NationStates Jolt Archive

It was a cold day, though the sun was shining. The streets of Schwerd were deserted. The people were glued to their television sets at home, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the President of the Democratic Republic of Atheena. It would be the first visit of a leader from a foreign nation to the Republic of Hakopam. Everyone was holding their breath and crossing their fingers, hoping they wouldn't suffocate and that their President would not have any of his funny, embarassing gaffes. Not that he was incompetent or anything. He was just prone to gaffes. Not a lot of trouble on a national level. On an international level, however, it could become a problem...

Oh, yes, the President. Fourty-one years old, dark brown hair, green eyes and a medium build. But all of this was overshadowed by his moustache. It was a very nice moustache, very big and shiny, in the prime of its existence, now that the President had once again had the time to buy some small scissors to take care of it. It was with that moustache, which had been adorning his face continuously and beatutifully for about twenty years, that had won him the Presidency, some analysts thought. His opponent had been pretty much as competent and charismatic as he was. But he didn't have a moustache. Hence, he had not been elected. Others disagreed. But the fact remained: the President had, no use denying it, a very interesting moustache.

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The clouds from the previous day had all but disappeared, to the contentment of the President, who nervously looked up into the sky. The Shwerd International Airport was filled with people, all of them eagerly awaiting the arrival of their distinguished guest. There was the Army, all lined up and ready to salute. There was the band, complete with funny uniforms, instruments in hand, ready to play the hymns of both countries. There were the reporters, laptops under their arms, looking up, or talking on their cell phones. And there was him.

Was he ready for such an important occasion? He didn't know. He didn't know and he hoped he wouldn't find out he wasn't right when it was the wrong occasion to do so. He looked at his watch. A few more minutes and the waiting would be over. The President breathed in and out, in and out, trying to calm his nerves. He tryed to thing of something else. He couldn't. He was only able to remember all his latest problematic mistakes. That made him close his eyes, in psychological pain.

He heard noises around him and opened his to see what was happening. It was what he had feared. There, on the sky, was the plane.

He had wondered how it would feel to see it. Now he knew. It wasn't good. His stomach started to feel strange, he started to sweat. There was no way to calm himself. This was it.

The plane approached the ground with greater speed than was needed, as far as the President was concerned. He wanted to run away.

The wheels of the plane made contact with the ground. There was no excaping it now. In a few minutes, the President would be greeting a Head of State from a foreign nation. And he was thoroughly unprepared.

He had made it. Though it was a long flight, the large aircraft made it seem like home. Complete with a master suite, over twenty medium-sized bathrooms, and 10 rooms that had never been used. This was his first flight on this plane, and his first flight out of the nation.

The army was to be found in every crevase and dark corner, this he thought, an unnessacary procaution. "Can the people in this nation really be THAT bad?". His answer would only be answered by walking down those 50 steps and onto the beloved ground.

The Secretary reminded him not to act foolish and to stay on topic, not talking about his life, but instead talking about recent events. Although he was President of over 20,000,000 people, he did have a childish side to him. This was probably because he was only thirty-five. But he couldn't help but wonder why two Presidents from two different nations would not want to learn more about eachother.

An army guard opend the door in front of him. The sunlight hurt his eyes. He found himself squinting as he slowly walked down the ivory steps to the long awaited ground. After a moment, he put his foot on the asphalt. His first step on foreign, shall we call it soil?

"Hello Mr. President," he said cheerfully, noticing a slight nervous look on the man's face before him, "how do you do?"

There he was, in front of him. The President of the Democratic Republic of Atheena. He thought about his country. He thought about his duty. He thought about his moustache. He greeted him.

"Fine, fine. How do you do? How's the wife and kids?"

Not a particularly inspired question. But it had to do. The President did not want to start talking politics right after the poor man had come out of the plane. That could wait.

The soldiers were in positio, saluting. The band was playing something that the President could not identify, probably the hymn of Atheena. Hmm, Atheena... With two "e"s. He had to ask, right when he had the chance.

It was time, now, to go to the limo.

"Good, good" he replied. "The Mrs. is currently in the US Virgin Islands on vacation, and the kids are with their uncle."

They drove about 3 minutes and he recieved a transmission through the wire connected to his ear.

"Sorry, Mr. President, but I must go; Driver! May you please pull over?"

He got out and walked away, secret service behind and in front of him.