'm sorry, you're not allowed to use the nickname "Puff Daddy" anymore. It's trademarked by Shaun Combs" butted in a legal representative of the Sony Music corporation

Hercules Grytpype-Thynne, the economic advisor, and Count Jim "Cher" Moriarty moved into the centre of the crowd around the temporary bar, and announced to all of them

"If so required, myself and my associate could build a new building for half the cost of any other bidder...."

"Drendia?" The man's frow furrowed as he turned his attention to Scelestus, his black light-absorbing sunglasses trained on the man, "Drendia...Drendia..." The man shook his head, "Sorry can't say that I have....why...should I visit there?" He asked the man with an obvious suspicious tone to his voice as he attempting to deflect attention hoping the man would forget about asking more about the portal.

He attention was diverted temporarily at the arrival of Sakura and Yuki before it rested back on Scelestus.
Scel's eyes dimmed with memories for a second. "no, no... I lost Drendia a long time ago... it's... complicated...." he whispered eerily.

The sunglassed man shrugs and replies in a non-commital, enthusiastic, somewhat interested somewhat not caring tone all at once. It was impossible to tell what the man thought, "I have time. I'm not doing anything." He nods to a chair, "If you want I can order something while you tell me the tale."

Scrawney sees that a person of importance has entered the bar. He runs over to the pair from 'Empress Midori'. 1/2 bows to Sakura. Bows on one knee to the captain (tail on floor wrapped around feet). "Greetings ma'am. I am Scrawney, 1st representative of the 1,280th Great Oak of the Democratic States of Regular Squirrles."

Dictator Rickards sat on a bar stool, small flecks of ashes landing on his suit. He spied a small, mostly burnt piece of paper, gracefully falling from the sky. He snatched it out of the air, and stared at it for a moment.
UN taxation ban
A resolution to reduce income inequality and increase basic welfare.

He sighed. "So much, so quickly dissappeared. So many years of working to improve the civil world, and it's all gone up in smoke." He looked up, and saw a familiar face. He brushed the ashes from his suit, stuffed the paper in his pocket, and walked over to the recently arrived Sakura Yamamoto. "Hello again, Ambassador Yamamoto." He extended his hand. He turned and looked down at Scrawney. "And hello again to you. I'm glad to see that neither of you were hurt in the destruction of the UN."

Coordinating Relief Aid

A resolution to reduce income inequality and increase basic welfare.

A International Aid Relief Co-ordination resolution was something Charlotte Ryberg had been wanting to restore for weeks. Why? The predecessor organization worked out fine back then, with 11,835 votes for and 1,600 against. Yes, it needed reworking and yes it seemed outdated but with myself and Mikitivity it feels it could be truly revived.

Imagine the halls of the ICRC (disambiguation: International Coordinated Relief Committee) being full again with alerts of aid response requests pouring into the hundreds offices in whatever city we should choose (Probably Llanfair PG, our capital could hold them, please analyse possible locations: thanks!). Volunteers, properly trained would be deployed to all sorts of countries of the world, saving lives and making a difference. Perhaps we could have experts giving a new direction for the ICRC. (No, not the Red Cross in real-life, have you heard about Wikipedia disambiguation pages already? I've checked on them and there were two uses for ICRC for crying out loud.)

Getting back onto the ICRC thing: uh yes, I'll probably need this resolution for many reasons.

Prince Rhodri looked up from where enthusiastic patrons were sketching out ever more elaborate and unlikely plans for the new WA buildings. Someone -- he couldn't tell who from where he was sitting -- seemed to be canvassing opinions on something in the terribly earnest way that meant that politics were being talked of in the bar. He frowned; it was a terribly declassé thing to do, and it rather spoiled the "small beer festival" atmosphere that the Strangers' Bar was acquiring.

Still, it reminded him that there were practical things to be done in the new World Assembly, and that some of them were technically his fault. After a brief discussion with Neville, he headed over to the Flibbleite delegation and their splendid airship with a small tray of drinks; another pint for himself, and what Neville assured him were the terribly expensive preferred tipples of Bob Flibble and his assistant.

"Ambassador," he said expansively, "welcome to the temporary home of our favorite watering hole. Here, have a drink.

"Oh, by the way, is your airship available for temporary hire? The old Gobbannaen office seems to be a bit of a hazard to air traffic at the moment, and we'd like to get the heavy remains down safely before they cause an accident. Or the enchantment fails, which frankly could be just as bad."

The sunglassed man shrugs and replies in a non-commital, enthusiastic, somewhat interested somewhat not caring tone all at once. It was impossible to tell what the man thought, "I have time. I'm not doing anything." He nods to a chair, "If you want I can order something while you tell me the tale."
Scelestus considered for a moment before starting to speak. Even then, it came out as a hoarse whisper. "My father left just before I was born, and my mother was my only friend and relative for 20 years. When I turned twenty, she overdosed on a neuro-chemical known as Bliss. I was able to last on my own for a while... but then I accidentally committed a murder... It turned out the man I murdered was paying rent to a very rich powerful man. He forced me to work for him as a thief.
"I did this job until I was about 31. Then I ran from him. I ran until I couldn't run. Then I fought back, but I wasn't prepared, and yet again had to flee. Things got weird. Time fell in on itself, and I was face to face with someone 700 years dead and someone 700 years unborn. except they were no older than I. Hell, they were younger!
"We... we hunted down the ones that messed up time... Mal was one of them.. he's the one that had me under his thumb...
"It took a long time to even get to him (and nearly drove me insane in the process), but I got to him, learning a few tricks along the way. I killed him. I killed him and ran away. I am a coward...." Scelestus whimpered a second, tars sliding down his face. "I've killed easily hundreds of people, and I did most of it in the place of a criminal..." He regained some composure.
"I got my life together for a long time, but then things got hairy... had to go out and save not only my world, but a few other worlds. People were trying to control them all... why, I'm not sure. But what's it matter?
"So yeah.. I jumped a few worlds too far, and found a nation with a name like my own home city... Vrall.... I don't know how I got into office... but I did..." Scel stood up, swaying as though drunk. After a moment, his face flushed of any color, and he fell to the floor, unconscious. The gateway, no longer held upon by his will, wavered, its shape unsteady. It would hold, but not for long unless the maker awoke...

Scrawney sees that a person of importance has entered the bar. He runs over to the pair from 'Empress Midori'. 1/2 bows to Sakura. Bows on one knee to the captain (tail on floor wrapped around feet). "Greetings ma'am. I am Scrawney, 1st representative of the 1,280th Great Oak of the Democratic States of Regular Squirrles."

Sakura knew Scrawney well by now but it had been Captain Sato's first visit here.

"I'm Captain Yuki Sato commanding the NKS 'Empress Midori'. Thats the current diplomatic starship that the Ambassador uses for World Assembly business" she gently replied to the squirrel ambassador.

"Can I get you a drink?" she also asked.

Equality for the Mentally Ill (Under Draft)

Yet another resolution with Charlotte's new idea, the use of selection clauses in a resolution. It works like this:

Example:

IN THE CASE:
1) That condition A is satisfied, then event A shall be allowed;
1) That condition B is satisfied, then event B shall be disallowed, unless necessity B is necessary;
1) That condition C is satisfied, then event C shall be carried out;

Compare with the selection statements in computer code:

If Variable A = True Then
Print "Allow Event A"
ElseIf Variable B = True Then
Print "Disallow Event B"
ElseIf Variable B = True Then
Print "Carry out Event C"
Else: Print "Do Nothing!"
EndIf
Quite similar, just a bit more formal.

Prince Rhodri looked up from where enthusiastic patrons were sketching out ever more elaborate and unlikely plans for the new WA buildings. Someone -- he couldn't tell who from where he was sitting -- seemed to be canvassing opinions on something in the terribly earnest way that meant that politics were being talked of in the bar. He frowned; it was a terribly declassé thing to do, and it rather spoiled the "small beer festival" atmosphere that the Strangers' Bar was acquiring.

Still, it reminded him that there were practical things to be done in the new World Assembly, and that some of them were technically his fault. After a brief discussion with Neville, he headed over to the Flibbleite delegation and their splendid airship with a small tray of drinks; another pint for himself, and what Neville assured him were the terribly expensive preferred tipples of Bob Flibble and his assistant.

"Ambassador," he said expansively, "welcome to the temporary home of our favorite watering hole. Here, have a drink.

"Oh, by the way, is your airship available for temporary hire? The old Gobbannaen office seems to be a bit of a hazard to air traffic at the moment, and I'd like to get the heavy remains down safely before they cause an accident. Or the enchantment fails, which frankly could be just as bad.""While I'd love to help you, unfortunately the explosion damaged some of my airship's systems and have rendered it nearly inoperable. Hang on a second." Bob turns towards the delegation from Charlotte Ryberg.

Yet another resolution with Charlotte's new idea, the use of selection clauses in a resolution. It works like this:

Example:

IN THE CASE:
1) That condition A is satisfied, then event A shall be allowed;
1) That condition B is satisfied, then event B shall be disallowed, unless necessity B is necessary;
1) That condition C is satisfied, then event C shall be carried out;

Compare with the selection statements in computer code:

If Variable A = True Then
Print "Allow Event A"
ElseIf Variable B = True Then
Print "Disallow Event B"
ElseIf Variable B = True Then
Print "Carry out Event C"
Else: Print "Do Nothing!"
EndIf
Quite similar, just a bit more formal.
"Will you quit pimping your proposal ideas in here, some of us are trying to relax!" Bob turns back to Prince Rhodri. "Now, where was I? Oh yes, and in fact the damage caused by the explosion is part of the reason it took so long to land."

The Count, although dressed in a fresh uniform, still looked somewhat the worse for ware, as he returned from his frigate to the site of the former NSUN. It had been quite a blast; luckily, he had not yet applied for an on site office.
Entering the provisional site of the bar, he noticed a makeshift table sporting several different designs for the rebirth of the World Assembly site.
Heading over to the table, he takes a concept from the folder he held tucked under his arm, and adds it to those already on the table.
"My fellow members, the Principality of Beaucalsradt would be more than glad to construct this building for the use of the Assembly; it holds an assembly hall, and a space for the new bar, with a lovely inner garden to provide for our squirrel friends. There is also room for the archives, and a subterranean area for the gnomes. We only ask an office in the bell tower in exchange for the construction."
Spotting Neville, he heads for him, and hands him a handful of franks, to pay for the tab. "That should settle it, I believe. Is it possible to get a cup of tea? "

OOC; Beg your pardon, it seems I have once again posted under the wrong nation. Also, the image is as an attachment, as I seem to be doing something wrong in trying to get it as a picture in the post.

Scelestus considered for a moment before starting to speak. Even then, it came out as a hoarse whisper. "My father left just before I was born, and my mother was my only friend and relative for 20 years. When I turned twenty, she overdosed on a neuro-chemical known as Bliss. I was able to last on my own for a while... but then I accidentally committed a murder... It turned out the man I murdered was paying rent to a very rich powerful man. He forced me to work for him as a thief.
"I did this job until I was about 31. Then I ran from him. I ran until I couldn't run. Then I fought back, but I wasn't prepared, and yet again had to flee. Things got weird. Time fell in on itself, and I was face to face with someone 700 years dead and someone 700 years unborn. except they were no older than I. Hell, they were younger!
"We... we hunted down the ones that messed up time... Mal was one of them.. he's the one that had me under his thumb...
"It took a long time to even get to him (and nearly drove me insane in the process), but I got to him, learning a few tricks along the way. I killed him. I killed him and ran away. I am a coward...." Scelestus whimpered a second, tars sliding down his face. "I've killed easily hundreds of people, and I did most of it in the place of a criminal..." He regained some composure.
"I got my life together for a long time, but then things got hairy... had to go out and save not only my world, but a few other worlds. People were trying to control them all... why, I'm not sure. But what's it matter?
"So yeah.. I jumped a few worlds too far, and found a nation with a name like my own home city... Vrall.... I don't know how I got into office... but I did..." Scel stood up, swaying as though drunk. After a moment, his face flushed of any color, and he fell to the floor, unconscious. The gateway, no longer held upon by his will, wavered, its shape unsteady. It would hold, but not for long unless the maker awoke...
The dark glasses man stands up and checks over the man, he then shouts so everyone can hear, "Anyone here have a Medic?" He looks around and his dark sunglasses stop on Sakura and Captain Sato. "Your said you're a captain. Surely your ship must have a medic? This man just collapsed while talking to me."

Dave walked over to Scelestus' body. Looking to the man in dark glasses, he said, "Er, I took half a year of first-aid in high school, once." His voice trailed off, realizing that his miniscule to no experience in the medical field would be of no assistance. He turned to the bartender. "You wouldn't happen to have any experience in the first-aid field, would you?"

Captain Sato touched her comm badge and spoke in her own language.

"My CMO is on her way" she said and less than a minute later another beam of light appeared in the bar. A asian woman in her early 20's was there and she wore the usual red fleet tunic and black skirt uniform with thigh high black boots.

The doctor raced over and looked over Shel running her tricorder over him.

Sighing at the sudden commotion and collapse of one of the delegates, Tom quickly put his cards away and turned to face the group now standing over the delegate.

"Hmm...my only medical training was in the scouts, but I think he'll be ok. Seems likely that the strain of...remembering...did him in," he remarked swiping a glass of water from atop the bar (he didn't remember anybody ordering water, but wasn't complaining) and strolled over to offer it to the man should he reawaken.

Serifina looked up from her latest drink, staring at the unconscious man. "You know, I could call my cousin... Oh."

Upon seeing the medical officer, the red-haired ambassador fell silent, and return her attention to her drink, thinking that maybe calling her cousin in this state would be a bad idea, anyway...

Captain Sato touched her comm badge and spoke in her own language.

"My CMO is on her way" she said and less than a minute later another beam of light appeared in the bar. A asian woman in her early 20's was there and she wore the usual red fleet tunic and black skirt uniform with thigh high black boots.

The doctor raced over and looked over Shel running her tricorder over him.The dark glasses man stepped away when the medic arrived and let him examine the man. He then turned to the captain and gave a respectful bow, "I wish to thank you for the use of your medic, on behalf of The Dominion of The Popotan."

"its all part of the service" Captain Sato replied.

Sakura was correct about this place rarely being dull. She knew how fast her doctor was at making a diagnosis and applying a treatment but she started by trying to bring Scel around using smelling salts for starters.

Old fashioned by her peoples book but still effective.

"Will you quit pimping your proposal ideas in here, some of us are trying to relax!" Bob turns back to Prince Rhodri. "Now, where was I? Oh yes, and in fact the damage caused by the explosion is part of the reason it took so long to land."

"Well, we're glad to see you safely landed now," Prince Rhodri said, probing his ear tenderly. An irked Bob Flibble was not someone who needed amplification to make his displeasure known. "We'd offer assistance, but frankly we're not a nation known for our airship engineering, and doubtless you can just as easily get your own mechanics brought in."

He looked wistfully at the airship for a moment, then dismissed the impulse to ask about prices. Gobbannium didn't overpay its royalty, after all, and he didn't really have a use for it. Somehow he didn't think that pretending it was suitable bait for peevish dragons was going to wash.

A hard hat, apparently floating in the air about five feet off above the ground, approaches Prince Rhodri.
"We could help, if you'd like, doc," says a wabbitish voice from just below the hat. "If we open a pair of wabbitholes on opposite sides of where your office was, and slide some planks between them to make a temporary floor, then collecting the stuff should be easy. Intewested?"

Ambassador Windcharmer walks into the bar and orders a tall glass of dark beer. Windcharmer looks a bit tense and he takes his seat.

He's just submitted his first proposal and all he can do at this point is nervously wait until it reaches quorum.

He wears a small yellow ribbon above his flag lapel.

Richard was starting to get a little anxious he had looked all over the bar, but still had not found what he was looking for

He saw a group of Ambassadors standing around a table looking at what he thought were designs of some sort and he spied Carina with one of the twins

he walked up to her and asked

"Carina, have you seen Carol around anywhere?"

Ambassador Maxze entered the establishment in a well trimmed, blue, exoskeleton coat that ended at his ankles and an expensive black suit. He was flanked on both sides by two Vere bodyguards, seven foot tall silicon beasts, with their customary plasma lashes. He himself was keeping a trusty electrode pistol in his pocket. If you lived a life like him you couldn't be two careful. He took a seat in a corner and waited for service.

A flash of light you didn't see did not erase your memories.

A flash of light you didn't see did not erase your memories.

OOC: Why?

IC: Scrawney quickly swiveled his head around looking for the flash of light...
"Anybody else see that? No?"

Sir Bodsworth turned away from the table of drawings and stepped over to the squirrel, whom he did not remember being introduced recently.

"Not really, but I do have a throbing sensation in my left eye. Anyway, I happened to have a stash of....nuts...that I'd like to see disappear before someone from the home office gets curious. Do you have any suggestions, friend?"

"...what's the catch?" Male Humans almost always have strings attached...

"No catch!" Sir Bodsworth explained hastily. "It's just that...well, back home in Tanular, a friend of mine was attempting to...well, these particular nuts are considered holy by certain groups and a friend of mine got tired of chasing the freaks away so he sent them to me. So before anyone figures it out, I'd like them to disappear so I don't have to deal with nutjobs. Officially, they were destroyed in the fire..."

He smiled a bit nervously, simply wishing to be done with the business.

"Well, I guess I could send them home. I was supposed to send something from another country a couple weeks ago..."

Sighing with relief, Sir Bodsworth reached inside his slighty ash-covered coat and pulled out a small brown paper bag, bulging slightly, and handed it to the squirrel.

"Thank you, very much, good sir! You are doing me a great service, and should you need a return favor, simply ask and I shall see what I can do..."

Sir Bodsworth smiled, his face relaxing as he no longer had that hanging over him.

Rickards leaned over and eyed the transaction between Scrawney and Bodsworth. Joking, he asked, "Not smuggling illegal weapons or drugs, are you?" He chuckled and offered a friendly pat on Sir Bodsworth's.

The Wolf Guardians;13576818']Kyle walked over to Courror's vicinity. "If you need to kill yourself, there's still some fire left," he joked as he procured another drink and sat down. He was ordering office space for his delegation in the Commonwealth. Didn't really NEED an office on site, what with the portals and all, did he? That'll show Wolfgang, the old beast.

"While you're at it, why don't you find out if others would like to rent offices on the cheap?" Wolfgang transmitted with a chuckle, having deduced what the pup was doing.

Damn him! Can't I win once? He turned to the man. "Say... need an office?"

"Er... not... as... such", replied Courror lamely, sipping his Warmer and shuddering as its contens slipped, oily and blazing, down his reluctant gullet. "Although I could use somewhere to put that," he murmured thoughtfully, gesturing to a large, stuffed moose which an unsmiling gnome had inisted was his in the aftermath of the great conflagration.

The moose gazed back, unimpressed by his vacillation. Courror stared back. Bloody moose. You've got it easy.

"Tell you what; if the moose fits, I'll take it." He proffered a hand to the... thing, casually lighting another cigarette on a fragment of burning wreckage, but he was gone, leaving behind only a battered and slightly charred office key, its number stamped into the brass and inlaid with what appeared to be red paint but turned out to be some kind of cheap lipstick. With a sigh, Courror turned back to the bar.

"'nother Warmer please! And can I find someone to take my moose?"

Rickards leaned over and eyed the transaction between Scrawney and Bodsworth. Joking, he asked, "Not smuggling illegal weapons or drugs, are you?" He chuckled and offered a friendly pat on Sir Bodsworth's.

Sir Bodsworth smirked. "I'm fairly sure that's not possible, as the WA hasn't listed any weapons or drugs illegal yet. So even if I was dealing in arms or drugs, they would technically legal here. But I'm not smuggling anything...just lamenting over some nuts that were destroyed along with the building..."

A Doorway opened, and seen inside was the beautiful Government Complex, an enormous building that had its own outdoors inside it. The anthem of the Guardians could be heard, as well as the applause of a few hundred Citizens. The oldest Beta presenting the youngest Delta to be promoted to youngest Gamma had caused quite the celebration, though Guardians needed little provocation to have a party. Kyle stepped out, blushing red and breathing harder than usual under his snow-white fur and pitch black suit. Wolfgang was close behind, waving to his friends (which, considering the amount of time he's had to make friends, was everyone present). Kyle flicked a bit of actual confetti off of his sleeve, and found the Bar. Finding the strongest shot he could, he sat down on a crate and downed it. Being sure that Scrawney was occupied, he grabbed a handful of mixed nuts and ate them. Taking a breath, he turned to Sir Bodsworth. With a completely straight face, he stated, "That sounds painful."

"That is a problem, no illeagle weapons or drugs. Hopefully, nobody with ill will would act upon this lack of laws." Rickards finished off his drink. "Can I get you a drink?" he asked, standing up.

Sir Bodsworth smiled at Rickards thankfully. "A gentleman never turns down such hospitality. A simply scotch on the rocks would be fine for me. To be honest sir, I've been in and out of the bar under its previous 'management' but I can't say that I remember meeting you here before. Besides, if any delegation engaged in such matters, there are plenty here who would step in on personal moral ground to handle it."

Several feet away, Tom Marvolo noticed the portal and the individual exiting from it. Catching the Wolf Guardian's drift, Tom quickly interjected, knowing that Sir Bodsworth was much too proper to stoop to such a level, "It may sound painful, but the crazy ones usually set themselves on fire anyway. Think of it as assissted protest..." To make sure Kyle understood why he steered the conversation in a different direction he made a slight motion in the direction of a several delegates, including one whom was holding a child. "Ix-nay on the crude humor," he mouthed.

Invisible Wabbits;13608770']A hard hat, apparently floating in the air about five feet off above the ground, approaches Prince Rhodri.
"We could help, if you'd like, doc," says a wabbitish voice from just below the hat. "If we open a pair of wabbitholes on opposite sides of where your office was, and slide some planks between them to make a temporary floor, then collecting the stuff should be easy. Intewested?"

"That sounds a most practical solution," the Prince replied, blinking only slightly at the wabbitish appearance. "May we enquire as to what nature of portal these rab-- er, wabbitholes are? It may not be relevant, but we do worry. The enchantments that seem to be keeping the office contents in the air were only intended to repel spirits, after all, not physical objects, and we hate to think what other unintended interactions may await us up there.

Sir Bodsworth smiled at Rickards thankfully. "A gentleman never turns down such hospitality. A simply scotch on the rocks would be fine for me. To be honest sir, I've been in and out of the bar under its previous 'management' but I can't say that I remember meeting you here before. Besides, if any delegation engaged in such matters, there are plenty here who would step in on personal moral ground to handle it."

Several feet away, Tom Marvolo noticed the portal and the individual exiting from it. Catching the Wolf Guardian's drift, Tom quickly interjected, knowing that Sir Bodsworth was much too proper to stoop to such a level, "It may sound painful, but the crazy ones usually set themselves on fire anyway. Think of it as assissted protest..." To make sure Kyle understood why he steered the conversation in a different direction he made a slight motion in the direction of a several delegates, including one whom was holding a child. "Ix-nay on the crude humor," he mouthed.

Kyle looked about quickly. "Humor?" He shrugged and took another drink, while trying to regain his composure. The destructive loss of property was painful to Guardians, anyway. Nonguardians are strange, he thought.

He stood up and shook himself off while walking over to Courror. "I see you found your key. We'll find you a better location once the space has been allocated. To go to your new place, just... use your key to unlock it." He made a motion like unlocking an old fashioned deadbolt.

Sir Bodsworth smirked. "I'm fairly sure that's not possible, as the WA hasn't listed any weapons or drugs illegal yet. So even if I was dealing in arms or drugs, they would technically legal here. But I'm not smuggling anything...just lamenting over some nuts that were destroyed along with the building..."

Maxze was aroused by the conversation of the Tanularian. Two words to be more specific. He aproached him followed by his guards. "Excuse me but I happened to overhear something about guns and drugs." Leaning in he whispered, "If you ever need the hookup don't hesitate to contact me, trust me, my establishment can do the job."

"its all part of the service" Captain Sato replied.

Sakura was correct about this place rarely being dull. She knew how fast her doctor was at making a diagnosis and applying a treatment but she started by trying to bring Scel around using smelling salts for starters.

Old fashioned by her peoples book but still effective.He nods, "Well then should you need any assistance, The Dominion of The Popotan shall assist you. Here is my contact." He stretched out his trimmed claw hand and two black transparent rectangles appeared, about the size of a standard business card. They floated over to the Captain Sato and Sakura where they floated infront of them.

He glanced back at the unconscious man, "When that guy wakes, I'll give him one too. It was an interesting tale he spoke."

Charlotte's Back, asking what's on TV in the bar...

Slowly, Scel's eyes opened. His mind felt fuzzy, and... where was he..? and... he jumped to his feet, using his own spirit energy to create strong winds beneath his feet. The tall figure easily launched himself atop the beams and boards of the ceiling, clinging to them nervously. What was he wearing???

He steadied himself, swaying slightly, light-headed. "Where on Drendia am I??" he asked loudly, trying to hide his fear under a mask of intense anger.

Scrawney sneaked himself one of the nuts covered in salt. SALT RUSH! He jetted around the room upsetting many drinks and messing up random people's hair. When he finally calmed down it looked like a gust of wind had gone through the bar...:D

Burgen Alsonis, the World Assembly ambassador for the Grand Holy Empire of Imota, took a comb from inside his coat and began to straighten out his hair.

"Bloody squirrels," he muttered to himself.

And this is why a park of garden to the Bar would be a good idea; if you want to go nuts, at least it won't spread chaos - but then again, it can't get much worse at the moment, can it? Any ideas on fund raising for new buildings?

You could try and print more money. It worked pretty well in my country, because we broke historical records for amount of money in circulation. I'll ask Tia-may Smith to print more for something like 1 billion kunen, maybe two... perhaps ten billion, eh?

Scrawney sneaked himself one of the nuts covered in salt. SALT RUSH! He jetted around the room upsetting many drinks and messing up random people's hair. When he finally calmed down it looked like a gust of wind had gone through the bar...:D

The Vere bodyguards sprung into action at the sight of the fast moving object heading toward their boss. Before Maxze could tell them otherwise, the plasma whips were out and cracking. These things cause more damage than thought when you consider that they stretch nine feet when swung. When Maxze finaly calmed them down they had already sliced through four tables and seven chairs. Vere were not used because of their brains. "Apologise everyone." He tossed a bundle of dons to the barkeep and sat back in his corner. Xer came in after that. Maxze always said you couldn't miss Xer. His was a rare species where he came from. He had a lizards body with something of a wasps exoskeleton. Antenea included. "Xer." "Sir." "Why do we always say that? It sounds odd." "How so?" "Never mind. This is the perfect place for business don't you think?" "Indeed sir." "I think you should be a regular here." "A good idea sir." "We're not in the military you know." "Yes sir." "Sigh...just go get a drink."

Slowly, Scel's eyes opened. His mind felt fuzzy, and... where was he..? and... he jumped to his feet, using his own spirit energy to create strong winds beneath his feet. The tall figure easily launched himself atop the beams and boards of the ceiling, clinging to them nervously. What was he wearing???

He steadied himself, swaying slightly, light-headed. "Where on Drendia am I??" he asked loudly, trying to hide his fear under a mask of intense anger.

Thanking the Popotan representive Sakura passed one card to Captain Sato and pocketed her own.

Looking up at Scel after he ended up on the ceiling Sakura replied "Scel you're in the WA Strangers bar. You passed out."

Meanwhile Captain Sato saw first hand the chaos a squirrel on a salt rush could cause.

She shook her head and ordered another drink. A stronger one this time.

Tom, watching in surprise as Scel launched himself into the air, glanced at the glass of water in his hands. Carefully weighing his options, he finally made up his mind and, quietly asking for forgiveness, tossed the water into Scel's face as best he could.

Tom, watching in surprise as Scel launched himself into the air, glanced at the glass of water in his hands. Carefully weighing his options, he finally made up his mind and, quietly asking for forgiveness, tossed the water into Scel's face as best he could.

Scelestus looked at Sakura as she spoke.
"Strangers' Bar? what the he-"
He was cut off as water splashed in his face. Scel slowed time to a crawl, leaping forward with immense strength. He dipped his hands into his jacket's pockets, pulling out knives. Scel pinned down the attacker, until he saw the sad object he held to the man's throat. "plastic? Where are my metal knives??" With another bolt of fear and anger running his spine, Scel easily got to his feet, running for the door.

Burgen Alsonis, the World Assembly ambassador for the Grand Holy Empire of Imota, took a comb from inside his coat and began to straighten out his hair.

"Bloody squirrels," he muttered to himself.

"I heard that!":mad:Scrawney goes over and jumps on the offenders head. I shouldn't have had that nut...it'll take me hours to calm.*Continues jumping)

"I heard that!":mad:Scrawney goes over and jumps on the offenders head. I shouldn't have had that nut...it'll take me hours to calm.*Continues jumping)

Thick as ever the silicon muscles kept an eye on the furball. Hands on their whip handles. Maxze didn't try to calm them. Better overly protected than dead.

Scelestus looked at Sakura as she spoke.
"Strangers' Bar? what the he-"
He was cut off as water splashed in his face. Scel slowed time to a crawl, leaping forward with immense strength. He dipped his hands into his jacket's pockets, pulling out knives. Scel pinned down the attacker, until he saw the sad object he held to the man's throat. "plastic? Where are my metal knives??" With another bolt of fear and anger running his spine, Scel easily got to his feet, running for the door.

Xer went after him. Coming up next to him he whispered, "I've got six different weapons on my person. One of thems yours for 200."

Rickards looked around the makeshift bar. Not being familiar with all of the characters in it, he was a bit lost in searching for this Xer person he heard about. "Oh well," he mumbled, cleared his throat, and yelled into the air, "Diplomatic Affairs!" He glanced around. "Sorry. Sorry everyone." He watched to see if this Xer would approach him at the mention of these words.

Xer went after him. Coming up next to him he whispered, "I've got six different weapons on my person. One of thems yours for 200."

"And every one of them won't do a damn thing in here," Bob called out. "They've got ACME weapon nullifiers in place to protect the bar's patrons."

Scelestus looked at Sakura as she spoke.
"Strangers' Bar? what the he-"
He was cut off as water splashed in his face. Scel slowed time to a crawl, leaping forward with immense strength. He dipped his hands into his jacket's pockets, pulling out knives. Scel pinned down the attacker, until he saw the sad object he held to the man's throat. "plastic? Where are my metal knives??" With another bolt of fear and anger running his spine, Scel easily got to his feet, running for the door.

Tom rubbed his throat and 'congratulated' himself. "Good job, Tom, you got him down from the ceiling! Luckily the bar magic is still working so he didn't actually KNIFE YOU!"

Jumping to his feet he cursed as the frightened, confused, and misplaced ambassador sprinted for the door. Looking around he sprinted after him and shouted, "OH FOR THE LOVE OF----Would somebody please stop him from leaving the bar! Right now he's only got plastic knives, but if he gets out of the bar he might get something more dangerous and actually hurt someone before he comes too! He doesn't know where he is!"

well, at least I can put my energy to good use. Scrawney ran over to the doorway...there's no walls *facepalm* He ran to Scel. "Scel why don't you stay in here...I'll get you a few drinks.:)

Rickards looked around the makeshift bar. Not being familiar with all of the characters in it, he was a bit lost in searching for this Xer person he heard about. "Oh well," he mumbled, cleared his throat, and yelled into the air, "Diplomatic Affairs!" He glanced around. "Sorry. Sorry everyone." He watched to see if this Xer would approach him at the mention of these words.

"And every one of them won't do a damn thing in here," Bob called out. "They've got ACME weapon nullifiers in place to protect the bar's patrons."

Xer quick stepped to the Skillcrossbones rep and dragged him to the bar. "Are you trying to get us noticed?!" He hissed (Literaly), "Your supposed to ask for me ON diplomatic affairs! And does that Flibbleite have bat ears or something? What do you need? And remember we're not just peddling here. For the right price I can get you a fleet."

Xer quick stepped to the Skillcrossbones rep and dragged him to the bar. "Are you trying to get us noticed?!" He hissed (Literaly), "Your supposed to ask for me ON diplomatic affairs! And does that Flibbleite have bat ears or something? What do you need? And remember we're not just peddling here. For the right price I can get you a fleet."

"Sorry. But, even if you were caught, it's not like they could jail you, there's no laws banning smuggling of any of that yet." Rickards shrugged, turned his back on Xer, and handed him a note written on a napkin, as inconsipcous as he could. It read:
A group of nationalists have risen up in some of my colonies, and are becoming a major hassle to me. What would it cost to have some of their leaders 'taken away?' And, how much would it take to make it seem as though these troublemakers killed a couple of my officers, so I have a legitimate reason to send men to 'suppress them?'

"Sorry. But, even if you were caught, it's not like they could jail you, there's no laws banning smuggling of any of that yet." Rickards shrugged, turned his back on Xer, and handed him a note written on a napkin, as inconsipcous as he could. It read:

Xer grabbed his shoulder. "We're well aware of that but if we go around doing it freely in public people are gonna get pissed." As he said this Xer slipped a note of his own in one of the rep's pockets.

For 50,000 Dons we can covertly send in a crack Assassin Squad to accomplish the mission. Such a squad will consist of two stealthers, each supplied with top of the line gear and weapondry, two sharpshooters with silenced nanite injector rifles and four infiltrators who'll take the target out from the inside. We take our squadmembers from the finest institutions and supply them with the very best, we promise you.

"I'll try to be more inconspicuous next time. So, about these diplomatic relations, can you do it?" He looked around the room, and finished off another drink.

"I'll try to be more inconspicuous next time. So, about these diplomatic relations, can you do it?" He looked around the room, and finished off another drink.

Avoiding I contact Xer replied, "When your done here go outside and reach in your back pocket. You'll find we can do alot of things."

Rickards finished another drink, stood and exited the 'bar' through the doorless archway, trying to find what would be the back of the bar. He found a secluded spot, hidden by a pile of debris. He looked around and slipped his hand into his pocket. He stood, with his hand in his pocket, staring blankly into the distance.

A drunk Scrawney stood up and addressed the crowd,

"olá! tudo você povos. Eu sou bebido. - Blá - blá blá. como é você? Se você tomou realmente o momento de encontrar o que este dito. Eu sinto pesaroso para você. a menos que seu português, neste caso, olá!! qualquer um mais falhas."

Then he sat down and continued his drink.

"That sounds a most practical solution," the Prince replied, blinking only slightly at the wabbitish appearance. "May we enquire as to what nature of portal these rab-- er, wabbitholes are? It may not be relevant, but we do worry. The enchantments that seem to be keeping the office contents in the air were only intended to repel spirits, after all, not physical objects, and we hate to think what other unintended interactions may await us up there.

"Portals? They're wabbitholes, doc. We just burrow down into the ground until we've got enough room to manoeuvre properly, then turn around and head in the right direction for the destination that we want -- taking special care if we're anywhere near Albukoikie, of course -- and keep on tunneling until we get there, when we open-up that end of the shaft into mundane reality again. There was a guy named He'saburger, or something along those lines, who fell down on of our holes once, and apparently he used the word 'quantum' a lot when he was trying to explain it to himself: Something about being able to say where we actually were, or where we were going, but not both at the same time..."

A drunk Scrawney stood up and addressed the crowd,

"olá! tudo você povos. Eu sou bebido. - Blá - blá blá. como é você? Se você tomou realmente o momento de encontrar o que este dito. Eu sinto pesaroso para você. a menos que seu português, neste caso, olá!! qualquer um mais falhas."

Then he sat down and continued his drink.

Maxze's Vere bodyguards had decided they did not like squirells. Always zipping around, and their shrill little voices made their bodies vibrate unpleasently. If Vere had what most people would call a face they would be scowling in the worst way possible at the furry little brigand.

Becuase I Am Delegate of a region can i have a WA Office?

also i will have a pepsi

A drunk Scrawney stood up and addressed the crowd,

"olá! tudo você povos. Eu sou bebido. - Blá - blá blá. como é você? Se você tomou realmente o momento de encontrar o que este dito. Eu sinto pesaroso para você. a menos que seu português, neste caso, olá!! qualquer um mais falhas."

Then he sat down and continued his drink.

The old Kawaiian nekomusume, on the other hand, had decided that Scrawny was conveying some message from the Manifestation of the Cute One. Unfortunately, it seemed the Manifestation was given to speaking in tongues lately, and she struggled to make sense of (to her, at least) the small fuzzy localization of It. Grasping at metaphysical straws, she walked over and offered Scrawny a bowl of bar nuts and began bowing profusely, awaiting the next message.

The old Kawaiian nekomusume, on the other hand, had decided that Scrawny was conveying some message from the Manifestation of the Cute One. Unfortunately, it seemed the Manifestation was given to speaking in tongues lately, and she struggled to make sense of (to her, at least) the small fuzzy localization of It. Grasping at metaphysical straws, she walked over and offered Scrawny a bowl of bar nuts and began bowing profusely, awaiting the next message.

As they watched the Vere thought, "Squirrell + Nuts = Sqeaks." They decided they also didn't like Kawains. "Easy boys..." Maxze murmered.

Becuase I Am Delegate of a region can i have a WA Office?

also i will have a pepsi

Serifina laughs bitterly.

"Good luck with that. Even before the old building burned down, exploded, what-have-you, office space was at a premium. I'm also a regional delegate, and I've never had an office. Maybe once we get a new building made, but I wouldn't hold my breath, if I were you."

The red-haired woman starts to order a new drink, then stops as a blonde woman walks in. "Oh, hell. Um... I'm not here..." With that, Serifina dives under a table, just before she can be spotted by the blonde woman.

"I could have sworn my cousin was here... This -is- where Mother said she'd be..."

Avoiding eye contact with the rep Xer murmered "Oh, one more thing I forgot to mention. Don't take your hand out of your pocket until your somewhere private. There are plenty of people with fast hands around here."

Seeing the bowed one, he replied.
"Que é você o desejo, o pequeno? A resposta rapidamente antes do álcool parte. RAPIDAMENTE!"

Serifina laughs bitterly.

"Good luck with that. Even before the old building burned down, exploded, what-have-you, office space was at a premium. I'm also a regional delegate, and I've never had an office. Maybe once we get a new building made, but I wouldn't hold my breath, if I were you.""Yeah no kidding," Bob said walking over, "I think the building management was still processing my application for office space when the building blew up, and even then I'd already bagged on office from someone who'd left the UN. Bob turned to the ambassador from New Dibuia, "Anyway, the people you'll want to talk to about getting an office are those guys over there," Bob pointed towards the table where the WA Building Management's Board of Directors were seated. The UN Building Management, actually, I guess they'd be the WA Building Management now. Not that they have a building to manage yet," Bob said.

Seeing the bowed one, he replied.
"Que é você o desejo, o pequeno? A resposta rapidamente antes do álcool parte. RAPIDAMENTE!"

The Kawaiian nekomusume bowed again, saying, "gomen nasai"! She quickly hurried to the bar and replaced the squirrel's bowl of nuts with one of mints.

The Kawaiian nekomusume bowed again, saying, "gomen nasai"! She quickly hurried to the bar and replaced the squirrel's bowl of nuts with one of mints.

The Vere were horrified to see what the Kawaiian was bringing to the squirrell. Their minds raced with the ominous equation: Squirrell + Sugar = Squeak Squeak Squeak Squeak Squeak + Run. One of the Vere finally snapped. It disobeyed it's previous orders, a great accomplishment for any Vere, and charged to intercept the mints before they could be devoured by the little fur drunk. "Heel!!" Maxze screamed. "Bad!!! Stop!!!"

Wolfgang, who'd been approaching the bar for drinks, found himself in-between the creature and its target. One millisecond of apprehension later, a Guardian in full (and semi-functional, due to the Bar's apparatus) battle-gear appeared in-between, bracing for impact to protect his commander, though he maintained a purely defensive blocking stance. A fraction later, Wolfgang launched himself sideways.

The Wolf Guardians;13626586']Wolfgang, who'd been approaching the bar for drinks, found himself in-between the creature and its target. One millisecond of apprehension later, a Guardian in full (and semi-functional, due to the Bar's apparatus) battle-gear appeared in-between, bracing for impact to protect his commander, though he maintained a purely defensive blocking stance. A fraction later, Wolfgang launched himself sideways.

The Vere didn't know what this thing wanted, but the stony bodyguard new that it was between him and the squirrells future sugar rush. It condenced itself to maximum density, a density close to a diamonds, and hit it full on.

Warning alarms went off in the boy's battlesystems. "Too much mass too heavy." He yelped as he was hit by, essentially, an artillery shell, hardly slowing the thing down before flying backwards. Wolfgang opened a portal behind him before he hit anything and deposited him on the floor to the side in a ruined heap. He then placed a portal in front of the thing, with the exit behind it, so that it could keep running apparently forever, unless it figured out to move to the side. Should buy a few seconds, he thought. "Alright, who let the heavies in?!"

The Wolf Guardians;13627737']Warning alarms went off in the boy's battlesystems. "Too much mass too heavy." He yelped as he was hit by, essentially, an artillery shell, hardly slowing the thing down before flying backwards. Wolfgang opened a portal behind him before he hit anything and deposited him on the floor to the side in a ruined heap. He then placed a portal in front of the thing, with the exit behind it, so that it could keep running apparently forever, unless it figured out to move to the side. Should buy a few seconds, he thought. "Alright, who let the heavies in?!"

The Vere's fragile mind could not process why he wasn't going anywhere, however he could, with what little of the human language he could enunciate or understand, rumble, "No sugar squeaky!!! Squeaky bad!!!! Squeaky bad!!!!" Maxze had had enough he took precosions in case such a situation played out. From under his coat he drew a diamond tipped, brilaxium reinforced, sedation dart gun filled with liquid gold, this would put him out for one or two hours. He took aim and fired at the Vere's midshaft. It flew true and stuck out of the creatures ultra dence hide. One could see the inner magma change from red to a shiny orange. The Vere swayed and finaly fell with a mineral crunch. Maxze tapped a few keys on his wristband and the incapacitated bodyguard vanished in a flash. "You'll excuse me everyone." With a sigh he threw another bundle of dons toward the rep by the name of Wolfgang and exited the bar with a nod to Xer.

"Oh by the grace of the Kami. Salt and sugar!" Sakura murmured to nobody in particular when Scrawney also received mints as well as nuts.

She had heard of the Kawaiiians and 'the cute one'. It paid to be informed and to read up. Still they looked cool if nothing else.

Captain Sato was still with her at the bar but the doctor had departed via a transporter beam.

"Its never dull round here Captain" Sakura added used to the madness of the WA and the former NSUN by now.

Sir Bodsworth slowly surveyed the ruins of the bar in growing dismay. Here, a man running in a perpetual loop accented by portals. There, his 'assisstant' chasing after a crazed man. Thataway, The Cute One appeared to be possessing a hyperactive squirrel, much to the delight of several bar patrons.

"The whole bloody place has gone bloody nuts!" he muttered to himself. "I know the building's been destroyed, but this is really getting out of hand!"

He really wished he knew what to do in a situation like this.

Wolfgang examined the... currency, apparently... briefly while summoning a battle MediMech. The medic appeared, pulling tools out of his pristine-white armor and communicating silently with the soldier's armor. With a not-too-concerned look, he nodded to Wolfgang and then vanished, along with his patient. Wolfgang looked down at the money, and walked over to the bar to inquire what that would buy him.

"Porque, obrigado. Liberar agora o homem que funciona!" Scrawney squeaked as he bent over to get the mints.

Scelestus slowed time a little further, noticing the hyper-sonic squirrel there to stop him. With some power to his feet, he brought himself to an immediate halt, and instead took off the other way. There before him was a portal, flickering and slowly closing. He felt bound to it... Could he...? With a slow, nervous movement, he tested whether or not he was able to... yes. Before him, a gateway yawned open. He had no idea where it would take him, but did that matter? Not really.

Looking back to the patrons trying to approach (his time-manipulation talent coming into play for the first time in years), Scel tensed himself.

Suddenly, Tom could only watch as Scelestus Nightweave jumped through the portal. The figure could still be caught, but it would suddenly be a far-greater mission.

The only immediate good news to be found was that, with the reestablishment of Scel's portal-generation ability, all the portals were stabilized. Time wouldn't be as great an issue. For now.

Seriously everyone WHERE IS IT?!!!! WHERE THE @$##$ IS IT????!!!!!

> jolt.co.uk public forums > User Control Panel > Edit Options > Thread Display Options > Show All Threads

... and chill out a little.

"It's quiet...two quiet"

IX looked at the squirrel. He didn't know how, but he was sure there was a 'w' in what he'd heard. "I'm pretty sure it's only one."

Tom was taken aback, unsure what had just happened, but sure that the man was way out of his reach now. Hoping that eventually Scel would find his mind and his way back he decided he needed another drink.

"Well, I can't blame them for being quiet...we ARE sitting in the ruins of the old bar still."

"It's quiet...two quiet"
Xer slinked over next to the squirrel, "Excussse me. I think it goesss without saying your race likes nuts, yesss?"

Tom was taken aback, unsure what had just happened, but sure that the man was way out of his reach now. Hoping that eventually Scel would find his mind and his way back he decided he needed another drink.

"Well, I can't blame them for being quiet...we ARE sitting in the ruins of the old bar still."
"So where are we supposed to go?"

Xer slinked over next to the squirrel, "Excussse me. I think it goesss without saying your race likes nuts, yesss?"

. . . errr...yes?

Easily an hour after Scelestus had pounced through a portal, the doors opened slowly. In stepped a slightly hefty gentleman. In his hands were two large guns. He grunted in anger when they turned to paintball guns once in the building. "Where is Chancellor Nightweave, ya pack of prancing politicians?" barked the man. He stood in a highly ornate black military uniform, with black glasses hiding his angry little eyes. He was General Rex Trask, and he was not in a good mood. His job was to keep an eye out on the chancellor, and the man had slipepd off radar rather unpleasantly.
"If ya'll will tell meh right now where Chancellor Nightweave's got to, I'll leave quiet as a bumble bee."

hey looky a pic of me!


http://img215.imageshack.us/img215/3488/squirrel4om7.jpg

Easily an hour after Scelestus had pounced through a portal, the doors opened slowly. In stepped a slightly hefty gentleman. In his hands were two large guns. He grunted in anger when they turned to paintball guns once in the building. "Where is Chancellor Nightweave, ya pack of prancing politicians?" barked the man. He stood in a highly ornate black military uniform, with black glasses hiding his angry little eyes. He was General Rex Trask, and he was not in a good mood. His job was to keep an eye out on the chancellor, and the man had slipepd off radar rather unpleasantly.
"If ya'll will tell meh right now where Chancellor Nightwevae's got to, I'll leave quiet as a bumble bee."

"I assume you mean Scelestus?" Rickards was calmed by the alcohol he had been drinking, and was very casual talking to this fearful man. "You might ask the Squirrel, it was following him. Or maybe Xer? He was trying to engage a business deal with him." Rickards got a glazed, dreamy look on his face. "That's some crazy getup you've got on." He reached out to feel the decorations on the uniform. "Are you with the show?"

"So where are we supposed to go?"



. . . errr...yes?

Good becaussse you see we've happened to have gotten our handsss on a shipment of nutsss. A big shipment. Thesse are nutsss you've never tasted before I can promise you. They grow on a moon consisssting almossst entirely of sodium chloride and water. Think about it, the ultimate salt rush. Wouldn't your people love that import?

Good becaussse you see we've happened to have gotten our handsss on a shipment of nutsss. A big shipment. Thesse are nutsss you've never tasted before I can promise you. They grow on a moon consisssting almossst entirely of sodium chloride and water. Think about it, the ultimate salt rush. Wouldn't your people love that import?

"oooh:eek: , wait... What's the price?" Scrawney wasn't so quick to take random offers of huge supplies of nuts.

Easily an hour after Scelestus had pounced through a portal, the doors opened slowly. In stepped a slightly hefty gentleman. In his hands were two large guns. He grunted in anger when they turned to paintball guns once in the building. "Where is Chancellor Nightweave, ya pack of prancing politicians?" barked the man. He stood in a highly ornate black military uniform, with black glasses hiding his angry little eyes. He was General Rex Trask, and he was not in a good mood. His job was to keep an eye out on the chancellor, and the man had slipepd off radar rather unpleasantly.
"If ya'll will tell meh right now where Chancellor Nightwevae's got to, I'll leave quiet as a bumble bee."

"No offense, sir" Tom remarked casually, "but this par-tic-u-lar establishment is not full of, as you said, 'prancing politicians.' As a matter of fact, this is probably one of the most dangerous crowds of foreign dignitaries ever. We have magic-users, members of holy orders, normal political flunkies, rouges, murderers, barbarians, the odd caveman or giant spider, squirrels, invisible wabbits...possibly a dragon and some extraterretrials.

"Frankly, it would be in your best interest to act politely, because some of the people in here could probably snap you like a small girder..." Tom's eyes wandered towards the Wolf Guardians at that last part before scanning the entire bar again. "Now, who exactly are you looking for?"

"Salt? Where?" His beady little eyes looked for the salt... but it had all been hidden. "Aww..."

"I assume you mean Scelestus?" Rickards was calmed by the alcohol he had been drinking, and was very casual talking to this fearful man. "You might ask the Squirrel, it was following him. Or maybe Xer? He was trying to engage a business deal with him." Rickards got a glazed, dreamy look on his face. "That's some crazy getup you've got on." He reached out to feel the decorations on the uniform. "Are you with the show?"

Rex sneered. "Hands off, it's official Vrallian soldier wardrobe! And yeah, I'm lookin' for Scelestus. But that be improper reference or some crap. I'm just here to do my job, if ya get mah drift," he said in his gruff voice.

"No offense, sir" Tom remarked casually, "but this par-tic-u-lar establishment is not full of, as you said, 'prancing politicians.' As a matter of fact, this is probably one of the most dangerous crowds of foreign dignitaries ever. We have magic-users, members of holy orders, normal political flunkies, rouges, murderers, barbarians, the odd caveman or giant spider, squirrels, invisible wabbits...possibly a dragon and some extraterretrials.

"Frankly, it would be in your best interest to act politely, because some of the people in here could probably snap you like a small girder..." Tom's eyes wandered towards the Wolf Guardians at that last part before scanning the entire bar again. "Now, who exactly are you looking for?"

Rex looked toward this other man. "Oh! So you got freaks here too, huh? Yeah, Chancellor Nightweave was having a hard time. That's one reason he came here. A giant tower fell through a tear in some universe-type stuff. I don't know. That's for the monks and science-men. I'm paid to blow things up and keep the Chancellor safe," he barked. When he mentioned the tower, he threw a newspaper clipping toward the man.

CLOCKTOWER PUTS VRALLIAN BUSINESS AT A STANDSTILL!
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/7/7d/Bigben.jpg/450px-Bigben.jpg

Tom read the clipping with mild interest. "Impressive architechture..." He handed the clipping back. "If you are looking for Scelestus, or Chancellor Nightweave as you are calling him, then I'm afraid you will be in need of the ability to track portal residual energies...he had an...incident and fled through a rerouted portal someone had opened beforehand."

Tom shook his head and hoped the poor man had come back to his senses.

Trask laughed harshly. "That's not Vrallian, boy! That be from some other world! Some man inside was babbling about england and some queen before we had him arrested and began interrogation. But the rest is classified stuff."

After those cold words, the general walked over to the portal, looking through as it switched from world to world, hesitating on a couple every now and then.
"wait a second... Chancellor Nightweave just up and jumped on through? What happened?" he asked angrily.

meanwhile, in a distant reality
Scelestus Nightweave shook his head stiffly as he let the rain pelt him coldly. Thoughts and ideas whisked through his head, and he shivered as the cold got through to him. What was wrong with him? He was never this shaky. What had happened?

He curled up in this foreign jungle, and allowed the rain to beat him into a dim sleep.

Rickards exhaled deeply. He stood, and strolled over to the damaged jukebox in the corner. "Ayyyy!" He exclaimed, and elbowed the glass, where it shattered and sliced a hole through his suit. "Oh my." He stumbled over to recliner, flopped down in it, which kicked up plenty of dust and ashes, and subsequently passed out, a small stream of drool running from his mouth.

"oooh:eek: , wait... What's the price?" Scrawney wasn't so quick to take random offers of huge supplies of nuts.

Well that dependsss on how much you want. It's worth a Don for one pound. One condition though. Know asking how we get them. You can research them, you can scan them for poisonsss or whatever, but believe me you don't want any conectionsss. Don't worry they're not some sort of animal wassste.

Time seemingly passed by very vibrantly in the bar. General Trask had jumped in the portal, had begun a hunt for the national leader. Rickards was apparently passed out. The portal was still open and flashing many different worlds. It was on this note Scel stepped back into the room. His suit was in tatters and his hair had grown shoulder-length. A full beard had begun to grow on his chin.

Despite it all, he strode into the bar proudly. His memory was still full of holes, but he knew that things were not as they had once been. First on the to-do list- figure out who went through the portal, stabilize the damned thing, and hope it's not too late.

Rickards stirred in his chair. He blinked rapidly a couple times, and sat up. "Oh my. I hope I didn't make a fool of myself. He looked around the room, and spotted Scel. "Is that you, Scelestus? I must have been asleep for a very long time. Looks like you need a shave. And a haircut. Perhaps I can give a reccomendation?"

Scelestus blinked a couple times. The figure was very familiar, but he could not place him at any one memory. His mind was a fog.
"Erm... Sure, but first and foremost, I have to know who I let through that portal. It's of the utmost importance," he said sternly. He was not quite as quiet as before, and that could be seen easily. But still.....

Rickards looked confused. "I'm afraid I don't know what you are talking about. But, I recall, the squirrel was chasing you as you fled the bar. Perhaps he may have seen. And if not, there was that shady figure over there," he gestured toward Xer, "who, it seemed, was trying to sell you something."

Scelestus shivered slightly. He had to hurry while the reality gates still remembered the original gateway entry point. Otherwise, there'd be no way to bring the gate back to this mystery figure's planet.

On that note, he ran to the squirrel.
"I still can't take a drink, but I could use whatever knowledge you have on who I sent through that gate."

Why he should be the one dangling thirteen and a bit floors above the ground wasn't entirely clear to Prince Rhodri, but that was fairly normal for his life. Once the Gobbannaen delegation had sobered him up, he had found himself leading a number of young and enthusiastic (and in his secretary's words, "expendable") clerks along the Wabbit Holes that had been so thoughtfully provided for them. The prince was moderately certain that a few Invisible Wabbits were accompanying them, but it was always hard to tell.

The Wabbit Holes had emerged slightly above and either side of the old Gobbannaen offices (or broom cupboards as Building Maintenance had officially called them). This was, on the whole, a good thing. Slightly less good was that the two holes weren't quite at the same height, so the planks laid between them were on a slope. Hence, after much flourishing of words like "Health and Safety" and "Proactive Leadership", Rhodri had found himself walking across the planks high above the ground, with only an overenthusiastic ritual and some metaphysical tunneling best not thought about between him and a rather large drop.

"More rope," he called back, tugging impatiently on the line he was dragging behind him. The plan was to drag the twisted wreckage of the office furnishings over to the wabbit holes and thence back to the ground. There was nothing much that could be salvaged -- even the office dart board -- but it was a menace to navigation where it was, and it was the Gobbannaen delegation's fault that it was there at all. It was only fair that they be the ones to clean it up.

He tied the rope off on the first piece of furniture he came to, a small deformed filing cabinet whose main purpose in life had been to hide the office drinks supplies from him. Unsuccessfully, not that he expected the contents to be drinkable any more. He tugged to be sure it was secure, then stepped back along the plank. "Right," he called back, "haul away."

The youngster in front, who looked like he'd never played a game of rugby in his life, looked dubious. "Are you sure it's safe, sir?" he asked.

Rhodri gave him a withering look. Somehow it always seemed more effective when his secretary did it, but he kept trying. "Come on lad, the spell's been supporting this rubbish on its own for more than a month. Put your back into it, it's perfectly safe."

Baiting Murphy like that was not a smart move, he reflected moments later. His crew managed to pull the cabinet a whole inch across the lack of floor before the over-extended ritual gave out and the air was suddenly full of falling office furniture. Some of it toppled onto the planks as it started falling, knocking Rhodri off-balance. Falling, he reached out for anything to steady himself.

Moments later, he was gripping onto the rope for dear life, dangling with the filing cabinet underneath an invisible wabbit hole.

"Sooooo," said Rickards, to noone in particular, "What's going on?"

"Sooooo," said Rickards, to noone in particular, "What's going on?"

Jimmy looked up from where he was polishing a glass. "Not much," he said. Behind him, an ungentle rain of fire-gutted furniture started hitting the ground.

Above him, Prince Rhodri was demonstrating that he could swear nearly as well as a Palantine dolphin when the situation demanded. "...stay there, you *&^%@ thing," he finished, finally getting purchase with a foot on the wrecked filing cabinet dangling from the rope next to him. It took several moments more scrabbling before he could take enough of his weight to safely start up the rope.

That, of course, was the moment that the rope slipped down several inches. "Hold it," the Prince roared. "If you let that rope slip any more, we promise that we'll climb up sheer air if we must to wrap it round your &$^%* necks!" It was a threat that had worked for his old physics teacher, and it seemed to work on the office staff. The rope steadied, at least.

Slowly and laboriously, Rhodri started to climb to safety.

Slowly and laboriously, Rhodri started to climb to safety.

Slowly and laboriously indeed, thought the old Kawaiian nekomusume. Five days up a rope? How does the man manage it?

An eldary man walks into the bar, dressed in an odd outfit that seemed overly formal and informal at the same time, his dark complexion seemed at odds with his exceptionally blonde hair. Behind him were a number of men in yellow robes all vying for his attention.

"Yes yes," he told them quietly. "But you must understand that even though I've recently appointed one of your monks as my spiritual advisor that doesn't mean I am going to take his advice. So now I'm going to buy myself a drink because as far as I can tell that's the only source of funding the WA has these days."

As he approached the bar the monks began to give him more and more room, almost avoiding the very bar itself. "If you have any Kingfisher Lager I would like some but if not any other good lager will do. Normally I would order some Chivas Legal straight up but the monks might get exceptionally annoyed."

* (Yes I was once in a very high class resturant in Bangalore that had the words "Chivas Legal" on the drink menu for single malt scotch.)

Baiting Murphy like that was not a smart move, he reflected moments later. His crew managed to pull the cabinet a whole inch across the lack of floor before the over-extended ritual gave out and the air was suddenly full of falling office furniture. Some of it toppled onto the planks as it started falling, knocking Rhodri off-balance.

At that point one of the planks gave way, and a filing cabinet that had been resting on it toppled downwards. When it hit the ground -- narrowly missing a group of wabbits, who'd got out of the way just in time -- its drawers were jolted open and out flew their contents... to reveal that one member of the Gobbannaen mission apparently had rather "unusual" tastes: Sliding out of a plain brown wrapper came an issue of a magazine by the title of 'Freshly-shorn Yearling Ewes', whose front cover bore a photograph of a rather suprised-looking sheep that was wearing (of all things!) a garter-belt...

An eldary man walks into the bar, dressed in an odd outfit that seemed overly formal and informal at the same time, his dark complexion seemed at odds with his exceptionally blonde hair. Behind him were a number of men in yellow robes all vying for his attention.

"Hello there, I'm Dave Rickards, welcome to the bar, how are you? And who are you?" He asked, his mouth crammed with pretzels, and extended his hand.

It had taken a while for Prince Rhodri to climb back into the wabbit hole. It had taken even longer for the assembled diplomatic aides and office assistants to pull the filing cabinet up after him -- honestly, he really had to talk to Cerys about the appalling state of physical fitness of the embassy staff -- which they only did because he assured them that he'd hold them personally responsible for any damage it did if it fell. As for carrying the twisted wreckage back down the wabbit hole to the ground, well, he'd genuinely thought better of his countrymen. They'd probably complain if he made them do mandatory rugby practice or something.

Leaving his staff to lose an argument with Building Management about who was carting the filing cabinet off to the junk heap, Rhodri headed back to the comparative luxury of the bar. Jimmy grinned at him from behind the bar, obviously happy to have something to do that kept him away from where Neville was filling out insurance forms. In no time, the prince was perched on a bar stool, a pint of porter awaiting his intentions.

Jimmy's grin widened as he leaned across the bar, and the prince swore he could hear giggling from the empty air beside him.

"So," Jimmy said, "about that subscription to Playsheep..."

"Hello there, I'm Dave Rickards, welcome to the bar, how are you? And who are you?" He asked, his mouth crammed with pretzels, and extended his hand.

He reaches for the hand, "Well I'm Harold Godwinson, but here at the bar you can call me 'Harry.' Technically speaking I am 'King Harold the Sixteenth, Maharaja of Tzor, President of Tzorsland, Commander in Chief of the Royal Armed Serivces, Protector of Pelicans, and so on and so forth.' My nation has eight point eight billion people and as a result my nation needs practically no taxes whatsoever in order to give me a government budget of almost twelve billion."

He reaches for the hand, "Well I'm Harold Godwinson, but here at the bar you can call me 'Harry.' Technically speaking I am 'King Harold the Sixteenth, Maharaja of Tzor, President of Tzorsland, Commander in Chief of the Royal Armed Serivces, Protector of Pelicans, and so on and so forth.' My nation has eight point eight billion people and as a result my nation needs practically no taxes whatsoever in order to give me a government budget of almost twelve billion."

Alfred Sweynsson was sitting at a nearby table, leant forwards over a glass of whiskey that he was nursing -- his fourth of the evening -- while he mused over the many ways in which his government's WA proposal on 'Ways and Means' had been misunderstood by various other ambassadors and heads of government. However upon hearing this introduction he jolted into a more upright position in a startled manner, almost (but not quite) dropping his glass in the process, and then rose to his feet. He set the glass carefully down on the table, and made his way over to join this conversation.

"Please excuse me for interrupting," he said, "but would you actually be a descendant of the famous Earl Godwin of Wessex? Pray permit me to introduce myself: I am Alfred Devereux Sweynsson, officially the ambassador here of my homeland 'St Edmund' but also looking after the interests (although less officially, as far as the WA's management is concerned) of an entire group of nations that's known as the 'Godwinnian Commonwealth'. That alliance's mother-nation is called 'Godwinnia', and was named after both the Earl himself, because he discovered the islands upon which it was later founded in his youth, and his grandson Godwin Haroldsson -- the oldest son of King Harold II of England -- because he led the fleet of English refugees who settled there just a few years after the Battle of Hastings... And our own current monarch, King Harold I of St Edmund who is also King Harold III of Godwinnia, can trace his ancestry back through those ancestors. If you are of the Earl's blood then your existence is news that I am sure will be of great interest to our governments."

"Please excuse me for interrupting," he said, "but would you actually be a descendant of the famous Earl Godwin of Wessex?"

Harold perks up at the news. "That is generally how the story goes although to be honest there are a lot of areas in my family history that are severely lacking in proper historical verification. According to the family history the great Godwin of Wessex had a famous son Harold Godwinson who unfortunately lost his eye at the battle of Hastings. He had two sons, both had gone into exile, Harold and Ulf. Now here is where the records get a little vague. It is said that my great great and so forth ancestor was in fact that Harold who settled in the Indian subcontinent in a location that was eventually to be called 'Eyesore' and upon getting into power he proclaimed himself Harold III of Tzor. This continued for a number of generations until a wandering band of Christian Franciscans who symbolically pummeled the successor to Harold (who has always been named Harold or at least renamed upon his rise to the position) with loaves of stale bread at what is ironically called the 'Very Hasty Battle.' Thus for many generations the title that I held was symbolic and we were often called once a year for only the appearance of pomp and royalty that a true nation deserves. Under my leadership I was able to get the Franciscans to leave the nation by conning them into joining the precursor to the World Assembly. Currently they are living in a growing but bankrupt independent nation, living a bizarre vegan lifestyle."

Leaving his staff to lose an argument with Building Management about who was carting the filing cabinet off to the junk heap, Rhodri headed back to the comparative luxury of the bar. Jimmy grinned at him from behind the bar, obviously happy to have something to do that kept him away from where Neville was filling out insurance forms. In no time, the prince was perched on a bar stool, a pint of porter awaiting his intentions.

Jimmy's grin widened as he leaned across the bar, and the prince swore he could hear giggling from the empty air beside him.

"So," Jimmy said, "about that subscription to Playsheep..."

"Baaaaa..."

*giggle*

"Sooo... Is this place dead or what?"

Charlotte checks the bar again and somewhat the colours have changed a little...

Two bears, a panda, and a human, walk into the room...

One of the 'bears' walks across to the bar itself, while his companions occupy some of the seats around a previously-unclaimed table. This being is about eight feet tall, and although he looks very much like a bear (of the 'brown' type) he is evidently quite at ease walking on two legs. He is wearing clothes -- a formal 'evening suit', complete with top hat -- and carrying a briefcase. Some of the people who've been around here for a while might recognise him as Borrin o Redwood, who was sent to observe the workingd of this organisation's predecessor on behalf of the 'Confederated Clans of Bears Armed (http://www.nationstates.net/bears_armed)', although he's been out of town for a few months. After pausing for a brief chat with some wabbits whom he apparently knows from back then, he addresses Jimmy.

"Hrarrroom, which is 'Greetings'. Not only am I back here but I am now full Ambassador, because my homeland has just recently decided to join this Assembly. The people whom you see over there" (he waves his left forepaw in the direction of the table where his companions are now sitting) "are only 'Observers', however, as they here on behalf of other nations of 'Ursian League': Master Hwhoo is from Serene Republic of Philosophical Pandas (http://www.nationstates.net/philosophical_pandas)', Astrud Jenssen from Ursine Protectorate of Old Ceorana (http://www.nationstates.net/old_ceorana), and Marrco d'Ursini is from Principality of Roumberre (http://www.nationstates.net/roumberre)."
(He points successively at the panda [who is wearing simple robes], the human [a middle-aged woman, apparently of European ancestry, who's in a business suit], and the other bear [much shorter than him, barely topping six feet, but more heavilly built; also seeming to be of the 'brown bear' type, but with quite dark fur; wearing a bright yellow zoot-suit, with scarlet trimmings...], as he makes these introductions.)

"My government is not knowing whether old records were destroyed along with old Bar, so I have brought money with which to open new account here anyway. Gold thalers, hokay?" He pulls a linen bag from out of his case, and passes it across the bar.
"We are all having whiskey, please, Godwinnian 'Famous Dragon's-Blood' if that is possible, apart from Master Hwhoo who will have coconut milk."

"Sooo... Is this place dead or what?"

Shemp stumbled into the world's favorite drinking establishment, only to find that its favor had apparently diminished over the past few months: it was completely deserted. Even the staff seemed to have vacated their posts. "Hello? Anyone here?" he called out, but the only response he got was the quiet rustling of a tumbleweed rolling by.

The diplomat pondered the solitude for a moment, then half sighed, half scoffed. What was the point of adding more useless committees (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=560855) to the WA's mandate anyway, when the bureaucracy that already existed didn't even do their jobs? he viciously asked himself. A consolidation of duties might do the trick, he thought: surely Neville could act as the determiner on sapience recognition, as all his interactions with talking dragons, talking cats, talking bears, and on ad infinitum, made him a bona fide authority on the subject.

Finally, Shemp ambassador resolved that if he wanted any service in this joint, he'd have to serve himself, and so he rounded the bar to fix himself a tumbler of Wild Turkey. His back was turned when he heard a throat clearing behind him. He immediately turned, expecting to find some desirable company, only to find the familiar face of a rather infamous, athletic young delegate who had an odd fixation on dealing damage to his colleagues' groins.

This psychopath again? Shemp thought scornfully, rolling his eyes. Why did always appear whenever he tried to interact outside the debate halls? Another sigh. Whatever the Kennyite observer standing before the Schuttean was, he certainly wasn't "desirable." Luckily he was self-immersed, so he didn't seem to recognize the new "barman," despite having encountered him, and his crotch, numerous times before.

"Yeah, I'll have an Arrogant Bastard Ale, and six more to go!" the visitor directed.

"Eh, why not?" Shemp muttered to himself as he turned about to locate the beers.

"Dude! Jimmy! What the fuck are you doing?!" the newcomer interjected, as Shemp peered over his shoulder to find an unexpected third party seemingly feeling up the intolerable customer. "If ya want to get in my pants, at least give me some lip action first!"

"Orders are orders, Ambassador," the third man replied, before concluding his search and announcing to the "barman": "Don't worry, he's clean."

"He always gots to frisk me wherever I go," complained the Kennyite as his friend retreated. "I mean, what's he think I'm gonna do? Blow up the joint?"

Shemp managed a laugh as he produced the clanking bottles of liquid self-esteem. The young man eagerly scooped them toward him. "Thanks, man," he said, in a rare moment of polity, as he raised his clenched hand to give the Schuttean a grateful Terrorist Fist Jab.