NationStates Jolt Archive

"Er, um, is this microphone working?"

"Right" >skreeeee< "Oops, sorry, right well thank you all for coming today. My name is Ambassador "New Products", and this is my assistant "Improved Recipe". I appreciate that a small nation such as ourselves rarely has anything to offer to the more ...umm... prosperous parts of this universe, but I think that we can, er, show during the next half-an-hour or..or..so that despite our small stature we can provide a valuable service to those of you who are open to..um...alternative methods."

"As you can see, we are a nation of rats*. Rats with some intriguing assets."

>whisper "Improved, first slide please"<
>click (FX: A picture of discworld**)<

"A few years ago, a group of us who had become disillusioned with the over-idealistic society set up by our ancestors left Uberwald** in search of a home that could accommodate our more pragmatic aspirations. Unfortunately, we didn't get very far before even the least idealistic of us was forced to accept that there are times when pragmatism needs a healthy dose of something else to keep it going."

>click< (FX: A picture of a small wooden boat, tumbling through space, and rather crudely animated )

"In this case that something else happened to be airtight hold, a good instinct for survival and a suspiciously IPSD-like*** swirling vortex of light which deposited us on this planet."

>click< (FX: A sequence of pictures fading into each other, starting with a rather bewildered group of rats standing beside a broken heap of wood; an upside-down picture of a group of rats at the seaside, accompanied by a rather nervous cough from Improved Recipe; a schematic of underground tunnels running to various depths; and arriving finally at a picture of a cavern, some 500 metres in diameter into which well over a million rats are packed, some of which appear to be wearing belts.)

"After getting our bearings, we quickly found the nearest drain and set about building our new nation. That was ten years ago. We now number over ten-million and are spread throughout most of your countries, quietly getting on with our lives and trying very hard not to widdle in your flour."

"So, why are you here? well, we have a proposition. Your countries have been selected by us as having the necessary qualities - we believe - for doing business. Chiefly these are a desire for information that you cannot ordinarily get a hold of, an accommodating morality, a wide spectrum of species or races living more or less in harmony, and a laissez-fair attitude towards rodent control."

"We know a lot about you already, we could probably find out a lot more..."

>click< (FX: A slide showing various top-secret documents, heavily blacked out, intending to signify that even though the service is new, the rats of the republic of Mr. Bunnsy have been practicing for quite some time.)

"...but then you all know your own secrets anyway, wouldn't you rather know someone else's?"

"Ladies, Gentlemen, Arachnids and Mythicals, thank you for your time today. If you look under your seat you will find a folder containing today's presentation, a chocolate rat-on-a-stick from our vintage selection and a selection of your documents that you have...ummm...lost over the last few years. We look forward to doing business with you."

>click< (FX: A slide showing the two names of the rats presenting, a pictogram of a rat with a large ear listening very carefully to something and an e-mail address.

____________________________________________________________

*OOC: Bear with me here, I'm trying something new. If any of you have read Terry Pratchett's "Maurice and his amazing educated rodents" then you will already have all the background you need to understand. If not then here is a good place to start: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0060012331/102-2276116-4993729

I've been lurking (sans identity) for a while but a germ of a seed of an idea formed and I am hoping this seedling can find a nook to take root. The idea of intelligent rats can be adapted to fit almost any milieu; fantasy, sci-fi, present-day (alright that one's a bit of a stretch), cyberpunk - you name it you could probably fit a few intelligent rats in. And that's exactly what I'd like to do.

If any of you see a need for an unlikely intelligence gathering outfit, from tabloid journalism through to anything short of actual (in-character) assassination then feel free to send the republic of Mr Bunnsy a telegram. I'll be only to happy to join a thread for two or three posts to provide an in-chaRATer report and then skulk away into the darkness. Who knows? With enough walk-on parts, there might even be a spin-off series!

I haven't spoken to Terry about this, to be honest I don't know whether the idea has wings or not, but I'd like to give it a shot. The intelligent rats seem such a good idea, it would be a shame if we couldn't work them into a bit more folk-lore.

**Discworld and other terms, the creation and intellectual property of Terry Pratchett. I'm acknowledging it here and now so there can be no dispute later. I know where this idea comes from and I acknowledge I am plagiarising it for the purposes of a role-playing experiment.

***IPSD: Improbable Plot-Saving Device.

<Bump> for viewing because I love this idea...

Rateurs AP: Mr Bunnsy

In a not entirely unexpected move today, the Republic of Mr Bunnsy announced closer ties with the Rodent Alliance. "The Certified Gamer's Alliance has been good to us over the last few years, both economically and politically" said Training Directory, the Mr Bunnsy Foreign Minister, "but we believe that we also have a lot to gain, and offer, by forging closer ties with the Rodent Alliance".

Ms. Directory was quick to point out that this was merely the first stage in what may one day lead to a direct involvement with the Rodent Alliance, but at this stage the collaboration was at tail's length: "We look forward to a growing relationship with the Rodent Alliance, but this is our first overt foray into international politics and, as rats, we are naturally cautious."

Lol :)

Urelia: Northern Peninsula 22:45 Local time.

There wasn't much left of the small Urelian town of Crenache. Actually, there was quite a lot left, it was just in very small pieces and scattered over a much wider area than it was before. The inhabitants of Crenache had always boasted that they were in touch with the Earth. While this may previously have been rural hyperbole, it was now literally true - although "mixed" would now perhaps be a better choice of word than "touch".

Had any of the inhabitants survived the recent invasion they would have probably agreed that the re-organisation hadn't harmed the aesthetic of the town to any appreciable degree. It was certainly a lot flatter than it had been, and the views from any given location were now much better. The smell hadn't changed much, but there was an odour of roasted flesh that may have unsettled those of a more nervous disposition.

Remarkably, one building remained relatively unscathed, the old post-office. It had been there for as long as anyone could remember, as had its post-mistress the redoubtable Mrs. Follywig - though she had now joined the rest of the town's population in their new role as compost. The stonework - though blasted and pitted in the past and bearing new scars from recent events - was still largely intact, even some of the roof timbers were still visible, though the Urelian clay tiles that had comprised the post-office's roof had disintegrated.

At the base of the building just by the door was a post-box - Urelian green in colour - which inhabitants of the village could use if they wanted to drop off a letter after the post-office had closed, or if Mrs. Follywig had popped down the road for a head of lettuce. It had never been locked, and the local inhabitants would sometimes post letters to each other and collect them themselves - though they were always careful to pay Mrs. Follywig the postage anyway. Herbert Brimp had forgotten to do that once and had had a nasty accident with a roll of baling twine the very next week that had involved a few red faces, an embarrassed nurse and a trip to the local hospital.

The postbox door was moving slightly in the wind, although if you watched it carefully you could swear that it was opening slowly each time it waved backwards and forwards. Eventually it opened completely and dropped off its hinges. A few charred ashes fell out. From within the postbox came the sound of muffled curses, followed by the sound of a small hammer being banged against metal. Inexorably, and in small jumps the post office began to loosen itself from its ancient mounting on the wall of the post office. It shook with each tiny bang, but eventually it too dropped onto the blackened ground.

Behind the postbox was a hole in the wall, and standing in the hole was a rat, wearing a leather toolbelt.

"That's got it", said the rat.

"Thank Bunnsy for that" came a reply from behind him. "I thought we'd never make it out alive! Where are we?"

"Emergency exit 355 - the old post-office, we can all get out here." said the first rat. "Time to report back."

The two rats disappeared back into the gloom. About fifteen minutes later they reappeared, followed by more rats, then still more. The trickle became a flood, with rats pouring out of the hole. Most were adults, though there were a few juveniles. Some were wearing small items of clothing, others carried tools, tiny books, candles and other paraphernalia. All of them looked half-starved, all of them looked relieved to be in the open air.

The two rats that had first opened the exit stopped to one side.

"What will we do now Training Directory?" said the first.
"We'll start again Pepper Sauce" said the second, "we did it before, we can do it again. We have all the information, but this time we have the plans and we know what we want to do. This time we'll dig deeper, dig harder. Our cities this time will be able to withstand anything that the humans can throw at each other. We will disperse, live as smaller groups, use the technology we have learnt to keep in touch. But more importantly," the first rat grimaced, "we won't forget who did this to us. We may not live long compared to humans, but we have long memories. We will not forget, and we will not forgive. The republic of Mr. Bunnsy will rise again, and we *will* have our vengeance".

The flood of rats slowed and finally stopped. Fully 250,000 rats had exited the hole, though over ten times that number lay in the darkness below. As the huge pack dispersed in the darkness to find new homes, hitch rides on ships, burrow anew, they shared one thing in common: a grim determinaton to ensure that this could never happen again.

And thus began the Republic of Mr. Bunnsy the Second.

_________________________________________

OOC: Originally posted - inappropriately - in the "Verghastinsel begins subjugation of smaller neighbours" thread, I have moved the post here. For back story on the reasons behind this, please read http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=419956 for more details.

lol Interesting, I must admit. If we ever had need for spies, I'll be sure to give Bunnsy a call. :D

WNI is shocked to learn that there could be little cute rodent spies in our nation! A campaign of culling an education materials has been released!

ooc:makes me think of Maurice and his Educated Rodents.

OOC: See OOC notes in first post. Maurice, Ham'n'Pork, Dangerous Beans et al were the direct inspiration. Hence the name Mr. Bunnsy :)

IC:

"Ms. Directory?"

"Yes?"

"We seem to have a little problem in Ankhmet"

"What sort of problem?"

"They're trying to eradicate us... no losses so far but it's only a matter of time before they get lucky"

"Ankhmet? Oh yes. Let me see." The erstwhile foreign minister of the First Republic walked over to a pile of papers and starrted rummaging through them. After thirty seconds or so she emerged from the pile, holding a small dossier in her teeth, her tail wrapped around a film canister. She motioned the first rat over.

"Oh for Bunnsy's sake stop crouching submissively will you? That was a long time ago. Now have a look at these and then put the negatives somewhere safe until we can get some prints made"

The first rat opened the dossier and had a look through. His eyes widened appreciably at the first series of pictures and remained so as he looked through the rest of the folder.

"But that's the Ankhmetian Minister of Pu..."

"Yes it is", interrupted Ms. Directory.

"With a Shee.."

"Yes it is", interrupted Ms. Directory.

"And what's that he has inserted in his a..."

"A Carrot", interrupted Ms. Directory, "I think once our newfound enemy sees these, he'll be far more accommodating of our presence. I like to think of it as enforced friendship."

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

OOC: Over to you Ankhmet. :)

Oval Office, Grey House, Republic of Skinny87

President Martin was halfway through the usual stack of mision reports, affairs of states and meaningless memos when he came across a rather startling memo. He read it through several times before hitting the intercom to his secretary rather harder than he had meant to. He nursed the bruised hand before touching the intercom with a lighter touch.

"Ms Yarder, please send for the Foreign Secretary. Immediately. I don't care what hes doing now."

Thirty-seven minutes later, the Foreign Secretary was seated opposite the President, still wearing a golfing jumper and clasping a Club Bag. He dropped the bag when the President lowered his glasses and turned around the memo, pushing it over so that the Foreign Secretary could read it. He took it, skim read it, and nodded before giving it back.

"What about it, Mr President?", the Foreign Secretary enquired.

Xavier looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "You don't find this even vaguely odd. A nation of rats...a nation of talking rats to top it. Tell me, were you sober when you wrote this?"

The Foreign Secretary bridled visible and went slightly red in the cheeks. "Mr President! I was certainly sober, sir, and the report is true. The nation of Mr Bunnsy the Second, I believe, has opened Diplomatic Relations with the International Community."

"Talking. Rats. Rats."

"Indeed sir. A little odd, but seeing what we've experienced in certain other incidents so far, Mr President, this is hardly an absurd notion."

Xavier sighed deeply, rubbed his eyes, then looked at the Foreign Secretary. "Very well. Send them an envoy, and see if they are worthy of being allies with the Republic. See what they can offer. Send Lanchester."

"Immediately, Mr President."

ooc:Inventing photos...You scumzorz!!!!!I ARE TEH KILLING YOO! I knbow they're invented because Ankhmet has no ministers :P
ic:
The president of Weishaupt nano-Industries made a speech to his Ankhmeti possesio...Employees, regarding the rat problem:

"After a pledge of $5bn into the sanitation commission, sewers are being made airtight in preparation for the pumping of 18,000 liters of hydrogen cyanide gas. A reward of 50 cents for every rat's head given to the rat-catchers is helping to ensure that children are not withholding their own brand of cruelty. Teams of assault troops armed with assault rifles have been making trips into the sewers, but the sheer stupidity of using rifles aainst rats was realised. Unfortunately, one team went missing whilst placing poisoned cheesy biscuits in a storm drain. Our thoughts go out to those sleeping in the sewers of Ankhmet, attempting to keep the rat menace bottled up. However, we have a new weapon: the green wobbly bit. Rats are being cut open, and the green wobbly bit is being used as a cordon. If this does not work...God help us all."

The Silver Sky welcomes the Nations of Mr Bunnsy and Mr Bunnsy the Second to the international stage, that is all we have time for as our President has fallen off his chair laughing, we will keep your services in mind...



OOC: I saw this and laughed so hard, it's a good idea, oh... wait... *TAG*... yeah that's right *TAG*

"Ms. Directory?"

"Yes Vegetable Extract?"

"There have been...developments."

"Good or Bad?"

"A Bit of Both." Vegetable Extract knew that Training Directory was an understanding rat, but despite the generations that had passed since their kind had learned the value of language there was a small part of him that still worried whether the de facto leader of the second republic wouldn't try and eat him after she heard the news. Crouching as low as he could he took a deep breath to deliver his report. "Ankhmet really doesn't like us. They've sealed their sewers and are gassing them. We managed to get most of our rats out but even our best trap teams can't stop gas. Overall I estimate about 15,000 dead, and about 1.2 million of their own squeakers."*

Training Directory stood very still for a moment, but then resumed her normal animated fashion. "Well, we always knew they were an unlikely ally. Any nation that treats its own people like posessions was never going to welcome us with open paws. Let's strike them off the list of potential customers. Did we get any information out?"

Vegetable Extract relaxed visibly. The worst was over. "Not much that was good. A few troop movements, some shady accounts in the larger corporations, your standard industrial espionage stuff, nothing shocking. We did get a very good recipe for spinach though."

"Not a total loss then. Try and find out who their enemies are, and see - via distance communication - if any of their corporations are more approachable than their government. Any other takers?"

Vegetable extract began to warm to his theme. "A couple. The Silver Sky welcomed us to the international stage, although they appear to have had trouble believing we are real."

"Millions of their children worship the Hogfather - what's wrong with a talking rat? Still, no matter, send them a telegram thanking them for their kind welcome. Silver Sky. I always liked that name. Anyone else?"

"Yes Ms. Directory, The Republic of Skinny87 want to meet with us. They would like to send an Envoy, a human called 'Lanchester'."

"Oh Good. Who's our rat under the ground in Skinny87?"

"Long-lasting flavour."

"What's her assessment of the situation?"

"She doesn't think they necessarily want anything from us, but they are a pretty peaceful nation, one of our top picks in the initial assessment and they certainly appear to want to recognise our legitimacy."

"OK, get her to set up a meeting with this Lanchester. Let's try and find somewhere that suits us both."

"Right away"

"Oh, and Extract?"

"Yes Ms. Directory"

"Please try not to widdle when you bring me bad news next time, the days of eating each other are long gone."

"Yes Ms. Directory"



____________________________________________________
* Squeakers, the Bunnsian term for the more traditional non-talking rats.

"Rats?"
"Yes sir rats."
"Sucks to be them then, as snakes, weasles and others love rat meat. Send them a message that if they don't want thier rats eaten, to stop skulking in our sewers."

To: Mr Bunnsy the Second
From: FRD
Should you wish for diplomatic exchanges, come out and do so, as most rats in Theao get eaten by a variety of animals.

To: FRD
From: The_Republic_of_Mr_Bunnsy_The_Second@ratmail.com

We aren't like *most* rats, and we don't live in your sewers, although you are forgiven for the comparison. We are more than happy to meet with you - that is our intention - hence the launch of our portfolio of services.

We look forward to being of service to you.

Training Directory

Republican Embassy, Dowland City

Chief Ambassador Kurt Lanchester fiddled with his bowtie for what seemed like the hundreth time before leaving it as a bad job. He always had hated the damn things; normal ties were far superior in practically every way possible. He grunted to himself, and brushed away a small piece of lint that had fallen onto his suit trousers.

He looked in the mirror and saw a reflection of himself; tall, lean, with light brown hair and a small scar across his chin, the result of a childhood accident. Not a bad body, if he said so himself. He gave a rueful smile and looked back at the piece of paper that listed who he was to meet with tonight at the Embassy. He frowned; he was to meet with...a rat. And not just any rat. An educated, speaking, female rat named...'Long-lasting flavour' according to the memo.
Heran his fingers through his hair, and briefly wondered what the diplomatic etiquette was for greeting and meeting a rat. How did one shake hands? What did they eat? Could you talk to them face to face, or would you have to lie down? So many questions that, as per usual, he had not been supplied the answers to. Oh well, time to improvise once again...

He stepped out of the dressing room and walked into the Meeting Room of the Embassy and awaited the arrival of the Rat Delegate. Outside the Marine Guard detachment shouldered arms and awaited the Delegate...

Dowland City Ratwald (somewhere underneath Dowland City)

Representative Long-Lasting flavour smoothed her fur for what seemed like the hundredth time and adjusted the small straw boater that sat in a rather ungainly way over her ears. She hated the damned hat, it was totally impractical but protocol dictated that she wear it, humans found it less difficult to talk to rats if there was something visible to remind them that their conversational partner wasn't going to try to run off with the contents of the cheeseboard. She hoped she wouldn't have to tap dance though - that was one bit of the protocol she never liked.

She looked at the back of a flattened spoon that served as the mirror in her accommodation while the Ratwald was being finished. They'd dug the cavern a little over a month ago in the hope that they might find a peaceful co-existence with the nation above them. There were many such homes now built in the sub-soil and rock of the various countries that the Republic had colonised after the diaspora, and by and large they were quite comfortable, capable of holding just over a million rats.

Generally the humans above them carried on as normal, oblivious to their presence, occasionally remarking on how clean the streets looked these days; humans were so wasteful. The thrown-away food from a town of ten-thousand inhabitants could easily support a hundred times that in rats.

Realising her thoughts had drifted, Long-lasting Flavour straightened her hat, smoothed her fur one last time, put on her waterproof coverall - she was going to have to travel through some man-made tunnels and they weren't as clean as the ones the rats made themselves - and began the ten-minute journey up through the labyrinth of tunnels and man-made culverts that would take her to within widdling distance of the Embassy.

She had never actually spoken to an Ambassador before, but if he was anything like other humans the poor man probably wouldn't know whether to stand up or lie down. Never mind - putting humans at their ease was one thing she seemed to have a flair for.

Arriving at a pipe just around the back of the Embassy she discarded her waterproof coverall and began the walk through the small city garden around the Embassy towards the main door. She was thankful of that. It would mean that the first humans to see her would be expecting her.

Republican Embassy

The Sergeant-Major in charge of the Marine Honour Guard outside the front of the Embasy had been briefed that another visiting dignitary was to arrive and converse with the Ambassador. There was nothing unusual about this; dignitaries came and went every hour of every day at the Embassy, and the Guardsmen had got their drill down to perfection through constant drill. The fact that the visitor today was in fact not a humanoid, but rather a rat, was something that the Sergeant-Major could not comment on; he was not paid enough to think, merely to command the Guard Detachment, and it was either this or the Nerotikan Front.

So, when a small rat, wearing of all things a boater hat, scurried through the Embassy gates and down the immaculate - and freshly cleaned - red carpet, the Guards shouldered arms, went through their drill, and saluted the rat as it moved through into the Embassy.


Inside the Meeting Room, Lanchester saw the double doors open and the Guard salute to a small rat as it moved through and...stood?...before him. Removing any thoughts of how silly the situation would have looked to an outside observer, Lanchester stood, bowed and gestured to a small, very low, table that had been piled with various finely-cut foodstuffs. "Madam Long-Lasting flavour. I am honoured to meet you. We have a selection of food here if you wish to eat first, or perhaps we can get straight down to business?"

"In brief, my President has asked me to enquire about your nations history, its population and so on; whether you would agree to a Trade Agreement of somekind; and finally the possibility of employing or hiring your people for our government."

Official Statement from The Imperial Union
http://img107.echo.cx/img107/9007/seal0du.gif

To The Republic of Sir Bunsy,

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Grand Chancellor Sergei Ilyanov, member of the Rosian Socialist Party, and recent winner of the Imperial Elections for Grand Chancellor. Now, to be brief.

We have err... observed your nation from our advanced satellites and spies of doom. And um, well... you are very strange. But, since you have the ability to blackmail anybody in the world, we would like to have relations, diplomatic relations, not that kind you pervert. Yes umm... now this is what we want as an Embassitic Guard.

One Imperial Mk. II MBT (With Crew)
Three Ninha Mobile Anti Air Systems (With Crew)
Five Soldatoya HMMVWs (With Crew)
One CH-47 (With Crew)
One Hundred Soldiers (RAR-9C)
One Ambassador (Sir Henry Knickerbacker)

We would also like to open trade negotiations, and things of that matter. We hope that you respond soon.

Sincerely,
Grand Chancellor Sergei Ilyanov
The Imperial Union of The Island of Rose (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/0/07/Byeltsin.jpg)

ooc: I have to say this is a good idea, but if Sephrioth did this we would all scream godmode. It's just wrapped in humour and good spelling.

OOC: Ankhmet, you're probably right about Godmode, but what I had in mind was agreement between both parties OOC before I post in anyone's threads (my lesson of last week is well learned). In short if someone wants to employ our services, I would telegram the other side asking them what information they feel that rats could reasonably gather, and then embellish it slightly. Alternatively, depending on how liberal participants are feeling I would be more than happy to read the backstory in a thread and post my own input, or even post within a set of agreed guidelines. It's early days and it might not work, but I'm open to experimentation and suggestion.

___________________o0o_____________________
OOC: Skinny87 I'm rather enjoying this! I hope this develops things OK.

IC: Long-Lasting Flavour blinked at the array of food before her. Within her innards, gastric juices started flowing and she found herself strongly drawn to the table. Looking up at ambassador Lanchester she said, "Well, I am feeling a little peckish. Thank you for your invitation and your hospitality. Will you be joining me?" Long-Lasting Flavour picked up a particularly tasty-looking pickled chicken bone rolled in soybean husks and started knawing daintily. Sensing her host's reluctance to join her - she often wondered how humans made a big deal of dogs being able to smell fear but neglected how much more sensitive rat's noses were and how much better they were at picking up on the odour component of various emotions - she sighed and put down the bone , food would have to wait.

"Ambassador Lanchester, as you are probably aware from our briefing to various peoples of your universe a few weeks ago, we are relative newcomers to this part of the cosmos, and arrived here more by accident than design. At first we hid ourselves away, not wanting to invite the wrath of those for whom humans are considered the only intelligent species and for whom anything else should be viewed with suspicion and distrust. After a few years, and with gaining confidence in our new home we decided to approach those countries with which we felt we could establish a working relationship, or at least those that we were reasonably confident wouldn't try to wipe us out. Our needs are very simple, our demands few, our profile low and our usefulness we believe to be high. Alas, just as things were starting to look furrier for us we suffered a major setback - a war in Urelia wiped 90% of us out. We were not participants, merely unlucky bystanders in a human conflict. As a result of that we decided that we should never again gather in one place and should look to establish a more geographically diverse organisation."

Long-Lasting flavour took a deep breath. She felt that at this point she might need to start dancing, but she resisted the urge. The Ambassador seemed relaxed and not too fazed by her appearance or her message. She had met humans like this before, people for whom the unusual was commonplace. Even his odour now betrayed only slight apprehension mixed with a healthy dose of anticipation. Either he was warming to her or he was very, very good at masking his emotions*. She decided to continue without theatrics.

"We ask that you allow us to build beneath your ground - in positions agreed with yourselves and in clearly defined areas - Ratwalds, our chosen form of accommodation. In return we will provide you with the following services: pest control, bio- and organic- rubbish removal and lastly but by no means least drain and sewer maintenance reports. Furthermore we have two commercial proposals for you, one overt, the other one *cough* less so."

By now the aroma from the food laid out in front of her was making long-lasting flavour almost mad with hunger, she decided that speech or no speech she needed to eat something soon*. To lessen the desire she moved round the table and approached Lanchester slightly, lowering her voice slightly to appear a little more conspiratorial.

"As a commercial offering to your citizens we would like to offer a lost & found service. Many small items of jewellry, small toys and other household paraphernalia are regularly thrown away by mistake. For a small fee to your citizens we would undertake to retrieve these items from your cities' waste systems and return them to their rightful owners. In order to do this we would like your help in recruiting humans to act as our agents".

"Lastly, and as a service to your government we would like to offer on a fee-paying basis the retrieval of information from other countries that you may find useful. This could be done either on a stipendiary model, in which case we would pass on anything we find day-by-day or, for more difficult...uh...retrievals, we would negotiate a price up front on a 'no find, no fee' basis. Our only caveat would be that we will not carry out these fact-finding missions against countries that have agreed to our building a Ratwald there, we will not mouse-out on our hosts(1)."

It was done. Long-Lasting Flavour found herself crouching and tried hard to relax. Ambassador Lanchester's eyes had glazed imperceptibly. Long-lasting Flavour stood as still as she could and waited for the reply.
_____________

OOC * = Plot-decision points. Is there treachery in the air? Is Lanchester on the level? Is the food drugged? Tune in for the next exciting episode.

IC (1) It is universally accepted among the speaking rats that mice are the second most untrustworthy animal in the kingdom and they are consequently the subject of much derision. While it is unclear what is considered to be the most untrusworthy animal - rats tend not to talk about these things directly - it is suspected to be the globe artichoke(2).

(2)An investigation into rat cross-species antipathy in rat literature - Polmoy Radinech, University of Elench, first published in anthrozoologique vol 322 pp23-39

___________________o0o_____________________

OOC: The Island of Rose. How would you like me to proceed? Do you have a thread you would like me to post this information in? Please let me know by telegram. I look forward to your reply.

IC:
"Vegetable Extract?"

"Yes Ms. Directory?"

"What are these Rosians like?"

"A bit of an unknown quantity I'm afraid. This is the first time we've had contact with them, as we haven't reached their neck of the drainpipe yet."

"OK, let's see if and where they want to meet and then we can choose someone to go see them. I feel it in my whiskers that this time our strategy could work - we may yet find a peaceful home here".

_______________

From: Training_Directory@ratmail.com
To: S.Ilyanov@ImperialUnion.gov.ros

Dear Grand Chancellor Sergei Ilyanov,

We would love to open negotiations with you concerning our proposals. Can you suggest a time and place?

Your humble servants,

The republic of Mr. Bunnsy the Second.

ooc: Meeeh. Good ideas, you have.

Lanchester coughed slightly the first time that Long-Lasting Flavour spoke; seeing a rat with a hat was one thing - to see and hear one talk was quite another thing. However, he quelled an impulse to get a broom and sweep the rat away - an impulse that he had never had before, and had no idea from whence it came - and began talking. After all, a talking rat wasn't the strangest occurence ever - there had been that embassy dinner with the ever-so-slightly homocidal race of robots, and also the Incident with the Elves...

Lancaster unglazed his eyes and listened intently to the proposals put forward by the Ambassador - which wass how he was mentally referring to the rat from now on - and nodded several times. When she had finished, he began talking in earnest.

"Madam Ambassador, I thank-you for coming, and I ate before this, so I really am not hungry, thank-you. Your races needs for a...Ratwald, was it...can easily be allowed, and you may move into the sewers whenever you desire. We'll cancel the cleaning services around it to stop any unneccessary casualties, of course. Your searching and returning proposal is quite frankly fascinating, and we'd be happy to have that service.

As for your last proposal...I shall admit that our military minds have very quickly grasped the implications of such a service, and are happy to fund such a service for intelligence-gathering, with your limits, of course." Well, he thought, most of them quickly grasped it...there was General Mayweather and his 'Poison Cheese' plan, but fortunately he was dealt with...

"I must say this is a wonderful opportunity for our two nations, and I hope that this leads to a prosperous future together..."

Supreme Commander Gregori was a little... uncomfortable at the news of the rats, he turned to his minister of defense, "Are there any rats in the 'Rosenberg Base'?"

Defense Minister Nevorov replied, "No sir, if there were we would know about it. We have enough sensors covering that place to detect something the size of a cockroach... which they DO have by the way."

"And the 'Processing Rooms' at our military bases and Consortium outposts?"

At this Nevorov turned pale, "Have no idea, sir."

The Supreme Commander cursed, "I want you to get cats, at least one per 'Processing Room'..."

The Defense Minister saluted and began to exit the room, but Gregori said, "Oh, and Nevorov."

"Sir?"

"From now on we only talk about the 'Rosenberg Base'... AT the Rosenberg Base."

Then Gregori called up his Foreign Minister to issue a statement.

Official Statement From Red Tide Goverment
"We welcome you to the world stage. We hope your intellegince services go well. We may contact you in the future, so... we will keep in touch."
End Message

Soon after that statement...

Official Message From Tech-Com Corporation
"Perhaps if you tell us where to find a good fossil fuel deposit some cheese will 'mysteriously' appear at your door step."
End Message

From: Training_Directory@ratmail.com
To: S.Ilyanov@ImperialUnion.gov.ros

Dear Grand Chancellor Sergei Ilyanov,

We would love to open negotiations with you concerning our proposals. Can you suggest a time and place?

Your humble servants,

The Republic of Mr. Bunnsy the Second.

To: Sir Bunnsy of the Republic of Mr. Bunnsy the Second
From: Grand Chancellor Sergei Ilyanov of the Imperial Union

I suggest that the meeting take place in Rose City, the capital of the
Imperial Union. From there you may go to the Executive Villa, Embassy Row,
the address it an attachment in this email. You can probably go through the sewage pipes and out of the toilet, but that's a tad messy don't you agree? So if you accept, I can send for a small personal jet to pick up your Ambassador... and my small I mean remote controlled, like a very small
UAV kind of thing... you know what, go through the sewers. I'm sorry, I'm just
rambling now. Anyway, I expcet you to arrive soon.
Sergei Ilyanov
Grand Chancellor
http://img59.echo.cx/img59/6933/seal6lx.gif

(I used to have a thread, but it's really old. I'd rather we RP it here anyway.)

The Minister for Development and Sciences here in Confabular would formally like to request of your Minister for Justice that you allow us to use your 'unwanted' members of society for scientific research. There has been much interest and discussion here since the discovery of your species, and we would like the opportunity to explore it further. Many thanks for your cooperation.

Long-Lasting Flavour clapped her front paws together. "Yahoo!" she said, before realising that perhaps the situation called for a little more gravitas. She coughed and said "I mean to say that this really is excellent news. With your permission I would like to convey your news to my superiors immediately."

Long-Lasting Flavour allowed herself for the first time in three years to start thinking about the future. As one of the first rats born after the arrival she was beginning to show her age. She feared for her offspring and after the ratastrophe at Crenache she was beginning to feel as if there was no hope for her kin on this world. Realising she had drifted somewhat she pulled herself back to the present, looked squarely at Ambassador Lanchester and said, "By the way, do you tap-dance?"

___________________o0o_____________________

"M.M.M.Ms. Directory?"

"Yes Staff Newsletter?"

"V.V.Vegetable Extract is still c.c.collating replies but he asked me to give you an update."

Training Directory stretched herself out and waggled her tail around to restore circulation, "OK, what's been going on?" Training Directory had high hopes for Staff Newsletter. As one of Vegetable Extract's star pupils she fully expected him to become head of his own Ratwald in the future, if only he could get over his nervous stammer. She decided to put him at his ease by curling her tail again.

"W.W.Well Ms. Directory, The Government of Red Tide have welcomed us and said that although they have no use for us now they would welcome the opportunity to open negotiations in the future."

"Interesting. I wouldn't have thought they would have been so quick off the mark. That's very encouraging. Please get Vegetable Extract to send them a response. Anything else?"

"G.G.Grand Chancellor Ilyanov would like to send a plane to pick one of us up."

"Curious, he doesn't know where we are. What's the nearest Ratwald to the Island of Rose? Oh wait a second, that's quite a way away isn't it? Have we got anything even remotely close?"

"We d.d.d.on't have any Ratwalds nearby but I know that we have a team out exploring The Patriot Pact Colony of Khihalstan to find out if there are any speaking alpaca, that's in the same neck of the drainpipe."

"Is there anyone suitable to go and meet with the Rosians in that team?"

"Ummm...I.I.I think that Pepper Sauce went with them. He's a b.b.bit hard-toothed and set in his ways but he's very good at inter-species communication and he seems to get on well with humans."

"Alright, ask him if he wouldn't mind acting on our behalf until we can find a more permanent member. And let's get a team ready to hitch a ride up to the Rosians if things go well. I'd like to start a Ratwald there as soon as possible if negotations allow it."

"Right away Ms. Directory"

___________

From: Training.Directory@Ratmail.com
To: The Government of Red Tide

Dear Sir,

We thank you for your kind welcome, and look forward to doing business with you in the future. Please contact us again when you are ready to open negotiations.

Yours Faithfully,

The Republic of Mr. Bunnsy the Second.
___________
From: Training.Directory@Ratmail.com
To: S.Ilyanov@ImperialUnion.gov.ros

Dear Grand Chancellor Sergei Ilyanov,

We are delighted to accept your kind invitation to open negotiations. One of our representatives, Pepper Sauce, will attend. Please could you pick him up from the Capital Airport in Khihalstan? Leave your jet parked on the runway with the door open and your national flag flying and we'll find you.

Your humble servants,

The Republic of Mr. Bunnsy the Second.
__________________________o0o______________________

OOC: Restrictions on my time mean I can post no more than one or two times a day during the week. Please bear with me, I won't forget anyone but it may take a few hours before my next post...

Ankhmet Thank you I do. ;)

From: Training.Directory@Ratmail.com
To: Confabularian Minister for Development and Sciences.

Dear Sir/Madam,

There are no "unwanted" members of our society, although should such a situation arise then we would consider your proposal seriously. Should you wish to open further negotiations, please feel free to contact us again.

Yours Faithfully,

The republic of Mr Bunnsy the Second.

(How... do you know about Khilistan?! Or the Pact?! That's regional affairs.)

The Executive Office

Sergei raised his brow. "How...? We didn't release this information to the world, maybe they watched RINN... no no... rats don't have TV." He shrugged.

He sat down on his wonderful chair in the Executive Office, looking out towards the window facing Embassy Row. He picked up his cell phone and called for Alexander Roska, former Minister of Defense, current Chancellor of Foreign Affairs, and good friend of Sergei. "Alexander?" He said.

Note that Alexander was inside the Executive Office looking at Sergei while Sergei was looking out the window. "Yes Sergei?" He said.

He cleared his throat. "Sorry to bother you Alexander, but who's our Ambassador in New Eltengrad?" New Eltengrad being the Rosian portion of the Colony.

Alexander paused for a minute. "Well, Comrade, that would be... um... Sir Reginald Wallace if I remember correctly."

Sergei turned around seeing that Alexander was looking at him. "Send him to New Eltengrad National Airport, there's going to be a jet waiting for him. It's the one with the flag."

Alexander replied simply. "Okay." And so, he hung up.

Sergei raised his brow. "Alexander, for the a hundreth time you're not getting that raise..."

New Eltengrad National Airport

Sir Reginald Wallace was a young and up and coming... man. At about age twenty seven he was one of the younger Ambassadors. God, apparently, was with him too. The other guy who was suppose to serve as the Union's Ambassador to New Eltengrad died of a freak accident that involved a paper clip and a pair of scissors, and no I won't tell the story because it's too gruesome. He was single and handsome, because all twenty seven year old men are single and handsome, apparently. He had a nice tan, all Rosians do, and was a bit of a brunette with brown eyes.

And now he was waiting for a talking rat. "Why the hell am I going to speak to a rat?!"

His bodyguard, a mild mannered man decked out in SpecOp gear, shrugged.

He sighed. "I'm better then this..." So now he waited in a small personal jet, with giant flags waving in the air indicating it was Rosian. Oh and the door was open.

Doing actual work in the UN Strangers' Bar was frowned upon. You could plot, suborn, inveigle and undermine, you could entrap the innocent and defame the noble, but to actually put pen to paper or finger to keyboard was regarded as rather ... well ... vulgar.

Consequently the delegates from the nation of Ardchoille, which came to the international Feast of UNreason too late to secure a decent office, usually disguised any (sshhh!) professional activities under the cloak of inebriation.

Not too difficult, when one of those delegates was Dicey Reilly, renowned Firewitch and all-too-well-known Disrober of Multiple Ambassadors. In fact, it was the latter qualification which had got her lumbered with the UN position. That appalling night in the Great Hall of Ardrigh, when a high-flying Dicey had urged the diplomatic corps of 25 nations to "relaxsh a bit, yer buncha stuffed shirts!", and had used her witchly powers to make sure they did (at least sartorially) had understandably drawn down on her curly auburn head the most condign punishment the shocked and outraged nation of Ardchoille could contrive.

They made her President.

Well, co-President, actually. There was another, earlier, sinner who still had a few years to serve. So, in recognition of Dicey's superior blameworthiness, they piled on the post of UN Delegate as well.

Ardchoille had a very healthy attitude to public office and a very ambivalent one to alcohol (which was, after all, one of the gifts of the Goddess and not to be disdained). Thus, the prosecution's argument went something like this:

1. No-one in their right mind would ignore Ardchoille Old 'n' Funky '98 when it is being poured FREE! into crystal glasses by attractive servitors.

2. Dicey has manifestly not ignored it. Therefore she is in her right mind.

3. The cares, risks, sorrows, inane dressing-up and mind-numbing boredom of public office are surely the worst fate anyone in their right mind could even contemplate, let alone suffer.

4. Therefore we should make Dicey Reilly, who turned a diplomatic reception into a nudists' convention, to the expensive consternation of our valued allies and even more valued trading partners, suffer them!.

This outstanding logic won unanimous approval. Dicey was despatched to the UN the very next day, accompanied by several scruffy cardboard boxes labelled "Files" and a disgruntled Ardchoille Cat named Bast.

On balance, it would be fairer to say that Bast had accompanied the Presidency, rather than Dicey herself. The Cats of Ardchoille had played an equal part in the government of the nation ever since a bunch of leaky boats full of squabbling human academics had arrived on their country's shores and introduced them a wonderful new pastime, Politics. Hence, each human official position carried with it a Cat Advisor, every last one of whom was at least six feet tall, highly vocal, extremely opinionated and a Magical Creature in his or her own right.

Thus it was that Bast and Dicey had effectively come to take up residence in the UN Strangers' Bar.

On this particular day they were dealing with a backlog of correspondence, disguising the activity as a paper-plane-making contest. Some planes Dicey would decorate (with her signature and the Presidential seal) and put into envelopes, allegedly to be sent to sick little children who couldn't make their own paper planes. Most of the undecorated ones flew accurately into a recycling bin, though occasionally her aim would falter unexpectedly when an opponent passed within range.

It was one of these that Bast retrieved ...

(OOC: More to come but must feed rioting family)

Unfolding the letter from which the plane was made, he waved it under Dicey's nose.

"Well, looky-looky-looky! Guess who didn't recognise the coat of arms on this one, eh?"

Dicey snatched it from him. "Skinny 87? That's the one we arranged the student exchange program with. It's just the usual Everyone's well, doing fine, hope ours are too, no problems, see ya."

"Uh-uh-u-uhh! Didn't look at nice Mis-ter Lan-ches-ter's postscript, did we, then?" Bast waggled the whiskers above his eyes and did his best to leer.

"That's the worst Groucho Marx imitation I've ever seen," said Dicey, repressively. Nevertheless, she blushed. "Mr Lanchester is a very competent ambassador."

"Funny how you it took the pair of you so many late nights to sort out the exchange details, then. Anyway, listen to this: 'PS: Dicey, you might benefit from contact with the nation of Mr Bunnsy the Second'.

"Competent ambassador, eh?" Bast continued, admiringly. "He's not the only one. Goodonyer, Dicey."

"If you're suggesting he and I ..."

"My shout, I think."

By the time Bast got back with the drinks, Dicey had tracked down an e-mail address and some pertinent information.

"Did you know that Verillia's taken over Madame Zamunda's?" she asked Bast absently. "She's keeping the name as a tribute, and she's employing any of the staff who survived the Lavinium earthquake ... anyway, the thing is, apparently we're just the sort of nation you might have expected this Mr Bunnsy lot to approach. But I think I can see why they didn't." She paused significantly. "They're rats, Bast."

"So?"

"Well, you and the other Cats ..."

Bast sighed. "Four centuries we've been together now, and you humans still don't understand us. Really, Dicey, I haven't noticed you swinging from any trees lately, so why do you imagine we Cats can't control our instincts every bit as well?"

Dicey looked doubtful. "That's not what it looked like when the Caliph let that little gold Vastivan beastie loose and you -- "

"I didn't hurt it," Bast said loftily. "I was just catching it before it got lost. It might have come to harm."

It was a subject best not pursued (just like the little gold beastie). But, after much discussion and several more shouts, plus some considered advice from Neville the Barlord and such clientele as could be relied upon to not remember a thing in the morning, a questing thread was launched into cyberspace:

The Free Land of Ardchoille believes it might be mutually beneficial to have a chat with the Republic of Mr Bunnsy the Second. A representative would probably enjoy visiting Finnegan's Wake (finest pub in Ardrigh). Pop in any time after, say, 6pm and just let Finnegan know you'd like a word with Herself ...

OOC: Island of Rose, I just looked up other countries in the area and chose one that wasn't a dictatorship. A lucky guess I suppose! ;)
___________________________

IC:

Pepper Sauce wasn't in the best of moods. His team had been hot on the trail of one of the Alpacas that was behaving suspiciously intelligently when the call came through. "URGENT STOP MAKE ALL HASTE NEW ELTENGRAD AIRPORT STOP MEET SIR REGINALD WALLACE ABOARD PLANE CARRYING ROSIAN FLAG STOP DON'T FORGET STRAW HAT - TAP DANCING NOT REQUIRED STOP GOOD LUCK STOP DO NOT STOP STOP
"


It had taken him two-and-a-half days to find a van he could hitch on and by now he was tired, grumpy and despite the best efforts of some of the keekees* he'd persuaded to help groom him he still looked decidedly dishevelled. Still, Training Directory had never led him wrong so far, even if he disapproved of all this new cloak-and-dagger stuff. He sighed, straightened his hat and made his way towards the jet waiting on the runway, his thoughts on the forests he'd left.


___________________________

*KeeKee was the "old world" name for non-speaking rats, widely regarded as a tad pejorative in the new world rat population. Still used by some of the rats who disapproved of some of the more modern thinking.


______________________o0o__________________________


"Ms. Directory?"

"Yes?"

"Ardchoille would like to have a word with us about opening negotiations"

Training Directory shivered involuntarily. Cats. Ardchoille was coast-to-coast magical cats. It wasn't that either cats or magic were bad per se but the combination of the two combined with the physical size of them gave her the wobblies. Training Directory sighed, "Where and When?", she asked.

"Finnegan's Wake Pub in Ardrigh."

Training Directory swallowed, and her whiskers shivered slightly. "We haven't got a Ratwald there have we?"

"No, although we can get to Kumbayaa fairly easily, and from there I'm sure we could find a way to get to Ardchoille."

"Hmmm, haven't we got enough money to afford our own aircraft?"

"We could probably afford a 1/3 share of a Piper Cub, but to be honest it's not really befitting a state aircraft."

Training Directory sighed again. "Oh well," she thought, "No-one said this was going to be easy, and it's the start of our career in the public arena so I suppose we'll have to put up with it."

"Alright, who have we got?". With Pepper Sauce and Long-Lasting Flavour out on business, she was hard pushed to think of anyone else to go.

"Ummm, Jurassic Gas?"

"Her? Why her?"

"She likes cats"

"Likes? Cats?", Training Directory said, evenly.

"If you ask me she's a couple of bites short of a wobbly bit, but she's always liked felines. This should be right up her street."

"Alright. Send her, but make sure she's got a couple of strapping lads with her, Kumbayaa's a peace-loving place, but some of their fauna don't buy into the free-love thing."

"More like a free lunch Ms. Directory"

Despite herself, Training Directory smiled. "There's no such thing" she said.

Crunch ... crunch ... crunch ...

"Stoppit, dammit! They're for the guests."

Cheese puffs had seemed such a good idea. See how open and above-board we are: cheese but no traps, hah-hah-hah.

What both Dicey and the jovial Finnegan had forgotten was that Cats liked cheese puffs too. And that they ate them one by one, purring loudly, with their heads to one side and crumbs and soggy half-chewed lumps falling out of their mouths ... it was not a sight with which to greet a possibly nervous ratly diplomat.

But such considerations meant nothing to Bast. Desperate to distract him, Dicey began going over the whole deal again. It was a complex structure of interlocking trade concessions, international alliances and a hunk of windblown rock that only a real-estate agent sniffing a sale could dignify with the term "island".

Bast listened with the blinking-eyed patience of a cat outside a ... mouse ... hole, then stretched out a large black paw to cover Dicey's twisting fingers.

"What it boils down to is this," he said. "We want security inside Madame Zamunda's and protection for those innocents on Findhorn. They get guaranteed jobs, a stake in a world-wide media conglomerate and a protected base within our borders. Plus Pilgrim's Island, which gives them a permanent, guaranteed, unoccupied, exclusive homeland."

"A Na-tion Once A-gain," sang a beery chorus in the front bar, "a nation once again ..."

"Exactly," agreed Bast. "Dicey, it's not just a win-win situation, it's a win-win-win one. That's not easy to say," he added parenthetically. "Win-win-win-one. Win-win ... anyway," he concluded, "it's not anything to get all rat-tled about."

"You've got eight lives left," gritted Dicey.