NationStates Jolt Archive

"A series of memos were presented to the staff. One would assume the Sultan himself opened the Harem anew, though such basic memos could have come from anyone on the Council or Upper household staff.

"I do believe you yourself received or were made aware of the official announcement of such."

Kera nodded to the guard, "Got it! We'll be nice. Take care!"

Then, Engred came over. Kera smiled at her, still keeping her hands over Zukie's mouth. She didn't appear unable to breathe, but she did look like she planned to take Kera's head off the second the young Neko let up.

Kera flashed a smile to Engred. "Thanks. I feel more safer having someone I know and trust around."

She listened to Engred talk to Meadea, and then her and the guard exchanged words.

Kera felt that Zukie would probably want to tell her thoughts to Medea too, but at the moment, she didn't feel as if the Executive-First Classer was fit of mind to do a very good 'interview.'

Then, Medea started asking who was and wasn't a Canidate. Kera flashed a weak smile. "I'm not sure, but I THINK I'm not a Canidate. Zukie hasn't said yet if I am or not... It's kinda up to her..." She smiled weakly again, "But, as you can see. My hands are full keeping her out of trouble. What's a Handmaiden to do these days?"


Engred managed a weak chuckle. "Um...you could un-hand her now, Kera-I think Medea's been appointed the Harem Mom and she's busy with the strega and the captain... I'd also guess that you're 'supposed' to be here-besides, they're going to want to interview Zukie and find out what she saw and experienced."
She propped up, clumsily, on her elbows, staring over the end of the bed.
"Besides which, I think she's a-gonna bite you, and these bandages may work great for healing, but they're stinkin' for letting the hands do what they're supposed to."

Instantly, several people rise from their beds and head towards the door. The "harem ghosts" begin picking up luggage.


"Looks like play-time's about over." Engred commented.

A guard shot her a palpable glare as she passed by.

"Definitely over." Okay, so Medea's clearing the excess... must mean the Strega's not so good as Aunt Therese at sorting people's thought-scent.

The memory of those chilly fingers in her mind gave her a shudder.

All told? Forty-six beds are still occupied, including Helen's.

"Forty-six... there were over a hundered..."

On the boat...

Sharon stood up, knocked on the door. The sailor standing guard was one of the two who took her in to be searched. "Um...sorry about the moustrap...lissen, canIhaveanotebookpleasepleaseplease? I really gotta write some things down, and...just a little one, I only need a few pages an' a pen, I Promise I'll give it back-except the stuff I wrote down but Igothisideaan'Idon'twannaforgetitcauseit'sreallyneatandusefulan'stuff..." He looked at her for a moment, and cracked up. Maybe it was her posture (Hands clasped in front of her in classic 'begging' position, eyes wide and looking up in classic 'puppy-dog' begging expression, hopeful feelings expressed in facial muscles...) or maybe her tone (Hyperactive Child asking for sweets), or maybe it was the juxtaposition of those elements on someone who'd been almost sullenly acidic when he'd first encountered her, radiating a false cynicism and acting for all the world like a prisoner.

Then again, it could be that he was fighting down the laughter visibly because he didn't quite understand what she was asking for, only that, combined with her size, she came across not as an adult, or even near-adult, but more like a frequently naughty, but precocious, child.

"I will have to ask if those are permitted. A 'notebook', and a Pen, right?" he asked, getting the giggles under control.

Sharon nodded so hard her hair flew.

"Go sit down, I will find out, and let you know."

the door closed.

Sharon sat back on the bed, vibrating with excitement.

It'll work! it'll be cheap, and it will work!

Neira looked at the brown envelope that was handed to her. She nearly yelped as she recognized the seal on the front as that of the House of Jassan. Something from ...home... She had mixed feelings about opening it... she had come a long way in forgetting her past so far, this would only ruin her progress. ... Yet she is 12.

She gently opened the envelope as Ka'tal watched. Neira carefully took out the contents and laid them on her cot. She hid a giggle upon seeing herself on another trading card... in fact, 10 of herself. After the cards came a folded letter, several newspaper clippings and a folded, yellowed piece of paper, with a very sloppy list of names listed on it. She first opened the letter, which she noticed was typed and printed out in Volti, her homeland's traditional language that was not widely spoken:


*****@jassan.ipex.org 03:07

My dearest Neira -

I hope this letter finds you well. I would be lying if I said I did not
miss your company, but I have faith that you have been successful
in you endeavor there, and are happy.

As you can see by the clippings I have included, the entire country
is behind you, and millions of Voltaru cannot wait to here of your official
acceptance into the Harem. We, as a nation, are sure of your destiny,
as I am sure you are a well.

This letter was delivered to you through a friend of mine who is currently
in the capital of Vastiva. Should you need anything, please contact him
using the enclosed information. He will be able to contact me directly.

I wish you nothing but happiness, although do ask but one favor.
Enclosed you will find several of your "cards." As you may guess, they
have become somewhat of a wanted item in our land, and one with your
signature could only heighten the nation's backing of you and your quest.
Please sign and return them to my friend. If he does not make personal
contact with you within 2 days, return them via mail to the address listed
below.

With respect,
Xana

[OOC: contact info goes here... personal pager number, address, cell phone]


Neira set the letter down as Ka'tal finished it, and grabbed for some newspaper clippings. They were headlines about her "fan club," about the reports dealing with the Harem and her chances... truly showing the notion Xana relayed in her letter. She picked up her cards, and using the enclosed marker, signed everyone of them, being careful to put them back in the envelope.

Finally, she came to the yellowed paper. On it were names, ages, nations (she assumed.), and some personal infromation, including a bit about certain histories. It could be only one thing. She quickly looked down the list... her name appeared, as did all dozen syllables of Mifffy's. But the list seemed too short, with much fewer than 100 names. She carefully folded the paper and slipped it back into the envelope. She would need to memorize this information and soon. It could only help her.

She picked up another clipping to read the story, but halfway through Ka'tal interrupted. Ka'tal took the clipping, and turned it around to Neria could see. On the back was a half cut article about cheese. Specifically, Voltaru cheese. Something about cutting the export price of it, and the reaction from Vastiva and other countries...there was a picture of Xana, half gone, with a cut quote to the side that read... "The idea that this is linked to Ne"...

...Someone was talking. They perked up and listened as the order was given for all non-candidates to leave. "It looks like, My lady, the chess game has become much more black and white."

"They don't mean for you to leave, do they Ka't? I mean, they said I could have a guard, given my age...."

"Do not worry my Lady... something tells me I am still a part of this game. Unless they specifically ask me to leave, I will stay."

Neira watched them go... a quick count told her under 50 left... under 50 for 51 spots? She motioned for a "ghost" that was not busy with luggage.

"hi, um, I was just wondering... do you know how many candidates are housed in the apartments in the palace? Not the hotel, but here...?"

A quick nod of a bow - acceptable, given the load she carries.

"Your pardon, Ayid, but the apartments were emptied into here yesterday and today."

"A series of memos were presented to the staff. One would assume the Sultan himself opened the Harem anew, though such basic memos could have come from anyone on the Council or Upper household staff.

"I do believe you yourself received or were made aware of the official announcement of such."

"I need to ask the candidate from Nova Hope a few additional questions, then it looks like an investigative task - find the people responsible for ordering force to be used here."

On the boat...

Sharon stood up, knocked on the door. The sailor standing guard was one of the two who took her in to be searched. "Um...sorry about the moustrap...lissen, canIhaveanotebookpleasepleaseplease? I really gotta write some things down, and...just a little one, I only need a few pages an' a pen, I Promise I'll give it back-except the stuff I wrote down but Igothisideaan'Idon'twannaforgetitcauseit'sreallyneatandusefulan'stuff..." He looked at her for a moment, and cracked up. Maybe it was her posture (Hands clasped in front of her in classic 'begging' position, eyes wide and looking up in classic 'puppy-dog' begging expression, hopeful feelings expressed in facial muscles...) or maybe her tone (Hyperactive Child asking for sweets), or maybe it was the juxtaposition of those elements on someone who'd been almost sullenly acidic when he'd first encountered her, radiating a false cynicism and acting for all the world like a prisoner.

Then again, it could be that he was fighting down the laughter visibly because he didn't quite understand what she was asking for, only that, combined with her size, she came across not as an adult, or even near-adult, but more like a frequently naughty, but precocious, child.

"I will have to ask if those are permitted. A 'notebook', and a Pen, right?" he asked, getting the giggles under control.

Sharon nodded so hard her hair flew.

"Go sit down, I will find out, and let you know."

the door closed.

Sharon sat back on the bed, vibrating with excitement.

It'll work! it'll be cheap, and it will work!

"A notebook and a pen? Sure, whatever, get them from stores."
"She's acting odd, sir."
"Odd? MacGyver odd?"
"No. More like 'nutbar' odd."
"'Nutbar'?"
"She's acting like my Emily when she has too much chocolate."
"Ah. Run that by Doc. She's due for a full med review on arrival anyway."
"Yes, sir. Should I bring her dinner?"
"She probably won't eat it, but sure."

The notebook and a silvered single-piece pen (as in "she can't screw it into parts") are delivered, along with several pieces of flatbread, a bowl of herring in cuttlefish ink soup, fried crispy smelt, and a pitcher of fresh lemonade and a handled cup - both made out of impact-resistant plastic, as is everything else.

The sudden flurry of exits drew Myfanwy's attention, but sent her no message. She was too busy thinking about her planned dinner -- or gift, if Nivia wasn't allowed into the place, but she hoped it would be dinner. Only the passage of a woman loaded with bags drew her attention, and that just briefly -- Oh, yeah, my luggage; it must still be lost.

That was a minor thing, though. It was what airlines did, wasn't it? A quick mental note to herself: Find sink to wash undies. Find out if pool is chlorinated before washing robe. And then back to the planning.

Let's see ... "Nivia, I thought you might appreciate a complete departure from the sophisticated cuisine you're used to ..." Well, you certainly couldn't depart much further than Findhorn's. Whatever it was, it would be goat. The major concern was the age of the goat involved. Older meant curry, really old meant stew. Younger goats were too useful to eat. But could you get goats in Vastiva? Oh, damn. She really had to talk to somebody.

The woman who had passed with the luggage was scurrying back. Myfanwy buttonholed her, explained the situation "... so, is there anywhere I can ask my friend to dinner?"

"In the Harem itself, no, Ayid. But there are many other locales," the woman said shyly, not volunteering any more definite answer.

Myfanwy understood about deadlines. Obviously this woman had to be somewhere else soon, if not sooner. "Look, I can see you've got other stuff to do. Maybe you could come back later, when you're not so busy, and give me a few suggestions about those 'other locales'?"

"I am sorry, I must go now, Ayid." Her victim bowed herself away.

Dammit, couldn't anybody here just say "yes" or "no"? But she'd need herbs, anyway, no matter what. She could begin preparing some of the sauces, make up a few medicinal tinctures, too, and start drying the scented herbs. Then if dinner was forbidden, she could at least have a sort of "taste of Findhorn" selection to put in a decorative basket. So: tefeach, obviously. And lamb's-foot, and goat-bane, and abbeyweed, and royalrest, and dulcet ... oh, and some brandy for a base ...

The next woman Myfanwy bailed up had an easier task than her predecessor. Presented with a list, and told "I need" rather than "would you mind" or "if you could" or the utterly time-wasting "if it's not too much trouble", she was able to understand the situation instantly. A guest wanted. A guest would have. She bowed, "At once, Ayid," and withdrew.

At once? Nonsense, it would take even the fastest shop-keeper at least half an hour to find that much stock and have it wrapped and paid for. Myfanwy was not really familiar with the concept "servant". The Abbey brethren shared out tasks. Aha! But sometimes they did things they hated, as penance for some private spiritual failing; like Brother Rhys babysitting, or Mother Mirrim ironing. So maybe these "ghosts" ...

No use. She couldn't pin it down. She was just left with the frustrating feeling that the harem servitors were a lot smarter than they tried to seem.

In under twenty minutes, the breathless Neeshad*returns, with a large paper bag.

"Your pardon for this one's tardiness, Ayid, but the Chef was most insistant in his choosing the herbs by hand, so as not to remove those which were to be made into courses tonight. Our Seneschal asks that you inform any if you require these in greater quanities, so they can be sent for in time for whatever you have planned, Ayid."

She carefully places the bag of herbs - each in it's own waxy paper wrapping - on the bed along with two bottles of Napoleonic Brandy, still a bit dusty.

"This one was also instructed to ask if you were planning a small intimate dinner, or a larger presentation, and if the latter, for how many and how soon... and to inform that tonight shall be a reception which shall be attended by all. If it would not be too much trouble, this one might point out, in the absence of your own luggage, it might be appropriate to request to be part of the group which is to... go shopping."

The last is spoken with some reverence, and Neeshad looks around to see if anyone else was listening. "Please, Ayid, these things are not commonly known yet...."


OOC: Neeshad (Cheerful)

"I need to ask the candidate from Nova Hope a few additional questions, then it looks like an investigative task - find the people responsible for ordering force to be used here."

The Kadin Captain most probably is smiling under her facecloth.

"Apologies, but the Sultan requested her presence some time ago, so it will be difficult to ask her anything. However, be assured, our HSI will be investigating outside our borders. Was there anything else you wished to see?"

You would almost swear you're being laughed at.

12: Insert snappy title here, my brain is fried.

Despite the fact that it was deep into the night on the other side of the Nasimah's hull (or possibly because the submarine was deep in the ocean), Alexis couldn't sleep. It was probably jet lag; she'd slept on the plane, after all, while it crossed from Ferris' midmorning to South African evening.

So instead she was scribbling in her sketchbook, rough lines beginning to transfer an idea from mind to paper. She got ideas for paintings often, sparked by the most mundane objects of the world - a cup, a bird, or in this case, the submarine and the sea. Only a few ever made it onto canvas, and fewer still to a finished state; if this one did, she'd need to use an awful lot of lapis.

But then, Vastiva was a desert of white and blue and black where Ferris was a desert of red and gold and white. She might need an entirely new palette, in the foreign land.

Various sounds filtered through the door, voices high and low and oddly hysteric. Alexis was intrigued; were there other candidates aboard the Nasimah? Tucking her sketchbook under her arm, she poked her head out the door; the corridor beyond was quiet now, although the door opposite was guarded by a sailor of the "butter wouldn't melt in my mouth" variety.

"Good evening," she said to him. "If I may ask - why is this door watched? Is there someone in there?"

"Then take me to him."

"Alas, Ayid, we have strict instructions he is not to be disturbed while... in conference with her. We are so very sorry for the inconvenience."

The inference is rather blatant.

"Ayid?" Medea makes great theatrics of looking around. "To whom was your comment directed? It most certainly could not have been me." Her features soften somewhat. "I was ordered to return when I was done, and barring discussion with her, which you have indicated is currently impossible, I am. So, you will take me nearest them as possible, and there we will wait until they are done *conferencing*. Then you will stand there with me while I detail what occurred here today unless Vastiva dismisses you. Let's get going."

"As you wish."

Shama leads Medea back to the receiving room - currently unoccupied, save for a few tour members moving through now and again, guided by a very friendly red-uniformed guide.

She simply stands near the throne. "Perhaps you would like to have a seat while we wait? It could be some time."

The notebook and a silvered single-piece pen (as in "she can't screw it into parts") are delivered, along with several pieces of flatbread, a bowl of herring in cuttlefish ink soup, fried crispy smelt, and a pitcher of fresh lemonade and a handled cup - both made out of impact-resistant plastic, as is everything else.

Sharon devoured the food with one hand, while she made frantic notes-trying to keep the tumble of insights slow enough for her hand to keep up.

All in all, the equations and sketched thought-models had nothing to do with the Flexscreen-other than a mild in-passing theft of some of the technical ideas underlying it.

"ohh...this is going to be so cool..." she muttered, crunching a fried smelt, and slurping down the soup.

Sharon took "Nuclear Metallurgy" mainly because it was an "easy" degree-she wouldn't have to muck about with humanities classes past the 101 level, (At home, a "Nuclear Metallurist" has about as much status as a coal-shoveler.) and it's a hands-on degree.

Her choices of Electives, however, read like a Physics and Engineering double-major.

she successfully carried the one.

"It'll work... may take a while, but it will work!!!"

she began checking her calculations again-just to be safe-after all, if it only half-worked, the consequences would be... significant. Significant enough to require the first synthesis to be done deep under a mountain by remote-control.

"Shopping? Shopping?"

Lust and Pride fought a brief battle in Myfanwy's soul, and Lust won hands down. Or feet down, since Myfanwy's particular fashion weakness was shoes.

Pride had tried, though, really tried. Myfanwy was not Findhorn's candidate, exactly, being here by her own wilful decision. But Findhorn had birthed her, would claim her, and therefore should certainly dress her. In which case she should say proudly, "I have all the clothing I require. The dress of my ancestors is the dress for me."

And besides, Pride added silkily, think how effective it would be, when every female in the place is dressed in the most seductive, most sensuous, most alluring styles and tactile materials available, think how you will stand out in your simple, handwoven, unpretentious garb. "Take me as I am," you would be saying. "There is no pretence about me. I want you to know what you are choosing. I will never pretend to feel what I don't feel, or think what I don't think. I can be trusted."

It was, in its way, a convincing argument. Lust didn't even try to counter it. Lust just whispered, "Red. Delicate. Barely there. Heels so high you'll need a ladder to get into them. Ankle straps with tiny diamente buckles. Or criss-crossed velvet ribbons." And, as Myfanwy reeled, continued, "Or ballet slippers. Flat. Demure. Softest kid. Matte black. Little-girl grosgrain bows ... Purple! Platform soles and heels! Break-your-neck insane shoes no-one in their right mind would even consider ... Boots! Thigh-high boots, ankle boots, fur-trimmed boots, plain boots, Texas tassel fringed beaded boots ... sequined Indian slippers ... "

Lust didn't give a damn what image Myfanwy projected. Lust just wanted her to go mad in a shoe-shop, or better yet, a series of shoe-shops, followed by dress shops to provide a background for the shoes, followed by cosmetic collections, jewellery displays (ahhh -- long earrings), lingerie it would be a crime to hide and a crime to display ... and jeans, of course, for real life, and T-shirts and camisoles and granpa shirts three sizes too big and taffeta tiered skirts with lace inserts and sneakers with lights and fat wooly socks in rainbow stripes with toe-fingers ...

"Will you come with me?" Myfanwy gasped, just before going under again. "I'll need someone who knows what's really needed ... oh, and speaking of needed," she added, remembered Duty suddenly making her straighten her shoulders and firm her mouth,"I'll need only one bottle of brandy. I want to use it, not drink it.

"And I'll use all you've brought me, but next time I'd really like to pick my herbs at the right phase of the moon -- is there anywhere I could get cuttings? Start a windowsill garden? We'll want a goat, too; about two or three years old, at least, and I always think the brown-and-tan ones are better, especially if they've got those mad yellow eyes -- is there a market someone could go to? Findhornian importers?

"As for the dinner, I'd like it small; maybe just Nivia and I, maybe Neira and Ka'tar as well, if that would be polite. I want to cook it and I want it to look as good as it tastes, to do honour to the Herald. And as soon as I can, but I know she's busy, and certainly not before the shoeing ... shopping..."

Neeshad waited, ready to indulge her; Neeshad, cheerful little Harem ghost, who had picked up on that "next time".

"Your pardon, Ayid, but the apartments were emptied into here yesterday and today."

"As I expected. Thank you."

Neira sat back down, and looked to Ka'tal. "What can this mean?"

Ka'tal thought for a moment. "I can see serveral possibilities, but one fits with my original hypothesis - the Sultan did not set up this charade, nor did he control the number of "candidates." It is more than likley he will not feel obligated to fill all 51 spots..."

Neira slumped. "It doesn't seem like this King is very worried about his defense."

Ka'tal looked at her, with a very grave look. "Perhaps he still does not know that he is playing."

"Man you are the most pessimistic person I know. And the bad part is, its rubbing off on me." Neira smiled, and then took out the yellowed piece of paper and started to read through some information.

***

Al refocused on Guy's smile. "...and with 51 available slots in the Harem, the reports of the dwindling numbers remaining in the Palace are joyous to some. Among these, of course, is our own Lady Vektori, who now seems a lock to become a 'favoured child.' Reporting from Sisu Vaari, this is Guy Smiley."

..."and cut. Good job, Guy, this will play up nice on tonight's broadcast."

"Thanks Al. But I think its time to go for the big story. I am going to send a communique to the Vizier to see if I may interview Neira in the Palace."

"Hrmump. I doubt it. But then again, these Vastivians are a tad weird."

"We'll see. Now go make me look good with that editing software of yours. HQ wants that in less than 2 hours."

About one hour later, Guy sent a message via information given to him from Xanaphia.


To: Raahmid Javani, Grand Vizier of Vastiva
Fr: Guy Smiley, Executive Reporter of Voltaru Channel 13.

Dearest Sir,

I am writing you to request permission to gain access and interview
my former countrywoman, Neira Vektori, who currently is a candidate
for the Sultan's Harem. This interview would be very professional, and
is sanctioned by the Department of the Interior and Channel 13.

It is also my priviledge to give you the regards of our Minister of
Commerce, Lady Xanaphia Jassan, and our Premier, Lord Xerco Longbottom.
They, like much of The Voltarum, are eager to hear of Lady Vektori's
progress.

I await your response.

With great respect,
Guy Smiley
Voltaru Reporter ID #4269


Guy turned to Al. "Oh, and I got that information you need, my friend."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes. The tour doesn't seem that bad, and they are given throughout the day. Bring a camera, if they let you bring it in, that is. Besides, I want some information. More is always better."

Al picked up the yellowed piece of paper. Writen rather sloppily at the top was "Palace Tour Information" in Volti.

''This place is very beautiful.'' Helen said nicely fixing her hat. ''Where do we go now?'' she asked curiously. She was dressed in a simple Greek dress with a hat. She liked to live the simple life. ''Thank you for helping me.'' she said sitting on the bed with her legs crossed gazing at the room.''Do I meet the Sultan or anyone now or do I do something else?'' Helen asked. ''What do I do now?'' she asked. Then she went on the bed and looked at the ceiling waiting for someone to come or something to happen.

A "harem ghost" nodded a bow at her. "Ayid, this is the Harem proper. Here, you may mix with those you see here, discuss, talk, whatever you like."

A "harem ghost" nodded a bow at her. "Ayid, this is the Harem proper. Here, you may mix with those you see here, discuss, talk, whatever you like."

''May I meet the Grand Vizier or the Sultan?'' Helen asked standing up and fixing her clothing up. ''If they are busy,I can accept meeting anyone else.'' Helen stated putting her bags away. ''Do you recommend anything and what is Ayid?'' she asked walking around the room that Helen would stay in the Sultan's Harem.

OOC: Actually, Helen is in the main room of the harem, with the individual rooms off limits for the moment.

IC:

The harem ghost nods a quick bow. "Ayid... it would be close to 'honored guest' or 'honored one', Ayid. Our Sultan will summon you when he wishes to meet you, though there is rumor of a gathering tonight. And no male may enter the Harem, save the Sultan. You may, of course, mingle with the other candidates?"

OOC: Actually, Helen is in the main room of the harem, with the individual rooms off limits for the moment.

IC:

The harem ghost nods a quick bow. "Ayid... it would be close to 'honored guest' or 'honored one', Ayid. Our Sultan will summon you when he wishes to meet you, though there is rumor of a gathering tonight. And no male may enter the Harem, save the Sultan. You may, of course, mingle with the other candidates?"

''Where are the other candidates?'' Helen asked curiously. ''Our country of Roman Greece has a Khalifah.'' Helen said nicely. ''He is not the King but head of Islam in Roman Greece's Empire.'' she said. ''Take me to the others so I can meet them.'' Helen said kindly. ''I would like to meet the Sultan one day.'' Helen said thinking about the Sultan.

"Ayid, if you will look around - most are in this room, though some are certainly in the blue rooms, enjoying the pools and water within. Some are likely in the green rooms, enjoying the gardens. And some are in the pink, using the.... necessaries. All forty-odd are here, and you are welcome to linger or walk about as you will."

Shizuka step lightly down the elaborate hall ways. She had been summoned to the Sultan and now she was worried. The sword was once again with her, as it was technically given back to her; though she shuddered to think about the consequences if she did something, so grievous yet again.

She’d been slipped rather discretely from the harem, after having reapplied her traditional Geisha attire, and having mollified her concerns about her appearance. She padded softly in her slippered feet, the stone floors having no giver at all. She looked to her side to see the harem ghost who escorted her, mirrored by a green robed guard. She had to wonder if this was protocol or a lack of trust in her. Either way I must put the Sultan’s mind at ease.

Coming to the doors of, what in her best guess, was a semi-formal ante-chamber Shizuka paused. She motioned for the guards not to see her in, for if but a moment. She regarded the door carefully as she slowly sank to her knees mindful of the pain the irritation had left for her skin, which now felt like tight sunburn. The door seemed to depict some historical landing. Were she to take a stab at it she’d suppose it a rendering of the Sisu Vaari landing. She of course could be wrong, as her crash courses on Vastiva we, albeit detailed, rushed.

Now on her knees with the sword holstered and pointing away from the door she nodded politely to the guards to be received. Head bowed she repeated in her head the apologies she must offer the Sultan. As the guards swung the large door open she caught sight of the Sultan on the couch.
“Sultan Lefkowitz al-Din-sama I report as requested and ask for a moment to address you at your convenience”.

"Ayid, if you will look around - most are in this room, though some are certainly in the blue rooms, enjoying the pools and water within. Some are likely in the green rooms, enjoying the gardens. And some are in the pink, using the.... necessaries. All forty-odd are here, and you are welcome to linger or walk about as you will."

''Where are the green rooms?'' Helen asked. ''I like gardens since I am into Nature.'' Helen said grabbing her hat and going to the door. ''Can you show me where the gardens are?'' Helen asked opening the door and walking out hoping the ''Harem Ghost'' would show her where they were. ''This land is very noble and I must learn more about it.'' Helen had thought to herself. ''The Khalifah told me this place would be fun to stay in,I hope he is right.'' she thought to herself before waiting to be led to the gardens.

Sinjin pulled his nose out of the report he was reviewing long enough to raise his glasses, consider her, and nod.

"Yes, yes, do come in."

He almost rose from the couch, then stopped his reading nearly completed. A minute, then two passed.

The paper was set down.

"I could, of course, address you across the room and into the hall, but doing so would seem a bit of a strain on both of us. If you would? Any seat will do, might I offer you some tea? I believe it is Russian, but these days you never can tell. The begnets are rather hot still, if I can interest you..."

He fusses a moment, seemingly so involved it was difficult to spot the fingerwave dismissal to the guard - or whatever action brought down the soundproofing in front of the door, in the form - on this side - of a second door.

Shizuka stood without a second thought. She approached the Sultan and thought about kneeling again. Dismissing the thought she bowed and began expressing her remorse.
“Lefkowitz-al-din-sama I must apologize sincerely for what transpired in the harem. It was unconscionable that I might draw a weapon in your home without your consultation. I beg your forgiveness.”

Looking at the tea that was offered to her she bowed politely and accepted. As Sinjin finished fiddling with his distraction she sat in the seat that he offered her. It would appear that the Sultan is armed as well. No the bejewelled nature of the tool suggests an ornament, not a weapon.

"Polar bears." Medea suddenly remembered the invasion of the animals into Antarctica. "How did they get here in the first place?"

"Nonsense. A member of my household may always draw a weapon in the defense of an innocent. And," and he sat, "as it appears you've been placed here to become just that, it would seem an appropriate stance. I must insist on the begnets, rather nice.

"Or would you say your sole purpose here was to be a member of a harem?"

"Polar bears." Medea suddenly remembered the invasion of the animals into Antarctica. "How did they get here in the first place?"

Even through the facecloth, one can tell Shama is not happy with that question.

"One of our neighbors is host to a rather... gifted individual. It was his idea to modify soil bacteria sufficient to be hyperactive during our summer, and dormant in winter. This allows for rot, which in turn allows for plant life to exist - such as the Antarctican Pine, several ground mosses, and the like. Our progress regionally is slow, but sure, and is not a true terraforming, for such would be nigh impossible. Still," a hint of a smiling motion, "it is nice to have something beside endless white to look upon."

"However, this did not satisfy him, and he began to import animals to discover which would take to the new climate, and which would not. We ignored him for the most part, as most were inappropriately designed to begin with, and some - such as our goats and the yaks and bison used elsewhere - were relatively benign.

"What possessed him to bring polar bears to this region is still a subject of long debate. As he already had regional blessing to do as he would, it was not entirely beyond the realm of expectation to bring in a predator...

"Alas, there were no controls placed, no monitoring - no reasonable precautions. It was almost as if Joop had simply decided to lose his mind one day and wander into the cold wastes with his progeny...

"By the time we responded, it was already too late though we did not know how late it was. Three nations had fallen - in part or in total - to the beasts. In their native areas, food is scarce, and they build slowly in numbers and weight. In what he had wrought, they grew quickly..."

She looks at the tour group studying her in her tale - including one gentleman with a camera which chooses that moment to *FLASH*.

Shizuka held the smile, though her bolstering of personal satisfaction could be observed. Sitting less tensely she thanked the sultan for the sugary treat before attempting to answer, what could be taken as a very pointed question.
“I am glad to see that my desire to protect those weaker than me does not threaten my duty to you.
“Lefkowitz-al-din-sama, I’m afraid your question causes me to assume an implication. Have I given you the impression that I am here for a purpose beyond that of hospitality? To be honest my purpose is that of loyalty. I offer you servitude; it is yours to take it as you will. Like an unwanted gift I could be placed out of the way to gather dust, brought about when company’s over only. Or I could be appreciated for what I am and what I offer.”

"Precisely my point, Shizuka. You are not looking to escape, run from, or visit. You are not here because your dating life sucks, because of a bet, a bargain, or any of the other reasons I've seen listed. You appear to have a purpose.

"It is, I should mention, something rather unforseen in our politics."

"By the time we responded, it was already too late though we did not know how late it was. Three nations had fallen - in part or in total - to the beasts. In their native areas, food is scarce, and they build slowly in numbers and weight. In what he had wrought, they grew quickly..."

She looks at the tour group studying her in her tale - including one gentleman with a camera which chooses that moment to *FLASH*.

If Medea noticed the tour group or the camera flash, she made no outward sign of it. "Interesting. Have you been in security long?"

"This would be my second Sultan, so one could say yes to that."

She looks at the crowd. "The throne is also rather nice, having come from our early history."

Shizuka paused for a moment at that. She was glad it was not only her that had seen that, the incident earlier that had left Medea in charge of her scolding had shaken that perspective but it now tugged at her again. No I will not prejudge my peers...again.
“I would thank you for the compliment Lefkowitz-al-din-sama. To tell me that I pursue a purpose that is beyond my self-interest is flattery at worst. Now, I cannot offer explanations as to the motives of others, I merely know that my Daimyo has asked that I offer myself to you and to ask if you wish to be my Danna. This of course, was in response to the original news of the harem…” Shizuka trailed off there, her thought lost behind the tea cup. Once it came down again she continued as if she’d never stopped.
“…though interestingly enough on that topic, self interested politicians, one might ask whether you’re referring to the time at hand or in general.”

"Let us assume both. It isn't often one gets to listen to unbridled honesty, unfettered by tragic self-interest."

***

Meanwhile, one tourmember asks...

"Mommy, is she the Sultan? She's a girl."
"No, honey, I don't... I don't think she is..."
"Well, den wha' is she an' why is she wearin' his clothes?"

“My apologies I’ve struck upon an inappropriate area. Perhaps I should ask, before I manage to embarrass myself further before the personification of Vastiva, what did you someone me for? Surely it was not merely to lament upon my lack of a disingenuous application towards the harem?”

“My apologies I’ve struck upon an inappropriate area. Perhaps I should ask, before I manage to embarrass myself further before the personification of Vastiva, what did you someone me for? Surely it was not merely to lament upon my lack of a disingenuous application towards the harem?”

"There is nothing inappropriate at all. I want your opinions, particularly your impressions of all that has gone on, and your nation's reasons for sending you. When that is done... as I said, our tradition has no place for one such as yourself. Fortunately, I am not bound by tradition."

He refills her cup. "I am also rather given to accept gifts in the nature they were given. Have you noticed our museum?"

"Will you come with me?" Myfanwy gasped, just before going under again. "I'll need someone who knows what's really needed ... oh, and speaking of needed," she added, remembered Duty suddenly making her straighten her shoulders and firm her mouth,"I'll need only one bottle of brandy. I want to use it, not drink it.”


“Of course, Ayid, if that is your wish. However, if you could enlighten this one as to what you refer to by ‘what is really needed’, it would help considerably in understanding your desire.”


"And I'll use all you've brought me, but next time I'd really like to pick my herbs at the right phase of the moon -- is there anywhere I could get cuttings? Start a windowsill garden? We'll want a goat, too; about two or three years old, at least, and I always think the brown-and-tan ones are better, especially if they've got those mad yellow eyes -- is there a market someone could go to? Findhornian importers?

“Ayid, the gardens are quite large, but it can be assumed, anything attempting to grow by a windowsill in Vastiva will soon die of frostbite. However, a garden area could be set aside…

“If you wish to see goats, Ayid, then requesting such when you are out would appear a good method. Or, one might send word to the Seneschal of your desires?”



"As for the dinner, I'd like it small; maybe just Nivia and I, maybe Neira and Ka'tar as well, if that would be polite. I want to cook it and I want it to look as good as it tastes, to do honour to the Herald. And as soon as I can, but I know she's busy, and certainly not before the shoeing ... shopping..."

Neeshad waited, ready to indulge her; Neeshad, cheerful little Harem ghost, who had picked up on that "next time".


“The third dining room is closest to a kitchen, if that is your need? It would only remain to discuss time, if that location would do? This is, of course, assuming one is accepted into the Harem, and not merely visiting?”

I await your response.

With great respect,
Guy Smiley
Voltaru Reporter ID #4269

Ab-shalom and greetings to a fair member of the Press;

It would be entirely inappropriate for an interview to occur, particularly before the Sultan himself has had opportunity to meet the Lady in question.

Should our Sultan or the Lady determine, after such announcement, that such an interview is appropriate and desired, we will certainly contact your office.

Namaste,

Nivia Alix von Cohen
Chief Herald
Humble Servant of His Magnificence, the Sultan of Vastiva

12: Insert snappy title here, my brain is fried.


"Good evening," she said to him. "If I may ask - why is this door watched? Is there someone in there?"

"...increase the charge by seven percent...bollocks, it won't work that way, have to..." Sharon was muttering happily to herself as she lined-through what she wrote, and continued her 'thought experiment'. "...set polarity at...no, higher...there we go..." she had improvised a slide-rule by folding three cut-strips and marking them in a pattern she knew fairly intimately-this was mainly to save her concentration for the more important work.

Voices filtered into her concentration, and she looked up. "Hi." waved, and went back to work, mumbling "...where was I..."

Shizuka accepted the tea graciously. Watching the darker tea tumble forward from the spout she tried to think how to best answer the Sultan’s question.
“There is good thank you.” Leaning back and closing her eyes for a second Shizuka formulated an appropriate response. Opening her eyes as she inhaled the aroma of the tea, it was heavier than she was used to, peculiarly darker too. Looking across her cup at the steam distorted visage of the Sultan Shizuka permitted herself a smile, albeit a very brief one. Her look softened as she regarded the man. The power of a nation. The judiciary, the executive, the legislator, and the opposition sit before me. Yet I find myself staring not at a series of mighty institutions, but at a man whose conscience tugs at him. A man who can make a sweeping gesture and end this harem trouble with a series of executions or imprisonments, yet has decided to take a progressive stance to preserve his hard earned gains abroad. I would choose well to grant him my loyalty.

It was about this time that Sinjin looked up from dusting an almost unnoticeable speck of sugar off his white robe. Looking at Shizuka he cocked an eyebrow and began to motion with his unoccupied hand, as if to show that he still waited for her answer. Before his hand could even form the gesture Shizuka began.
“My apologies Lefkowitz-al-din-sama. I avail myself too freely of your convenience.” Giving a partial shrug to demonstrate her sheepish feeling she explained before answering.
“I was considering Vastiva, more specifically its personification; you. You are obviously a caring man, it can be evidenced any number of ways. Yet here you are given every tool and right to govern as you see fit. Indeed you could run this country as if it were your play thing. It seems to me the conversation about self interested politicians pains you more than you care to let on. Not so much because you are a nationalist, an idealist, or anything of the sort. No. I could almost say that in the Vastivian context a self interested politician would be an affront to you directly.” Pausing to nibble at another sugary treat Shizuaka mentally added up the calories, briefly wondering what it was that these people did to burn their eight thousand calories away.
“Perhaps I’ve misconstrued it here but, in Nova Hope were a good President to feel this way he could claim that his ideas and principles were being assaulted. Everything he might stand for. Here in Vastiva you do not control the state so much as subsume it, so when these politicians hinder your progression and evolution, nationally speaking, they affect you at a much more personal level. The mantle of Sultanate seems to be just as much a burden as a blessing. As a man of conscience you find unlimited power to be more restraining than liberating. One might call you more of a servant than I, for I will at least be seen as the servant and rewarded thusly. When one perceives you they will only see that you wield, forgive the comparison, a bigger tool? This does not inspire gratitude from those who most benefit from your efforts, no something more akin to envy.” Shizuka shook her head and lamented as if in a side note.
“It is almost a pity that showing strength is a requirement of the mantle itself. You must wear it in such a way that they see only the fine embroidering, the magnificent designs, and the sheer opulence of it. Were these envious ones to realize that wearing it held vipers to your bosom and weighted your back they might not be so quick to snip for pieces of it.” Clearing her head and focusing her eyes back on the Sultan Shizuka ended her monologue to answer the Sultan’s question. I hope that I have not assumed too much.
“I am sorry Lefkowitz-al-din-sama, I’ve rambled. I must remind myself that you do not care to hear every thought I think. As to the answers of your questions, hmm, my impressions are most basic as yet. And of course I reserve the right to develop them further.” Hesitating no more than half a breath Shizuka began to express herself in a tone of unfeigned sincerity and her voice became more solemn to express that fact.
“You were broadsided. I would not be so blunt if it was not sought and I will stop the second you ask, but you were taken completely unawares when you stepped off that plane. That press conference could have embarrassed you in front of the entire nation and it was only your quick wit and natural charisma, not to mention ability to dictate the cessation of questions, which saved you from a public ousting. So knowing that you were caught unawares in your own country I may only assume you began taking steps to rectify the process. To become once again informed. The attack today would suggest that you are still uncovering pieces of the puzzle; otherwise I could not imagine you allowing it to proceed. To be honest I am sure that you are much more informed than I as to the details but at my best guess I would say that someone means to discredit you, who and to what ends I cannot yet hazard a guess though.
“As for my nation’s reasons for sending me allow me to clarify; offering me was not an act of government. Indeed there is no way a democratic government could send me without suffering the repercussions in the electorate. While I may be especially sympathetic towards you and this life, due to my upbringing, the Average Noviet would not be. Indeed my coming here would be attacked as an example of patriarchal government and old style feudal match making. Many would say that I was being offered as a token in a game of political intrigue.
“No, the government is aware of me coming here but they would not put their finger prints on this. The mantle of a large democracy may not be as heavy, its usage not so demanding but it offers other complexities. So while a few news broadcasts were made I’m sure no fuss was made about this arrangement.
“As to what initiated it, informally that would be the President. Eric Lincoln-sama seeks a greater understanding of Vastiva and better relations. Due to certain internal pressures his methods for official communication are limited, indeed he finds himself with his own nests of vipers, though with hundreds of representatives serving terms of four years with no guarantee of return it is normal.
“Formally the offer of my service comes from my Daimyo. He knows the importance of this to the President and he endeavored to perform. Kenji-sama would never ask me, or any other woman, to perform this duty as he knew that many would accept purely on the basis of their duty to him. So I approached Kenji-sama and asked for the honour of being this gift.
“So knowing that, yes my President did want me to come here. If only for the most benevolent of reasons; Eric Lincoln-sama has a certain reputation for his use of NNAO resources, but he knows that he cannot ask for those tasks from me as I will be put in a position of dishonour. This President is acutely aware of the specialness of the Kamigawa clan and affords us more respect than some of our previous Presidents.” Shizuka hoped that her candor stayed intact with the mentioning of those previous Presidents. She was not impressed by their actions but she had no right to speak poorly of them. The only reason she came so close to that line was because the Sultan elicited honesty. He seems like he could use candor and truthfulness right about now.

“Museum?”

(OOC: Sorry if the last bit makes no sense I have class right soon. But this should keep the fencing going right along eh :P)

"Mommy, is she the Sultan? She's a girl."
"No, honey, I don't... I don't think she is..."
"Well, den wha' is she an' why is she wearin' his clothes?"

That was odd. The girl knows what the Sultan wears, but her mother in unsure that I'm not the Sultan? How would that be possible? Medea thought about a reply for several seconds, before settling on, "I help the Sultan when he requires it."

That was odd. The girl knows what the Sultan wears, but her mother in unsure that I'm not the Sultan? How would that be possible? Medea thought about a reply for several seconds, before settling on, "I help the Sultan when he requires it."

The childs hand makes another wave in the air, but the frown stays put. "She's not in the book."
"I know, honey."
"It keeps sayin' she's the Sultan."

The tour guide - a perky blonde in a red uniform - smiles her way forward. "That's ok. If you reset, you can..."
"I alreddy reset twice an'nit still says she's the Sultan. An' doan you touch it, if you break it I gotsa pays for it, Mommy says."

The simple earpiece design nearly brings it to invisibility by the child's ear - a separate unit comes out of her pocket and as she presses on a button with frustration, Medea gets the feeling the child is attempting to change her, much as someone would change a channel.

"Now, dear, she's not a hologram. At least, I think she's not..."

"What do you help the Sultan do?" ventures one gentleman in the back.
"..and how much to do it" murmurs come from two teens stifling giggles.

More comments come as the guide tries to add some 'helpful and educational notes'.

"Maybe she's a Vizier?"
"As you might note, the floor marble here is dark stone. This is intentional as..."
"Whose the big grape dude?"
"Nah, no braid."
"Her hair's long enough."
"... coal, and later oil as import of brass and bronzewear..."
"I know - she's a Minister!"
*FLASH*
"That's a woman, gimp."
"What's that thingy on her belt?"
"... uses it to..." *snicker snicker snicker*
"No TAPRES symbol."
*FLASH*
"... India, but the better works from what would become Austrailia..."
"Hey, I wonder if we can get one of her sitting on the throne."
"That's one big whoah-man..."
"...fade in flashes, so she can't be a holo."

"...increase the charge by seven percent...bollocks, it won't work that way, have to..." Sharon was muttering happily to herself as she lined-through what she wrote, and continued her 'thought experiment'. "...set polarity at...no, higher...there we go..." she had improvised a slide-rule by folding three cut-strips and marking them in a pattern she knew fairly intimately-this was mainly to save her concentration for the more important work.

Voices filtered into her concentration, and she looked up. "Hi." waved, and went back to work, mumbling "...where was I..."

The guard yawns, bored. "You can go in. She can't come out. But she's relatively harmless. Unless you listen for long."

“Museum?”

(OOC: Sorry if the last bit makes no sense I have class right soon. But this should keep the fencing going right along eh :P)


“Yes, there are four of them in the Palace. Two are boring, one is public, and one is mine. Though one of the boring ones does house all the various playthings I and my predecessors have been offered through the years, so that is at least mildly amusing. I believe there’s a pen in there from Nova Hope. And a sword.

“You might want to familiarize yourself with all four, to an extent. I believe one typical duty is as a hostess of sorts. We shall have to see how that fits.”

13: Mostly Harmless

"Oh! Thank you," Alexis replied, intrigued. Who was the "relatively harmless" person who had to be contained so? She pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The room beyond, while clearly based upon the same basic floorplan as her own, was even plainer, lacking anything but the most basic of amenities. It was occupied by a young woman dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit with spiky hair*. A tray of food went ignored nearby while she wrote feverishly in a notebook, talking aloud to herself.

Alexis didn't recognise the jumpsuit for prison clothing - prisoners in Ferris got no sort of special garb. It certainly didn't look like Vastivan national dress; she must be from some even stranger country, then. A candidate.

The woman looked up briefly to wave and mumble "Hi" before turning back to her notebook.

"Um, hello," Alexis replied, smiling politely. "I'm Alexis McKenzie-Grey - are you another candidate? ... Have I come at a bad time?"

OOC: *Based upon various anecdotal evidence from here and there I assume Sharon has spiky hair. If this is wrong I can edit, of course.

13: Mostly Harmless

"Oh! Thank you," Alexis replied, intrigued. Who was the "relatively harmless" person who had to be contained so? She pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The room beyond, while clearly based upon the same basic floorplan as her own, was even plainer, lacking anything but the most basic of amenities. It was occupied by a young woman dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit with spiky hair*. A tray of food went ignored nearby while she wrote feverishly in a notebook, talking aloud to herself.

Alexis didn't recognise the jumpsuit for prison clothing - prisoners in Ferris got no sort of special garb. It certainly didn't look like Vastivan national dress; she must be from some even stranger country, then. A candidate.

The woman looked up briefly to wave and mumble "Hi" before turning back to her notebook.

"Um, hello," Alexis replied, smiling politely. "I'm Alexis McKenzie-Grey - are you another candidate? ... Have I come at a bad time?"

OOC: *Based upon various anecdotal evidence from here and there I assume Sharon has spiky hair. If this is wrong I can edit, of course.



[ooc- Sharon wears her hair in a kind "Crest", like a wide mohawk, and yes, sometimes she does liberty-spike it. Right now, it's kind of half-here-half-there.]

"Oh...Hi, I guess I can take a break." Sharon set the pen down, and sized up Alexis. "Okay, you're not a shrink...or a cop. I'm Sharon Henrik, and no, I'm not a candidate for anything-that I'm aware of...I'm a Nukee."

the stranger gave her an odd look. Sharon patiently explained, "Nuclear Sciences and Engineering major, minor in physics with a focus on theoretical and applications, i.e. engineering.... they have me under guard because I had a mousetrap in my pocket at customs..." Sharon grinned mischeviously.

Upon closer examination, Sharon's hair wasn't so much "Spiky" as "Twisted by nervous fingers and chewed on", the food wasn't "Untouched", it was "Sailor's portions" and half-eaten. Some of the squid-ink soup had soaked into the collar and front of the orange jumpsuit, and the face....

Sharon Henrik's face was so remarkably child-like that for a moment, a person might forget the almost-grown woman attatched to it, (and the mangled 'punker' hair.) Freckles, a button nose, almost-too-big-eyes, and a small chin gave the impression not of a college-student, or Harem-Candidate, but of a particularly unruly child prone to mischief, possibly eleven or twelve years old.

"Wannasee?" Sharon asked, offering the pages, "It's not done yet, but I think I've found an economical way to reverse the charge-polarity of the proton and electron in an atom of hydrogen..." she paused for a breath, "It'sreallyneat!Theenergyreleaseiswaybiggerthantheinputsandifitworksit'llmakeawholerevolutioninenergy production."
She paused again, and added, "Or a really roucus boom."

Guy was cursing to himself, and came close to throwing his computer against the wall when Al walked into the suite.

"These Vastivians. So frustrating, I tell you Al. I have been denied access to an interview. I think, if I am to get into the Palace, I need either Neira to initiate it, or come up with one of my brilliant plans."

Al sighed. "Whatever it is, leave me out of it. Your last brilliant plan cost me §200 and a tetanus shot. My ass still hurts."

Guy smiled. "Oh yeah, that was a good one. So close to working too."

"In any case, before your genius starts working I do have some good news. I suffered through that aweful tour, and got a set of some very interesting pictures. Here, let me connect." Al took his camera, linking it to Guy's computer. Up popped a series of pictures, displaying two women promenently, one wearing rather lavish clothes.

"Do you see her? Do you see the staff? Lucky I payed attention to the tour... well, some of it... those are the clothes of the Sultan, and the staff symbolizes his power.. or something. I am sure we can find out more specifics. But I think she is a member of the harem!! And I looked at my cards... her name is Medea, from the country of Krioval."

Guy smiled, a grinchlike smirk. "The one with the assassin background? Great news there. I'll type up the story right away... and then come up with a way to get in that palace."

**

Later that evening, Channel 13 broadcasts an exclusive photo of the "first" Harem candidate thought to be accepted. The story ends with a hopeful line: Could Neira be far behind? For anyone watching, the real contex was: How could she not?

**

Guy sat on his bed, half asleep, scrolling through a list of prominate Vastivians. If i can't get in, maybe I need to make a friend.... how many damn Viziers does this country have?.... Vizier of Artistic Expression? What the hell kind of post is that? He clicked to see her biography and picture. Interesting... He continued to surf for more information about this Vizier on the intranet... One particular website was rather blatant: "...she's a downright flake with a complex about being the center of attention..."

Bingo. He went to go apply whitening solution to his teeth, and turned into bed, after saying a quick than you to his ancestors.

Neeshad: "However, if you could enlighten this one as to what you refer to by ‘what is really needed’, it would help considerably in understanding your desire.”

And later: "This is, of course, assuming one is accepted into the Harem, and not merely visiting?”

"Point taken," Myfanwy acknowledged cheerfully. "Well, I want to be accepted, I'll tell you why in a minute, and for that I'll need clothes. The right clothes. And that's where I need your advice."

She considered a minute. "A ball, for example. Jewellery would have to be light. Nothing that might catch on a partner's clothing. I'd need a dress with a fair amount of material in the skirt. Something that would move into pleasing patterns when I danced. Discreet panels that show glimpses -- know what I mean?" Neeshad nodded. "But a banquet needs something different. It's mostly the top half that gets seen. So ... off-the-shoulder, heavy jewellery OK, but nothing that would fall into the soup when I leant forward. The dress would have to be comfortable, so I could eat -- some cultures are insulted by guests who don't eat. So that would maybe suggest an Empire line -- you know, high-waisted? And it would be good because the skirt wouldn't be so full that it would inconvenience the guest on either side. But no head-dresses that would poke my companions in the eye. So far so good?"

Neeshad nodded again.

"Fine. But the trouble is, I don't fully understand Vastivan culture yet. So I don't know whether an Empire line dress suggests nothing but pregnancy. Or whether it's shocking to wear velvet if you're single. Or whether only novueaux riches wear jewellery that sparkles. And that, I hope, is where you might help?"

Her listener remained quietly attentive. Myfanwy sighed.

"Also, I need to think what sort of things the candidates might have to do, and what I want to look like doing them. Like, say there's a meeting and the Sultan asks a candidate to attend. Does that mean dress like a very expensive office-lady, so the experts will take you seriously? Or like a fluffy toy, so when you whisper advice they'll think you're bored and trying to distract the Sultan? It depends on the meeting, of course; but I'd need both kinds of outfit, so I could choose."

This was getting embarrassing. Myfanwy didn't like someone knowing that she put so much thought into clothes. Nonetheless, they were part of her professional toolkit, so she persevered.

"I guess I'd better make a list," she decided. "Let's put it on-screen, hey? Then I can print out copies." (For Mother, who won't believe it, and Mirrim, who will.)

Moving to a nearby terminal, she typed in "Shopping Expedition", thanking her lucky stars Vastivans used the qwerty keyboard. Deftly she bolded, centred, upped the type-face ... and, just for fun, made it bright red, flashing on and off.

"Right, now; I'll list a few things I can think of, and I'm open to suggestions -- and yes, I know you can't tell me what we're going to be asked to do, but you can tell me what's right to wear doing it, okay?"

It was considerably more difficult than pulling teeth. Myfanwy did extract her helper's name -- "Neeshad? Meaning cheerful? That's nice, that your parents wanted that for you" -- but couldn't persuade her to respond with anything but "Ayid" to her "My name's Myfanwy."

Nonetheless, they worked their way through a spectacular wardrobe, ending with "three pairs of heavy-duty coveralls", an addition that caused a faint wrinkle in Neeshad's forehead.

"I'll explain in a minute," Myfanwy promised. "Now, when's this event going to happen? I always file my stuff by date." She typed in the response, then saved the document and closed it.

Or so she thought. But the keyboard function-commands weren't quite as familiar as she thought. "Shopping Expedition", plus the details, appeared in bright red, flashing, 36-point capitals on every terminal in the room.

Medea's patience was dissolving into annoyance, which itself was being transmuted through the wonders of Kriovalian psychology into untempered fury. Her military training was about all that kept back the urge to beat every single one of the obnoxious tourists into oblivion, drag them back, and repeat the process. "Investigations," she said by way of reply to the man who had asked how she helped. To the teenagers who had made the snide comment about her payscale, she quipped, "Why don't you apply for a position and find out?" She then remembered the M-TOCD that she still held. It had been almost a week she was out of Krioval, and she hadn't had access to news from home. What *was* home, anyway, she thought. She keyed in the command to begin scrolling through papers, first by region, and finally by nation. She would have continued to the Valak city paper, but she noticed the Telekar Union's headline first.

"Oh dear Gods in Heaven!" she exclaimed, forgetting the presence of Shama and the tourists momentarily. "Raijin Dekker! I'd never have thought it possible for you to do that." Stuck between sitting horrified and exploding into laughter at the absurdity of the situation back home, Medea realized the presence of the others, and was soon filling the chamber with the echoes of her giggling as the tension drained from the Kriovalian woman for the first time in over a week.

14: More things in Heaven and Earth

"I'm just an artist," Alexis replied, "And a candidate. For the harem, that is. Pleased to meet you.

"A mousetrap? Whatever for? Your ... outfit doesn't have pockets."

This Sharon Henrik seemed friendly enough, if a little odd. Okay, a lot odd. She had the childlike innocense of someone who would happily push a large red button marked "do not push" just to "see what happened". Alexis guessed there was rather more to her story than a mousetrap.

She accepted the proffered pages, and stared at them blankly; the equations might as well have been Old Salt Krismen for all she understood.

"I'll take your word for it," she said. "I'm no theoretical alchemist. Or a "Nukee"."

OOC: Ack, short. My brain shuts down at inconvenient times, alas.

“Of course. The is day still young and despite this morning’s inconviences I can arrange to have tutelage in these museums.” Shizuka hesitated before asking.
“Tell me, was the sword an appropriate gift to give one such as you? I ask because a blade like that is considered a very affluent gift in my clan. They were not sure what to send.”

Chief Herald Nivia watched the Channel 13 broadcast with certain interest, well aware of the many Vastivans who watched the Voltarum news – if for no better reason then the coverage of the Harem.

At the picture of Medea, she let out a yelp – improper! – but bit it back just as quickly.

When it was over, she scrolled back the frames until she had Guy Smiley’s smiling face perfectly centered.

Alright Mr Smiley. Two can play at this game…

She keyed the TCOD on her desk.

“Get me what you can on a reporter from Voltarum called ‘Guy Smiley’.”

***

It gets worse long before it gets better. As Myfanwy’s command goes through the system, pretty soon all the pillars show their normal scenes, but have…

SHOPPING EXPEDITION

… scrolling through every screen endlessly.

Mercifully, the two “accidental troublemakers” didn’t notice quite what was going on, yet.

“Ayid, if you will, this one is not called Neeshad because of any action of her parents, save their original signatories on this one’s agreement of service. ‘Neeshad’ refers to the attitude this one has shown, and as such, has become her common name because it was felt such a name did describe her, and did please our Sultan. It could be stated as such, as our Sultan was bemirthed to hear this one’s name spoken in his presence, and to be attended by this one in her usual manner.”

She gives a slight cough. “It may also be proper to note, this is the third name this one has had in her service here, and may certainly not be the last, should it please our Sultan to change it again.”

“On dress, Ayid, this one can offer some… general advice. While it is true we are a nation of incredible cold, we are also a nation of domes and such. These are kept warm and comfortable year round. As such, we have those who wear just about anything – or, indeed, nothing if they so choose. Our ideals of fashion are… how to put this… not very culturally induced. True, the normal wear of most citizens is the burnoose*, but such is so because it is an easy garb to wear, and a long traditionally held one. It is also considered universally appropriate.

“But if you are speaking of formal events, Ayid, it would seem the dress best suited to the event would be best considered from the point of view of the guests. There is a tale of a Vastivan who called home to inform his wife he had rescued two foreigners from their bath in one of our thermal pools. It seems a practical joker had stolen their clothes, leaving them to prune.

“The wife met them in their foyer wearing absolutely nothing, with fresh warm clothing for both. And she did not put on her own garb until after her guests were seen to, even to the tying of their boots and the fit of the coats they were to have afterwards.”

She clears her throat. “This one would also mention the ‘50% rule’, which is not truly a rule: leave at least 50% of the body covered. It leaves more to the imagination, and can be used to greater… advantage then an immediate reveal.

“I believe the details are being finalized, and it should… not… be…. Long…. Now?”

Neeshad is now looking – horrified – at the displays on the pillars.



OOC: A Vastivan Burnoose includes the cape, “loose” pants and a “loose” blouse or shirt – both are adjustable or tailored to the individual. Ties are normally present at the cuffs, and a belt or sash (sometimes both) at the waist. This appears to be separate pieces, but has often been made into one-piece “slips on” versions for ease of wear. Outdoor versions are often furred (polar bear in the newer); all have a loose hood at the least, some a more firm version. Pockets have been found in cuffs, in the cloak, just about anywhere.

However, wearing a Moroccan Burnoose, or similar garb, makes whatever is underneath automatically “appropriate” in most situations, due to this cultural foible.

''Where are the green rooms?'' Helen asked. ''I like gardens since I am into Nature.'' Helen said grabbing her hat and going to the door. ''Can you show me where the gardens are?'' Helen asked opening the door and walking out hoping the ''Harem Ghost'' would show her where they were. ''This land is very noble and I must learn more about it.'' Helen had thought to herself. ''The Khalifah told me this place would be fun to stay in,I hope he is right.'' she thought to herself before waiting to be led to the gardens.

The "harem ghost" smiles. "This way, Ayid."

She leads Helen through one of the green doorways - no door, just a doorway.

Within, flowers bloom, trees sprout, and birds sing. The scent is strong, the presence of nature stronger - and the illusion of sky above complete with sunlight radiating downwards and clouds moving in the mostly blue sky.

Better or worse, it was soon to become quite interesting. A transmission from Krioval caused a panel to light up. "Interesting broadcast. I was wondering if Lady Lakat would be cleared. Oh. My apologies, this is Raijin Dekker, Commander of Krioval. I find your neighbors' newscasts to be most...probing." The tone was not quite accusatory, though an astute listener would realize that the 'incorrect' answer might tip the very delicate balance in that direction. "Is there anything Krioval could do to be of assistance?"

Better or worse, it was soon to become quite interesting. A transmission from Krioval caused a panel to light up. "Interesting broadcast. I was wondering if Lady Lakat would be cleared. Oh. My apologies, this is Raijin Dekker, Commander of Krioval. I find your neighbors' newscasts to be most...probing." The tone was not quite accusatory, though an astute listener would realize that the 'incorrect' answer might tip the very delicate balance in that direction. "Is there anything Krioval could do to be of assistance?"

OOC: As the only open "panel" able to receive this at the moment is Medea's M-TCOD (the internals aren't designed that way, and are on closed intranet in any case...), how does Medea respond to her old flame showing up on her little screen?

SHOPPING EXPEDITION

… scrolling through every screen endlessly.


Feeling Guilty?

Engred saw it flashing, and groaned as she awoke. I would guess this is one test made for ME. she sat up, sniffed herself, and clumsily stood. She then glanced at "Her" guard, and said, "I'm going to go get cleaned up." she crab-handed a towel from her remaining goods, and added, "Not that you might care, but I apologize for being such a bitch earlier. I said things that I should not have said, criticised things I should not have.... part of that is these..." she held up her burn-gloved hands and forearms. "...It's very frustrating to need people to help you with the most basic activities because you can't use your hands. My frustration was directed at the wrong people, and I will probably spend a lot of time apologizing for it." She glanced over at Kera and Zukie, asleep. "I just hope my mouth didn't hurt anyone else."



She headed for the baths as unobtrusively as she could.

"There, that's done. Come on, let's have some tea and I'll explain about the coveralls ... Oh, Goddess ..."

Myfanwy followed Nasheed's stricken gaze to the nearest panel, which was displaying all the details of the shopping expedition. The "let's keep it quiet for now" shopping expedition.

Dizzily she wondered if there were other panels like that outside the Harem. Was the whole of Vastiva being informed this minute of her desperate need for chemises? Were they giggling over her unfashionable insistence on "no G-strings, no underwired bras"? And what would they make of the reminder "fat, tender goat" in the middle of her wardrobe list?

"Oh, dear. Oh, my. How could I be so dumb? Why do I do things like that? I'm so sorry ... Nasheed, what's the Vastivan for 'Mud'? I've got a feeling that's going to be my name from now on."

Guy woke up the next morning, refreshed and ready to go. As Al poured him some coffee, he anxiously shoved a newspaper in his face.

Al sighed. "Art Gallery opening? So what? You hate art, unless it involves, um, sexuality... shall we say?"

"So kind, Al. No, this is the perfect outlet for me to court our target... Goldie the Vizier of Art something or other. I am sure she will be there. Hrm, this looks fancy. Going to have get decked out for this one. And bursh up on my Vastivian artistic knowledge..."

"So this is your brilliant plan? Good luck."

Guy scowled. "No Voltaru woman can resist my charms, and Vastiva is just as cold at night. Besides, I wonder if our lady Vizier has ever met the foremost art critic in The Voltarum?" He smiled, and stood up and walked back to his room.

"We have art critics?" Al bit on his jelly donut.

**

Originally Posted by Vastiva


SHOPPING EXPEDITION

… scrolling through every screen endlessly.

Neira perked up from her reading, and took notice to the streaking and blinking red letters off to her side on the nearest screen. Oh my god... we are going shopping?!! This place is the best! She turns to wake up Ka'tal from her nap.

OC: Tg coming your way

Shipboard...

"Alchemy?" Sharon looked at Alexis with a stunned expression. "Like, Lead-into-gold, philosopher's stone stuff, right?" she asked, absolutely floored by the idea-in her mind, an idea as absurd as 'words of power' and voodoo.

Alexis nodded.

"Wild... I thought I was behind... okay, to understand what I just showed you, I'll have to explain a few basic things we know about matter, and why Antimatter is such a big deal..."

she rapped her knuckles on the floor, "This's solid, yah? check it out, it's actually ninety percent open space. Your molecules and the floor's molecules could fit in the same volume together, and not have any problems-other than it would kill you if it happened. An atom is the smallest unit of whole matter, tracking with me so far? good." (Sharon didn't notice if the stranger was, in fact understanding her-she was too busy in the 'canned' speech mode she used with Freshmen when she TA'ed for Dr. Heisenberg's 'Early Start' classes at the Middle-grade schools.)

"Okay, now Hydrogen is the smallest whole atom-the lightest of what we in the scientific fields call 'Elements'. An Element is any material that is that material when reduced to a single whole atom. Hydrogen contains three subatomic particles of major importance- one electron, which is, in normal matter, a negatively charged particle, one Neutron, which is neutral, and one Proton, which sits with the neutron in what is called the 'nucleus'. The electron (or Electrons, depending on how big your atom is) orbit the Nucleus.
Now in normal matter, as I've explained, the Electron is negatively charged...there's a lot of space in there, by the way...tracking? good. Okay, now that's the simplest form of matter."

She drew in a breath, "Anti-Matter is theoretically possible-in fact, based on Relativity, it's inevitable-but nobody on earth has ever found any-there's a good reason for this. Anti-Matter has a positive particle orbiting a neutral and a negative. Put it in contact with normal matter..." she grinned.

"Boom." she said, "They annihilate one another, converting that matter direct-to-energy at some truly awe-inspiring levels. a Kilogramme would be enough to level, say, a one-hundered mile sphere. The trick is, Antimatter doesn't want to be near Regular matter any more than regular matter wants to be near anti-matter. you have to contain it. At CERN and other theoretical physics facilities, they usually deal in small, subatomic particles of antimatter, or anti-particles. These aren't whole atoms-and they have to use significant containment by magnetic fields...I think I found a way to do it using something a bit cheaper and more durable-as well as a cheaper method than a five-mile radius accellerator to produce the antimatter itself..."

She then proceeded to go into a veryfasttalk explanation of several theoretical-physics principles involving the nature and structure of matter, how to build a Cyclotron, and why-einstein-was-smart-but-wrong about the lightspeed limit, and why Sharon Henrik thinks the physical world is nothing but the interactions of coherent energy fields.

All delivered in a peppy and somewhat wandering babble that sounded like a tape being played too fast.

"Instructional Blur" describes Sharon's behaviour as she tried to make Alexis understand how interesting and Rawkin' high-energy nuclear physics is.
(she's REALLY trying. She's like Bill Nye on Methamphetemine!)

"Lord Raijin?!"

"Oh. Medea. I'm surprised that's where this link went, but then, it's been rather interesting lately. Maybe I shouldn't be."

"You weren't looking for me specifically then?"

"Afraid not. I'd hoped to speak to Sinjin about your status, in fact, I requested him specifically. You haven't staged a palace coup and seized control, have you?" Raijin's expression made it clear that while a joke, he left room for the question to be affirmed.

"Of course not! So, it's true then? The Director..." She decided to be as discreet in asking about Koro as she could.

"Yup." Light chuckles punctuated the rest of his comment. "Whole country's a mess, though with the temperatures making nearly forty for the past week, it's no surprise. A bit of a flap in the UN too - we try to mix it up a little." He took a breath. "So, how's the Sultana of Vastiva?"

"Lord Raijin! You can't call me that!" Medea glanced around nervously, trying to confirm that nobody was listening to her conversation, which, of course, they were. "People can hear."

"Oh, fine. You look to be in reasonable health, and in a position of rather some power, if the news is to be believed. Anyway, I'll try back later - I really do need to speak with Vastiva about some details of a trade agreement and a few UN-related matters, not to be confused with "unrelated" matters, as there are always plenty of those. Anything you need there?"

"No, I'm fine." Well, there were plenty of things she'd like, such as permission to slap a few tourists silly, but Raijin wasn't the one to give that permission here.

"Good to hear. Keep in touch. Be strong." The link disconnected. Medea looked around, decided she couldn't really care much less about the tourists still present, and started searching on the M-TOCD for a decent crossword puzzle.

Feeling Guilty?

Engred saw it flashing, and groaned as she awoke. I would guess this is one test made for ME. she sat up, sniffed herself, and clumsily stood. She then glanced at "Her" guard, and said, "I'm going to go get cleaned up." she crab-handed a towel from her remaining goods, and added, "Not that you might care, but I apologize for being such a bitch earlier. I said things that I should not have said, criticised things I should not have.... part of that is these..." she held up her burn-gloved hands and forearms. "...It's very frustrating to need people to help you with the most basic activities because you can't use your hands. My frustration was directed at the wrong people, and I will probably spend a lot of time apologizing for it." She glanced over at Kera and Zukie, asleep. "I just hope my mouth didn't hurt anyone else."



She headed for the baths as unobtrusively as she could.


The purple-robed guard follows as unobtrusively as possible.

As she reaches the baths, a "harem ghost" 'appears' at her arm. "Pardon, Ayid, but would you care for assistance in this?"

"There, that's done. Come on, let's have some tea and I'll explain about the coveralls ... Oh, Goddess ..."

Myfanwy followed Nasheed's stricken gaze to the nearest panel, which was displaying all the details of the shopping expedition. The "let's keep it quiet for now" shopping expedition.

Dizzily she wondered if there were other panels like that outside the Harem. Was the whole of Vastiva being informed this minute of her desperate need for chemises? Were they giggling over her unfashionable insistence on "no G-strings, no underwired bras"? And what would they make of the reminder "fat, tender goat" in the middle of her wardrobe list?

"Oh, dear. Oh, my. How could I be so dumb? Why do I do things like that? I'm so sorry ... Nasheed, what's the Vastivan for 'Mud'? I've got a feeling that's going to be my name from now on."

Nasheed's eyes are blurry with tears. "Your pardon, Ayid... it is not those in the harem who are renamed for... screwing up..."

The purple-robed guard follows as unobtrusively as possible.

As she reaches the baths, a "harem ghost" 'appears' at her arm. "Pardon, Ayid, but would you care for assistance in this?"
Engred winced slightly, but hoped the Harem Ghost did not notice.
"Yes, thank you." she said quietly.

Shipboard...

"Alchemy?" Sharon looked at Alexis with a stunned expression. "Like, Lead-into-gold, philosopher's stone stuff, right?" she asked, absolutely floored by the idea-in her mind, an idea as absurd as 'words of power' and voodoo.

Alexis nodded.

"Wild... I thought I was behind... okay, to understand what I just showed you, I'll have to explain a few basic things we know about matter, and why Antimatter is such a big deal..."

she rapped her knuckles on the floor, "This's solid, yah? check it out, it's actually ninety percent open space. Your molecules and the floor's molecules could fit in the same volume together, and not have any problems-other than it would kill you if it happened. An atom is the smallest unit of whole matter, tracking with me so far? good." (Sharon didn't notice if the stranger was, in fact understanding her-she was too busy in the 'canned' speech mode she used with Freshmen when she TA'ed for Dr. Heisenberg's 'Early Start' classes at the Middle-grade schools.)

"Okay, now Hydrogen is the smallest whole atom-the lightest of what we in the scientific fields call 'Elements'. An Element is any material that is that material when reduced to a single whole atom. Hydrogen contains three subatomic particles of major importance- one electron, which is, in normal matter, a negatively charged particle, one Neutron, which is neutral, and one Proton, which sits with the neutron in what is called the 'nucleus'. The electron (or Electrons, depending on how big your atom is) orbit the Nucleus.
Now in normal matter, as I've explained, the Electron is negatively charged...there's a lot of space in there, by the way...tracking? good. Okay, now that's the simplest form of matter."

She drew in a breath, "Anti-Matter is theoretically possible-in fact, based on Relativity, it's inevitable-but nobody on earth has ever found any-there's a good reason for this. Anti-Matter has a positive particle orbiting a neutral and a negative. Put it in contact with normal matter..." she grinned.

"Boom." she said, "They annihilate one another, converting that matter direct-to-energy at some truly awe-inspiring levels. a Kilogramme would be enough to level, say, a one-hundered mile sphere. The trick is, Antimatter doesn't want to be near Regular matter any more than regular matter wants to be near anti-matter. you have to contain it. At CERN and other theoretical physics facilities, they usually deal in small, subatomic particles of antimatter, or anti-particles. These aren't whole atoms-and they have to use significant containment by magnetic fields...I think I found a way to do it using something a bit cheaper and more durable-as well as a cheaper method than a five-mile radius accellerator to produce the antimatter itself..."

She then proceeded to go into a veryfasttalk explanation of several theoretical-physics principles involving the nature and structure of matter, how to build a Cyclotron, and why-einstein-was-smart-but-wrong about the lightspeed limit, and why Sharon Henrik thinks the physical world is nothing but the interactions of coherent energy fields.

All delivered in a peppy and somewhat wandering babble that sounded like a tape being played too fast.

"Instructional Blur" describes Sharon's behaviour as she tried to make Alexis understand how interesting and Rawkin' high-energy nuclear physics is.
(she's REALLY trying. She's like Bill Nye on Methamphetemine!)


The Ships Doctor listens for a few minutes before giving Sharon another shot.
"Apparently this mix needs some work, though better hyper then depressed. I'll be back later with a soporific-hypnotic. Oh, and if you're interested..."

She turns to the screen and modifies the view to a "teleclass" from Tibiak University in Kjik'Kjak where a bespectacled professor is describing the current theories and models of power generation (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=417534) Vastiva is looking into due to its' involvement with TAPRES, along with current advances in Space-Time theory as relates to Einstein's models and "accepted versions of string theory".

"That's about a week old, but it sounds like something you'd be interested in."

She bows to Alexis and departs.

"Lord Raijin?!"

"Oh. Medea. I'm surprised that's where this link went, but then, it's been rather interesting lately. Maybe I shouldn't be."

"You weren't looking for me specifically then?"

"Afraid not. I'd hoped to speak to Sinjin about your status, in fact, I requested him specifically. You haven't staged a palace coup and seized control, have you?" Raijin's expression made it clear that while a joke, he left room for the question to be affirmed.

"Of course not! So, it's true then? The Director..." She decided to be as discreet in asking about Koro as she could.

"Yup." Light chuckles punctuated the rest of his comment. "Whole country's a mess, though with the temperatures making nearly forty for the past week, it's no surprise. A bit of a flap in the UN too - we try to mix it up a little." He took a breath. "So, how's the Sultana of Vastiva?"

"Lord Raijin! You can't call me that!" Medea glanced around nervously, trying to confirm that nobody was listening to her conversation, which, of course, they were. "People can hear."

"Oh, fine. You look to be in reasonable health, and in a position of rather some power, if the news is to be believed. Anyway, I'll try back later - I really do need to speak with Vastiva about some details of a trade agreement and a few UN-related matters, not to be confused with "unrelated" matters, as there are always plenty of those. Anything you need there?"

"No, I'm fine." Well, there were plenty of things she'd like, such as permission to slap a few tourists silly, but Raijin wasn't the one to give that permission here.

"Good to hear. Keep in touch. Be strong." The link disconnected. Medea looked around, decided she couldn't really care much less about the tourists still present, and started searching on the M-TOCD for a decent crossword puzzle.

"Sultana? Wots that?"

Several blank stares.

*FLASH*

...and the guide efficiently moves them out of the room.

The Ships Doctor listens for a few minutes before giving Sharon another shot.
"Apparently this mix needs some work, though better hyper then depressed. I'll be back later with a soporific-hypnotic. Oh, and if you're interested..."

She turns to the screen and modifies the view to a "teleclass" from Tibiak University in Kjik'Kjak where a bespectacled professor is describing the current theories and models of power generation (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=417534) Vastiva is looking into due to its' involvement with TAPRES, along with current advances in Space-Time theory as relates to Einstein's models and "accepted versions of string theory".

"That's about a week old, but it sounds like something you'd be interested in."

She bows to Alexis and departs.

"Hyper?" Sharon watched the doctor leave. "I'm not hyper." she shot Alexis a grin, then watched a few minutes of the teleclass before exploding "WRONG!! wrongwrongwrongwrong wrong! That's just about as bad as using an oil-burner!" she was arguing with the teleclass-which, being recorded, didn't notice at all. In a way, Sharon suddenly resembled a Football* fan on the edge of rioting.
As the recorded professor droned on, she kept altering his equations sotto voce, and occasionally, letting out an outburst of "LAZY!! Carry it further-you don't need to use that!!! All you need is a polished chamber and Boron 12, you jackass, this process will produce entirely too much waste and it's long-term waste..." she hit the 'pause' button, and looked over at Alexis, "Try the fried herring, it's good stuff." before starting it again, and resuming her somewhat energetic critique of the low-temperature fusion reaction being described by the professor.

Peculiarly enough, the precise things she was muttering were wrong with it, were the same things that kept appearing in the margines of her notes from two hours ago-even Alexis could catch that immediately.
"He forgot to carry the .08921 over, and his Logarithm mechanic's all-wrong, needs to be corrected he presents his math to a classroom..." Sharon muttered, then, she looked up again, "You suppose the Captain would let me build a teensy working model to prove it?"

The guard shook his head.

"Darn... ah, not gonna be here much longer anyway, maybe when we hit dirtside..." she said thoughtfully.


[*European Football, i.e. soccer.]

15: The Principles of Matter

"Uh, I know about atoms," Alexis said when Sharon paused for breath, "And protons and electrons and phlostigons* and so on."

Her knowledge was rusty, picked up in basic tuition years ago, when Alexis McKenzie-Grey was more interested in doodling in the margins of her textbooks, and in any case very few people in Ferris cared about things that had such a minute importance to their everyday lives - but it was still there, from the negative charge on an electron to the way atoms shared phlostigons through contaigon**.

Antimatter seemed simple enough - or at least, Alexis couldn't think of any reason why it couldn't work. She wondered if the military knew about it; given the ability to make craters half the size of Kellmarkº they'd probably do just that.

And then Sharon said she'd devised a way to manufacture the stuff economically. It was probably a very good thing that the military didn't know about that.

"Uh ..." she started, Are you sure that's a good idea?, but Sharon was off again, accelerating into strange realms where time was relative and the universe as Alexis knew it didn't really exist. The guard was right; listening to Sharon for too long probably was dangerous in some way.

It was only after the ship's doctor had appeared and disappeared that Alexis realised the person it might be dangerous to was Sharon herself. That genius was often mad seemed to apply equally to the sciences as to the arts.

Genius was certainly rather self-absorbed. The show on the television (In colour! And so small! Like something out of science fiction!) whooshed over her head almost entirely, although Alexis did gather that they'd devised some sort of power supply magnitudes in advance of diesel-electric generators or geothermal turbines - and that Sharon was very critical of the design.

All this sparked an idea of her own, far further down to earth than cold fusion or antimatter, and Alexis opened her sketchbook to a clean page, took a pencil from her pocket, and began to scribble wildly. She was halfway through when she looked up and asked Sharon;

"Oh, do you mind if I sketch you?"

OOC:
*Phlostigons: Sub-atomic particles of heat.
** Not in alchemo-physics-babble: "temperatures tend to equalise".
º Kellmark: One of Ferris' Marches, in an almost constant state of revolt.

The guard looked in, noticed the activities, rolled his eyes, and continued holding the wall up with his back.

15: The Principles of Matter

"Uh, I know about atoms," Alexis said when Sharon paused for breath, "And protons and electrons and phlostigons* and so on."

Her knowledge was rusty, picked up in basic tuition years ago, when Alexis McKenzie-Grey was more interested in doodling in the margins of her textbooks, and in any case very few people in Ferris cared about things that had such a minute importance to their everyday lives - but it was still there, from the negative charge on an electron to the way atoms shared phlostigons through contaigon**.

Antimatter seemed simple enough - or at least, Alexis couldn't think of any reason why it couldn't work. She wondered if the military knew about it; given the ability to make craters half the size of Kellmarkº they'd probably do just that.

And then Sharon said she'd devised a way to manufacture the stuff economically. It was probably a very good thing that the military didn't know about that.

"Uh ..." she started, Are you sure that's a good idea?, but Sharon was off again, accelerating into strange realms where time was relative and the universe as Alexis knew it didn't really exist. The guard was right; listening to Sharon for too long probably was dangerous in some way.

It was only after the ship's doctor had appeared and disappeared that Alexis realised the person it might be dangerous to was Sharon herself. That genius was often mad seemed to apply equally to the sciences as to the arts.

Genius was certainly rather self-absorbed. The show on the television (In colour! And so small! Like something out of science fiction!) whooshed over her head almost entirely, although Alexis did gather that they'd devised some sort of power supply magnitudes in advance of diesel-electric generators or geothermal turbines - and that Sharon was very critical of the design.

All this sparked an idea of her own, far further down to earth than cold fusion or antimatter, and Alexis opened her sketchbook to a clean page, took a pencil from her pocket, and began to scribble wildly. She was halfway through when she looked up and asked Sharon;

"Oh, do you mind if I sketch you?"

OOC:
*Phlostigons: Sub-atomic particles of heat.
** Not in alchemo-physics-babble: "temperatures tend to equalise".
º Kellmark: One of Ferris' Marches, in an almost constant state of revolt.

"Um... go 'head." Sharon replied distractedly, then, at the screen, "NO!!! not THAT way!" and she was off, again, "He'smakingittootootoocomplexit'salotsimplerifyou..." she launched into a diatribe-and hit 'pause' until her ranting fit was over.
"I need another notebook..." she said, catching her breath.

Her guard muttered briefly into his M-TCOD, sounding much like a French Llama had a coughing fit in Chinese.

A few moments later, a crewman arrived with another notebook - another one, Sharon may or may not notice, still is lacking a wire binding.

***

Back at the Harem, Engred was given a thorough "going over" by the harem ghost and a companion, both very careful of her wounded hands and her pride.

None of the three noticed the sudden flurry of irritation Myfanwy's "error" was causing the purple-robes, or that two left in a hurry.

On the boat...

Sharon accepted the notebooks with a "Thank you very much, good sir." and was furiously scribbling while the lecturer spoke. her fits of contradiction seemed to ebb into occasional muttering and furious scribbling, interrupted by 'pause', 'rewind' and 'play'. her left hand, when not controlling the screen, dug and twisted at her hair, scratched the shaved portions of her head, and occasionally snatched another leftover bit of food, to stuff into her mouth.
"...this can't be right..." she muttered darkly, lining through something, then repeating it, and rewinding the vid to go over something stated earlier.

The Football-fan avidness and intensity were still there, but it was joined by almost palpable concentration. Sharon with-her-hands occupied was visibly different from Sharon-hands-empty.

Or, maybe her throat was sore from all the shouting at the screen.

Sharon was, mainly, trying to understand why the Professor was teaching something that, to her own knowledge, was infeasable.

What am I missing? clearly this is serious material-but it's...I'm missing something.
She rewound the recorded lesson to the beginning, and really watched it this time, with her full concentration.

One could, with her concentrating so hard, have hit her squarely between the shoulders with an axe-handle and she would hardly notice it. It was this, her temporary moments when everything is in balance, that got Sharon Henrik into Heisenberg's class, and it was this that allowed her to bypass students with four to six more years of studies time after time.

OOC: Apologies for the minor RP of your guy, but you wern't online, and I wanted to set this up =)

A man stepped out of a limosuine, and walked with an air of utmost confidence toward the Art Gala opening. He had picked this one carefully - it was a showing of mostly foreign art, something he was, obviously, an expert on. And, the chances of Goldie the Vizier showing up here were almost a given.

He walked briskly, as his lime green tuxedo swished in the night. His sun glasses were barely translucent, and the silver rim matched his bow tie. In his right hand, he held a cane, decorated with what seemed to be diamonds and emeralds. He strolled up to the VIP entrance, where a rather burly "greeter" stood.

The greeter, holding in a laugh at the site of the lime man, grunted out the standard greeting of the night. "Welcome to the Gala International Art Expo. Invitation please?"

At this, the lime man tilted his sunglasses down an inch, to meet the greeter's eyes. "Invitation?" he said with an annoyed Volti accent. "Do you have any idea who I am? I do not need an invitation, my good man. Without me, this Gala wouldn't mean much." He smiled, his teeth so white they seemed to reflect the light around him.

The greeter was not impressed. "All VIPs, I was assured, were given invitations. If you do not have yours, just tell me your name, and I can check the list."

The lime man sighed. "Listen carefully, I do not have an invitation, nor am I on any official list." He stepped closer to the greeter and lowered his voice. "Obviously you don't know who I am. I am the greatest Art Critic in The Voltarum, perhaps in all of Antarctica outside of this great country of yours. If it were known I was coming, there would be mass hysteria here. I have legions of fans, you see, back home.. not to mention several artists who would like to see me dead. The organizers here wanted my opinion without the public - how you say - hoopla? So you see, if you do NOT let me in, then I will be forced to proclaim my presence here... and that good sir, would cause you a very big security headache." He pushed his glasses back up his nose, crossed his arms and waited for a response.

The greeter seemed to think hard about what this green man had just said. Whether he was just tired and believed him, or had a very long night and didn't care, we will never know. The fact remains that Guy Smiley entered the Gala International Art Exhibit. Or, to anyone who met him that night, the foremost art critic in all of the Voltarum, Ventuzo Carlotta, had entered the building.

Guy began to survey the room, attempting to find Goldie...

** OOC: bad art, and therefore art critics, are about as rare in the Voltarum as sub freezing temperatures (in other words, way too many are out there) As a result, they are not taken too seriously, and there are so many who claim to be "the best," the one at the top of his or her game can change almost daily. Thus, it would not be odd if Goldie had never heard of this imposter =) If you want to go that way anyway =)

A black Valkyrie helicopter emerged on the horizon. It stoped and an immacultly dressed man walked from it. He stood atht he enterance to the gala. He smiled at the two gaurds.

"Can I help you.?" A gaurd said pointing his gun at the stranger

"I'd hope you could. The name's Flash. Jack Flash. I'm here to see the sultan on very important buisness."

...and they haul him off to prison on various charges...




OOC: Don't know who you are, you didn't sign up, and that gala doesn't have the Sultan at it. TTFN. :rolleyes:

“Of course. The is day still young and despite this morning’s inconviences I can arrange to have tutelage in these museums.” Shizuka hesitated before asking.
“Tell me, was the sword an appropriate gift to give one such as you? I ask because a blade like that is considered a very affluent gift in my clan. They were not sure what to send.”


“Absolutely, though drawn it would have had… another meaning, one I do not believe you would have intended. I think we’ll give the locals a bit of a treat.”

He rises easily, proffers his arm, and walks her out of the room through one of the upper doors – which leads to a corridor lit only by a dim glow.

“Nothing like knowing where you’re going…”

***

Back in the throne room, Shama considered Medea and her position: sitting on the throne trying to figure out a word meaning “Bedbug” – “Starts with a V, five letters”.

From her position, she could clearly see the ‘secret door’ behind the throne opening.

What emerged wasn’t exactly all she expected.

“… and as you can see, they can get one just about anywhere, though you do have to know where you are going to some extent, to figure out which series of… well, hello there.”

Sinjin smiled a slight nod at Shama, allowing just enough room for Shizuka to pass into the room comfortably.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” His gaze followed Shama’s, resting on Medea. “Or you there. Terribly uncomfortable, isn’t it? I though of having it properly upholstered, but tradition doesn’t allow for such things. I suppose monarchs are supposed to be uncomfortable – though you do seem to be… enjoying yourself?”

The door has all but vanished – if you don’t know where to look, it’s not even there.

The greeter seemed to think hard about what this green man had just said. Whether he was just tired and believed him, or had a very long night and didn't care, we will never know. The fact remains that Guy Smiley entered the Gala International Art Exhibit. Or, to anyone who met him that night, the foremost art critic in all of the Voltarum, Ventuzo Carlotta, had entered the building.

Guy began to survey the room, attempting to find Goldie...



The Vizier was as inobtrusive as a fire in a fireworks factory.

"... don't care what you say, Francoise, this work is simply drivel of the worst sort. Look, here, I'll show you. See the brushwork? It might have started as a tribute to Pellegrini's style, but it ends up being nothing more then a cheap Dalism-knock off - no, look at the perspective. It would be better served if one folded the canvas in half and attempted to work off the imprint!"

The dark liquid in her glass doesn't quite slosh out, owing greatly to it's being in a brandy snifter, but not for lack of trying.

"Now, I simply don't care how much Delacroix is trying to break into the scene, I will not tolerate someone of such infantile skill trying to become the next Scottie or Koolhaas or von Max or - even Mapplethorpe is better, and in an entirely different medium! Dear me, no, I'd rather sit through a performance art piece by the Blue Man then have to pay any further attention to a Delacroix."


OOC: Feel free to play with minor NPCs as necessary. :D

The Harem Baths...

Somehow, after her apology and confession to the guard (whom had not volunteered a name), Engred sensed a bit more...sensitivity-the Harem-ghost helped in unobtrusive ways rather than shoving assistance and subservient attitude at her, and encouraged her to do some things that the prior day had seen almost overpowering help thrust at her. There seemed more respect of space now, more understanding of her need to at least try to handle something on her own first, before offering to help.
It felt much more like Real hospitality, rather than imprisonment, and she started to finally, actually, relax and not-fight it.

"Thank you." she said, when, after the fourth fumble, the silver-and-white liveried servant picked up the brush, and offered to scrub her back, "I would appreciate it, I seem to be... unable to on my own at the moment." Surprisingly, the utter frustration was diminishing. It was as if the Servant, and the guard's, understanding her actual plight (without words) made their help less 'charity' or...something. less forced, maybe.
whatever it was, it made the whole process of being helped to bathe simpler and less (Humiliating) difficult.
Even the guard's apparently-suppressed amusement when she fumbled first, was a comfort, maybe a silent understanding of something important.

Guy took little time to spot his mark. He strolled up within ear shot, and listened for awhile to get a glimpse at her personality. Man, the net was right on this one...

He took out his cell phone, flipped it open, and dialed Voltaru Information, a 24/7 toll free news service back home. This fake facial hair was killing him, and he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. He strolled a bit off to the side, and then started to come towards Goldie, talking to the automated voice on the other end, a little louder than necessary...and eventually coming into ear shot of the Vizier...

"... dreadful, simply dreadful. And I thought we had bad weather. But enough about that... I tell you this show is just to die for. Lot of good work - the piece I will write will be simply marvelous... oh yes, it will be a TV special, a Ventuzo Carlotta Original... you know how our people love that real life entertainment... I just hope I can get the right Vastivian angle, you know? Uh huh... oh yes, millions of volts, i suppose. Just a drop in the bucket... I do need a new vacation home...," he laughed as now he was standing within 3 feet of Goldie. "Oh I spoke too soon... look at this piece of trash... not another Delacroix," he said with such an air of contempt that the piece started to contemplate suicide. "I don' care what has been said about him, this is complete... infantile drivel. It looks like he got drunk, spun a few times and fell down in some paint.... Thats right my friend, the brushwork is horrible... it reminds me of the great Zortik Nekret* after he had a stroke and went blind. Who does he think he is, Koolhaas? If only the other Voltaru could see it the way I do, it woudl make such good television... " he sipped his brandy, and audibly sighed....

**The Voltarum's greatest artist... the largest art museum in the country is named after him.

She wasn't listening in, nope, not her...

"Francoise, I have thought it over. Have that... thing... removed and have a Nekret put in, something on loan."
"From Volta..."
Her face tigered the man to silence. "No, from my private collection. We must show some charity to the public. Use the Capshaw to fill in the blank space."

She smiled over at 'Ventuzo', her eyes measuring him within an inch of his life.

"Francoise, we must find you some decent suits. Something like that. It fits so well."
"Yes, my Vizier." The man looked somewhere between pained and enduring.

She ignored him and sidled in for the kill.
"A fan of early trans-modernism, perhaps?" She extends her gloved hand. "Goldie Ohana, Vizier Ohana. And you are?"

The "harem ghost" smiles. "This way, Ayid."

She leads Helen through one of the green doorways - no door, just a doorway.

Within, flowers bloom, trees sprout, and birds sing. The scent is strong, the presence of nature stronger - and the illusion of sky above complete with sunlight radiating downwards and clouds moving in the mostly blue sky.

OOC-Sorry for inactivity.

''This place is very beautiful and it smells nice here too.'' Helen said smelling the flowers. ''Is anyone else here in the gardens?'' she asked the ''harem ghost''. Then she went and skipped around.

"There may... be...?" Her eyes followed Helen, skipping merrily into the gardens. There was really no way to get lost - all paths eventually led out - and rather few ways to injure oneself... but duty was duty.

She followed, discreetly, watching.

Medea was now completely absorbed in her crossword puzzle, a pastime developed during the total lack of combat in her military days. There had been times she'd secretly hoped something - anything - would happen. Well, in the end it did. A higher-raking officer tried to force himself on her and she'd killed him. Oh well. These things happen, right?

"Hmmm. Amazingly hot man everybody seems to want. Six letters, ends with J-I-N. But which one?" she tittered.

Medea was now completely absorbed in her crossword puzzle, a pastime developed during the total lack of combat in her military days. There had been times she'd secretly hoped something - anything - would happen. Well, in the end it did. A higher-raking officer tried to force himself on her and she'd killed him. Oh well. These things happen, right?

"Hmmm. Amazingly hot man everybody seems to want. Six letters, ends with J-I-N. But which one?" she tittered.

"Coujin. It's a coin from the Five Cities area, gold pressed. Amazingly few of them, and the few in circulation are stolen from someone. Sorry, was I disturbing something?"

The Sultan watches her from next to the throne. "Perhaps a hot toddy, if you're going to be there awhile?"

At the mention of the five cities area Shizuak gives the sultan a curious look but says nothing. She instead prefers to take in the room and to regard Medea’s presence on the throne with the same seemingly disinterested eye. She does seem to use the throne as a point of reference for her discrete rubber necking.

The Harem Baths...

Somehow, after her apology and confession to the guard (whom had not volunteered a name), Engred sensed a bit more...sensitivity-the Harem-ghost helped in unobtrusive ways rather than shoving assistance and subservient attitude at her, and encouraged her to do some things that the prior day had seen almost overpowering help thrust at her. There seemed more respect of space now, more understanding of her need to at least try to handle something on her own first, before offering to help.
It felt much more like Real hospitality, rather than imprisonment, and she started to finally, actually, relax and not-fight it.

"Thank you." she said, when, after the fourth fumble, the silver-and-white liveried servant picked up the brush, and offered to scrub her back, "I would appreciate it, I seem to be... unable to on my own at the moment." Surprisingly, the utter frustration was diminishing. It was as if the Servant, and the guard's, understanding her actual plight (without words) made their help less 'charity' or...something. less forced, maybe.
whatever it was, it made the whole process of being helped to bathe simpler and less (Humiliating) difficult.
Even the guard's apparently-suppressed amusement when she fumbled first, was a comfort, maybe a silent understanding of something important.

Carefully, ever so carefully, Engred was bathed, cleaned, and in a rather provincial way, made pretty.

(OOC: Well, no, they haven't changed a whit... )

"A fan of early trans-modernism, perhaps?" She extends her gloved hand. "Goldie Ohana, Vizier Ohana. And you are?"

He took her hand, and gently kissed it. "More of an antirealist, my lady. Madam Vizier, my name is Ventuzo Carlotta. I am but a fair art critic from The Voltarum, here to marvel at this wonderous collection of art..."

He released her hand and started to talk before she got a chance to respond...

"... And I must say, Madam Vizier, it is an utmost honor for me to meet the soul of Vastivian art. In my numerous columns and television appearances, I have often written and talked about Vastiva, her deep and fabulous culture... and her beauty... and now I meet her personified.... Nekret himself would be humbled." ....he gives a slight bow and smiles, teeth gleaming.

"Coujin. It's a coin from the Five Cities area, gold pressed. Amazingly few of them, and the few in circulation are stolen from someone. Sorry, was I disturbing something?"

The Sultan watches her from next to the throne. "Perhaps a hot toddy, if you're going to be there awhile?"

"Coujin. Of course." She enters in the word before saving and quitting the puzzle. "Did my Lord's conference go well? I would like to discuss the current situation if it would not be too exhausting." She paused. "Also, I would like to return to you what is yours."

"Coujin. Of course." She enters in the word before saving and quitting the puzzle. "Did my Lord's conference go well? I would like to discuss the current situation if it would not be too exhausting." She paused. "Also, I would like to return to you what is yours."

"I had a conference? And here I thought that was breakfast." He gives an elegant shrug. "Shama, do see to the Harem, they must all be prepared for tonight - and secure in the meantime. I'm sure you can work out most of the details together?"

"Ah. Of course, my Sultan." The amazonian purple-robed woman nods her head.

"We will talk later of things. For the moment, I've a tour to guide - though I'm rather certain I'll be perfectly awful at it, history being an account - mostly false - of events - mostly unimportant - brought about by rulers - mostly knaves - and soldiers - mostly fools."

"..."

Before Medea can say whatever she began, Sinjin holds up a hand. "Tut, tut, it will hold a moment, I am certain other locales have better acoustics." Another smile. "Kadin Captain, I believe we will start at eightish, so tell them seven. That gives a good nine hours or so, far and away long enough..."

A slight frown, turned to Medea. "Or would longer be better? I am never certain of these things, perhaps I should send a trade delegate or two along..."

"Ah, no, thank you, my Sultan, that will not be necessary..." The Kadin Captain's near panic is palpable.

He gives another shrug, seemingly oblivious. "Perhaps you are right, perhaps indeed. Very well, do run along and have a Herald make the announcement forthwith."

"Yes, my Sultan!" Shama doesn't quite flee, but she is rather speedilly our the door before Sinjin can change his mind about the trade delegate.

He waits until the purple-robed woman is completely gone. "It is probably a sin to tease the help like that, but then again, I am far from the delusion that because I am powerful I am saintly. And besides" - and he gives a grin - "Morality is a complicated gesture learned from books. I would rather hold to my ethics, and the higher standards of those who are yet to come after me.
Now, where were we? Oh, yes, the museums. I think we shall avoid the public one, unless you are truly into cars and other such acoutrements. Besides which, the better things are not there, only the more... flashy?"

He stops, looking from one to the other. "Shizuka, have you met Medea? My apologies, but I shan't meet either of you until tonight... more or less."

((OOC: Think I'll have Sae interact with Helan. :D))

Sae watched as the newest newcomer was brought in, had her items arranged on a bed, and then ventured into the garden room.

Heaving a sigh, Sae finally gathers herself, and she too ventures into the Garden.

As she entered, her very sensative feline ears picked up Helen asking if anyone else was here. Rather unsurely, the Harem Ninja answered.

Sae slowly approaches the woman. To say she was dressed oddly was... An understatement. She still wore the bathrobes the Harem Ninjas had provided her, the sash tied tightly around her waist to hold the robe in place. Of course, that wasn't the attention drawer. It was her vaguely pointed, black hat, a white silk-like veil hanging from the front of it, obscuring her face and much of her neck. A strange series of scrawling was written across the veil, which was creepy to view, to say the least. Of course, those familar with Shinto teachings would recognize the prayer lines, designed to help a Preistess focus and filter out outside distractions.

Her black hair was long, and flowed easily behind her, untied in any way.

Her catears were very well hidden by her hat. Even if one were to closely look, they would find no trace of them. To anyone else, she would appear to be a normal human woman, perhaps a witch judging by her veil/hat combo, and her perferred garbs eariler yesterday.

she bowed to the other woman and the Ninja. "Good day."

"A fan of early trans-modernism, perhaps?" She extends her gloved hand. "Goldie Ohana, Vizier Ohana. And you are?"

He took her hand, and gently kissed it. "More of an antirealist, my lady. Madam Vizier, my name is Ventuzo Carlotta. I am but a fair art critic from The Voltarum, here to marvel at this wonderous collection of art..."

He released her hand and started to talk before she got a chance to respond...

"... And I must say, Madam Vizier, it is an utmost honor for me to meet the soul of Vastivian art. In my numerous columns and television appearances, I have often written and talked about Vastiva, her deep and fabulous culture... and her beauty... and now I meet her personified.... Nekret himself would be humbled." ....he gives a slight bow and smiles, teeth gleaming.

"Ooooh, and flattery will get you most anywhere, my dear Mister Carlotta." A slight tilt of the hips, a shark full of clean white teeth, and a slight bend at the waist as she gives him a slight bow - and full decollettage.

For the next two hours, "Ventuzo Carlotta" was verbally dragged through the Gala International Art Exhibit - her knowledge was encyclopedic, and no few artists gladly gushed over their pieces, and several of the other artists works. She did have one trick - in getting each artist to name a few they admired, a list of those with true talent began to emerge, in an envious and roundabout manner. With "Ventuzo Carlotta" in her holster, getting them to babble friendly words was all that easier - particularly on introducing him as a "Voltarun art critic, the critic, some say", when "some" meant "me".

The few *FLASH* photographers were rather discreet, though not as much as those who worked in other mediums.

Nasheed's eyes are blurry with tears. "Your pardon, Ayid... it is not those in the harem who are renamed for... screwing up..."

"Well, I'm not in the Harem, so there's every chance my name will be mud with the big bosses, but ..." Myfanwy stopped mid-sentence. "You're crying. Oh, Nasheed, what's the matter?"

The harem ghost returned no answer. Myfanwy hugged, patted and sighed.

"It's my goof with the computer, isn't it? Do you think someone will blame you, chicken? But it wasn't your fault. Anyone with half a brain could see that. Look, if it worries you that much we'll go set it straight right now."

That "chicken" would have warned any Abbey member: Myf had adopted another Cause. Nasheed, whether she liked it or not, had just been cast as The Oppressed. Invisible bagpipes skirling in her ears, Myfanwy set off across the room, Nasheed accompanying her (or being dragged along willy-nilly, depending on the point of view).

Fortunately, half-way over it occurred to Myfanwy the Mighty, Protector of the Poor, that she hadn't a clue where she was going, who she should talk to or what she would say.

"Nasheed, who's your boss? You know, the person in charge of the helpers?"

Sniffle.

"Um, look, would you mind very much going back and making a pot of tea? I'll be along in a minute."

No more bagpipes; Myfanwy's forebrain had finally subdued her woad-daubed instincts. Softly, softly, catchee monkey, it advised. She adjusted her most placating smile and approached the remaining guard.

"Excuse me, I wondered if I might have a brief word with the housekeeper, or whoever's in charge of the helpers? At his or her convenience, of course. I know everyone must be very busy, but whenever they could spare the time? I could come as soon as they liked, I'm totally at their disposal ..."

Babbling away apologetically, Myfanwy eventually elicited some kind of agreement to pass some kind of message on to someone. Now all she had to do was convince the 'someone' of Nasheed's innocence of even the most minor misdemeanour -- which was bound to be easy, since one only had to look at Myf herself to realise she was obviously the centre of any upset.

Not realising just how damning that thought was, Myfanwy returned to her tea and her tale: the overalls.

"... Djoat?" Nasheed said, a few minutes later, parroting the unfamiliar word.

"J.O.A.T," Myfanwy confirmed, through a mouthful of something sugary. "Jill Of All Trades. I got the idea from a science fiction book I read when I was a kid. See, the world is getting so complex that everyone knows lots about their own field, but it's really hard to find anyone who can sort of fit that in with someone else's field." She licked a finger thoughtfully.

"So that's what I trained to be. Unfortunately, it's just too hard to be an everything-Joat. So I made myself into a government-Joat. I studied politics, sure, and history, but I also did a few months as a minor bureaucrat, and a bit of drama, and a bit of the technical side of setting up a radio station and broadcasting and so on, and a while in an advertising agency, and ..."

Myfanwy could tell she was losing her audience. "Anyway, I really can do a bit of everything to do with getting things done, which is more or less what government is. Including putting on an image. That's where the overalls come in. I can wear a pair of stained, scruffy ones to wriggle around under things and convince the techs that I must know what they're talking about. Or I can wear a super-clean pair and then get them dirty, and the worker guys feel good because they've taught this management idiot a bit about real life. And the third pair's the pair in the wash, of course."

Snaffling the last morsel, she concluded, "But you don't see many Positions Vacant ads for a Joat. So when I read the Harem announcement I jumped at it. It's exactly the sort of thing I've trained for. Advisory, but practical. Big Picture stuff. It's not often anyone gets the chance to be in at the beginning of a new profession," she grandly assured the silent Nasheed.

Shizuka nodded at the Sultan and then offered a deep bow to Medea.
“Hello again Medea-sama. No my Sultan we have met, though at the time she was Medea-son and not Medea-sama.” When Shizuka was back up her eyes leveled she smiled politely.
“It was Medea-sama who decided that I would be forgiven and returned my sword.” Which was said with an almost subconscious tap to the scabbard.

Engred, bathing and base primping complete, walked out of the bathrooms trailing her guard, and Thana, the Harem-Ghost who'd handled her bathing.
"...have to go ahead and join this 'shopping expedition', There's the dining event tonight, and I'm afraid I made a dog's dinner of my last dress." She almost ran smack-into Myfanwy-only avoiding such an embarassment through an unconscious step-pivot-step. "sorry, excuse me." she blurted to the preoccupied girl.

Medea regarded the other woman. "Yes, we have interacted already." She turned toward the Sultan and held the scepter, grasped at its midpoint and pointing upward, to him, hastily adding, "I believe this should be returned now." To nobody in particular, she said, "It's already eleven o'clock?"

((OOC: Think I'll have Sae interact with Helan. :D))

Sae watched as the newest newcomer was brought in, had her items arranged on a bed, and then ventured into the garden room.

Heaving a sigh, Sae finally gathers herself, and she too ventures into the Garden.

As she entered, her very sensative feline ears picked up Helen asking if anyone else was here. Rather unsurely, the Harem Ninja answered.

Sae slowly approaches the woman. To say she was dressed oddly was... An understatement. She still wore the bathrobes the Harem Ninjas had provided her, the sash tied tightly around her waist to hold the robe in place. Of course, that wasn't the attention drawer. It was her vaguely pointed, black hat, a white silk-like veil hanging from the front of it, obscuring her face and much of her neck. A strange series of scrawling was written across the veil, which was creepy to view, to say the least. Of course, those familar with Shinto teachings would recognize the prayer lines, designed to help a Preistess focus and filter out outside distractions.

Her black hair was long, and flowed easily behind her, untied in any way.

Her catears were very well hidden by her hat. Even if one were to closely look, they would find no trace of them. To anyone else, she would appear to be a normal human woman, perhaps a witch judging by her veil/hat combo, and her perferred garbs eariler yesterday.

she bowed to the other woman and the Ninja. "Good day."

''Hello.'' Helen said nicely. ''Are you in this Harem too?'' Helen asked curiously,wondering who this woman was. ''How are you and what is your name?'' Helen asked before standing still waiting for the woman to answer.

OOC: As far as timeline, is it safe to assume this is the day of? If not i will change text.

Oh my GOD kill me...

Guy liked art, but the last few hours had seemed like days. He had played it up well, though... but this women craved attention like polar bears craved half dead nations. And that said a lot comign from Guy, a news reporter who had been twice voted "Voltarum's Most Vain". Finally, he decided, it was time to make the kill.

"My dear Vizier Ohana, I must say your knowledge and insight about art is amazing... it is somethign that should be shared with the world.. and no better place to start then in my country. If it is at all possible, can we meet tonight, and discuss this more? I would be most honored if you accompany me to dinner somewhere, as I am sure your outlook and viewpoints into the culture of both of our countries would be valued so much to my people... especailly in my upcoming prime time special next month..."

**

Neira was up, dressed and ready, practically towing Ka'tal behind her. "I hope we leave soon. I could use a break from this room....and a few new pairs of shoes..."

Sae folds her hands together in front of her. "Aye. I am applying for a position within the Harem. I am doing well, considering all that has happened since arriving in the Harem proper. You may call me Sae*." She bowed again as she introduced herself. "And, you are?"


((OOC: *: Pronounced "sigh."))

Sae folds her hands together in front of her. "Aye. I am applying for a position within the Harem. I am doing well, considering all that has happened since arriving in the Harem proper. You may call me Sae*." She bowed again as she introduced herself. "And, you are?"


((OOC: *: Pronounced "sigh."))

''I am Helen of Roman Greece.'' Helen said bowing back to Sae. ''You look very nice.'' Helen said nicely and then folding her hands together as well. ''Do you wish to chat?'' Helen asked. ''We can talk about the nations we come from.'' she said before quieting herself so Sae could answer.

Sae smiled behind her veil, a rather wasted expression, but it was there none the less. "I would love to chat, yes. Hmmm... Oh, how rude of me. Allow me to remove my veil."

And, with one hand, she grips the top of her hat and pries it off her head, removing it and her veil, revealing her soft, round-ish face, and jet black eyes. And, her feline ears are visible now, twitching and swivalig as they adjust to being out from under her hat. This she quickly stashes into a fold of her bathrobe (Vastivan bath robes are SOOOO versatile! ;)), "Sorry about thgat. I'm so used to my veil I often forget it's there." She favors Helen with a very bright, cheerful smile. "I am Gnufasurian, as you may or may not be able to tell by my ears, and..." She reaches her hand into her robe again, and untangles her tail, which has been wrapped around her leg this entire time! It flicks back and forth quickly, seeming to work out its kinks all by itself. "... My tail. Roman Greece...? I don't believe I've heard of it."

Now, with her hat removed and tail visible, Sae did truely, look like a Gnufasurian Neko. The fur on her ears and tail matched her black hair perfectly. Now, rather then appearing to be a normal human woman, she appeared to be some sort of cat/human mix breed. Of course, for her nationality, she was perfectly normal, natural.

Sae smiled behind her veil, a rather wasted expression, but it was there none the less. "I would love to chat, yes. Hmmm... Oh, how rude of me. Allow me to remove my veil."

And, with one hand, she grips the top of her hat and pries it off her head, removing it and her veil, revealing her soft, round-ish face, and jet black eyes. And, her feline ears are visible now, twitching and swivalig as they adjust to being out from under her hat. This she quickly stashes into a fold of her bathrobe (Vastivan bath robes are SOOOO versatile! ;)), "Sorry about thgat. I'm so used to my veil I often forget it's there." She favors Helen with a very bright, cheerful smile. "I am Gnufasurian, as you may or may not be able to tell by my ears, and..." She reaches her hand into her robe again, and untangles her tail, which has been wrapped around her leg this entire time! It flicks back and forth quickly, seeming to work out its kinks all by itself. "... My tail. Roman Greece...? I don't believe I've heard of it."

Now, with her hat removed and tail visible, Sae did truely, look like a Gnufasurian Neko. The fur on her ears and tail matched her black hair perfectly. Now, rather then appearing to be a normal human woman, she appeared to be some sort of cat/human mix breed. Of course, for her nationality, she was perfectly normal, natural.

''You are half cat half human?'' Helen asked curiously. ''Roman Greece is a Constitutional Monarchy,we are primarily Orthodox Christian because of our Byzantine roots,and we are mainly Greeks as am I a Greek.'' Helen said. ''What is your nation about?'' she asked. Then Helen showed her Greek dress and her jewelry. ''This picture is of the Theotokos(Virgin Mary).'' Helen said pointing to the picture in one of her many locklets. ''What is there to do in this Harem?'' she asked. ''When do I get to meet the Sultan?'' Helen asked for she wanted to meet the Sultan and his court.

Sae nods. "Or, more commonly called Neko."

She listens to Helen explain about her home nation. "Hmmm. That's interesting. My home, Gnufasur, is a Monarchy. We worship the Goddess Cori, whom created our ansectors, the Krowemohians." She bows her head in rememberance of her race's holy pact with the Goddess. "In exchange for perputal worship of her, the Goddess granted our ansectors sentiance and freedom from Humankind's tyranny." She raises her head to look at Helen, carefully looking over the image of the Theotokos. "Hmm. Interesting. This is whom you worship, as a member of the 'Orthodox Christian' religion?" She asked legitly. After all, all she knew was worship of the Goddess Cori. All other religions were as alien to her as her religion was no doubt alien to most others.

Sae nods. "Or, more commonly called Neko."

She listens to Helen explain about her home nation. "Hmmm. That's interesting. My home, Gnufasur, is a Monarchy. We worship the Goddess Cori, whom created our ansectors, the Krowemohians." She bows her head in rememberance of her race's holy pact with the Goddess. "In exchange for perputal worship of her, the Goddess granted our ansectors sentiance and freedom from Humankind's tyranny." She raises her head to look at Helen, carefully looking over the image of the Theotokos. "Hmm. Interesting. This is whom you worship, as a member of the 'Orthodox Christian' religion?" She asked legitly. After all, all she knew was worship of the Goddess Cori. All other religions were as alien to her as her religion was no doubt alien to most others.

''We don't worship the Theotokos.'' Helen said. ''We are Christians,so we follow Jesus Christ and the Bible and so on.'' Helen said. ''In general, the Orthodox Christian approach to scriptural interpretation and theology is patristic. That means that every effort is made to continue believing and practicing the same theology that Jesus gave to the Apostles and that the Apostles gave to the early Church Fathers. Theological innovation is always met with suspicion; if an idea is truly different from what the Church has always believed and taught, it is likely heretical. It is acceptable to elaborate and more fully explain traditional theology, however. The last major theological milestone took place in the 14th century at the Hesychast Councils. There, Saint Gregory Palamas explained how God can be both utterly transcendent, yet make himself known to men.

Phronema refers to how something "smells" or "feels". The Western church (i.e., Roman Catholicism and Protestantism) generally has a legal flavor to much of its theology. Sin is understood primarily as a legal violation, and salvation is legal forgiveness for the legal offenses. Also, the West tends to first look at God in his unity, then in his three persons. The Eastern church generally has a much more relational approach. Sin leads to relational separation from God, and repentance involves restoring the relationships between the penitent and God, and between the penitent and humanity. God is viewed first as three persons in perfect relationship with each other, then as a unity sharing a single divine essence. The doctrine of the Trinity is the basis for most if not all of Orthodox theology.

It should perhaps also be mentioned that the Western churches have been especially influenced by Augustine and, to a lesser extent, Tertullian. Although Augustine was an early church father, writing in the fourth century, he had very little influence in the East. First of all, he wrote in Latin rather than Greek. At the time, Latin was commonly spoken in the West, but Greek was the main language of the eastern part of the Roman Empire. His writings weren't translated to Greek until the fourteenth century. Consequently, Western doctrines that are based on Augustine's views are typically not shared by the East. Eastern theologians tended to rely more on Greek philosophers than did the west, often borrowing their categories and vocabulary to explain Christian doctrine, though not necessarily accepting their theories. In the first few centuries after the fall of Rome, knowledge of Greek in the West dropped considerably, and so the Western church was generally less aware of the Greek philosophers. On the other hand the East did not experience the surge of interest in Aristotle that has markedly influenced Roman Catholic theology since the High Middle Ages. These gradual differences contributed to the growing gap between the Eastern and Western churches.

Asceticism and Theosis

Asceticism is the set of disciplines practiced to work out the believer's salvation, and further the believer's repentance. Ultimately, it is believed, salvation comes only by the grace of God, but God's grace and right belief are expected to produce changes in behavior. Changes in behavior can also influence beliefs. Asceticism can include anything from taking part in prayers with the church, fasting, almsgiving, or even working hard not to lose one's temper or similar acts of restraint and self-control. Corporate prayers are generally prayed as a "liturgy", which literally means a "work of the people." One prayer that is very widely used and is the subject of much discussion of spirituality is the Jesus Prayer.

Theosis, also called divinization or deification, is the process of becoming more like God and more united with God. This "becoming more like God" is to be understood as becoming more like Jesus Christ (who is God), not as the wish for power and knowledge that motivated Adam and Eve to sin. Theosis is the goal of the Christian life. It means becoming all that people were originally created to be. It is not something to wait for passively, but something to be taken by force, by hard work done in one's soul. For Orthodox Christianity, theosis is salvation itself.

The chief activities of the believer are:

The Mystery of Repentance (or confession)
The Mystery of the Eucharist
Prayer
Fasting
Obedience
Almsgiving
Selflessness
The Acquisition of Virtues

Mystery of Repentance
In the earliest days of the Church, Christians confessed their sins to each other publicly, and publicly forgave each other, announcing God's forgiveness. This was possible in part because only believers were meeting together, and they were close-knit communities in which everyone trusted each other. As time went on, and more people came into the Church, some people attending were seekers or catechumens rather than faithful members, and believers began to feel uncomfortable confessing in public. Then the practice developed of members quietly confessing to God (typically in front of an icon of Jesus blessing the icon's beholder) in the presence of an elder or priest, who would offer counsel and confirm God's forgiveness. This would take place in the context of a series of prayers said by the priest and penitent together, often including Psalm 51 and other scriptures and prayers. However, it should be noted that anyone with sufficient experience and knowledge, if given a blessing from a Bishop, can hear confessions. Thus, a confessor might be a priest, monk, nun, man, woman, etc. It may make sense that married couples confess to a married person, or a woman confess to another, more experienced, woman. Such things are not unusual. However, only a priest can read the prayers of forgiveness over the person in preparation for communion. Repentance is essential preparation for receiving the Eucharist. The Orthodox Church has never bothered with the concept of anonymity in confession the way the Roman Catholics have. Orthodox confession often takes the form of a discussion between the confessor and the penitent concerning his or her sins and the best course of action to take in overcoming them. Penitence is not handed out in the same way as the Catholics either. Usually all that is required is the attempt in overcoming the sin or making restitution with the person wronged. Sin is not viewed by the Orthodox as a stain on the soul that needs to be wiped out, but rather as a mistake that needs correction. Thus one should feel sorry for one's mistakes because one has failed to reach the goal. Because of this approach, guilt has never been a strong motivator with the Orthodox, nor has shame. The recognition that we are all human and occasionally make mistakes and that all we have to do is change our direction and correct the problem is more in line with the true meaning of Repentance: "to change one's mind."


Mystery of the Eucharist
The Eucharist is at the center of Orthodox Christianity. In practice, it is partaking of the bread and wine in the midst of the Divine Liturgy with the rest of the church. The bread and wine are believed to be the genuine Body and Blood of the Christ Jesus. The Eastern Orthodox Church has never described exactly how this occurs, or gone into the detail that the Roman Catholic and Protestant churches have in the West. The doctrine of transubstantiation was formulated after the Great Schism took place, and the Orthodox churches have never formally affirmed or denied it, preferring to state simply that it is a mystery and sacrament. Long before the year 1054 it was the practice to in some way hide the mysterious process within the liturgy. In the Catholic Church of the Latin Rite, this was achieved through the use of Ecclesiastical Latin; in the Orthodox churches the altar area was surrounded by pillars with curtains in between. This structure called a templon represented the Temple and the Holy of Holies. Later, it became a solid wall covered with Icons and is in modern usage called an iconostasis (literally "icon stand").

Traditionally preparation for communion involves a strict fast, abstaining from animal products and sexual relations from Wednesday through Saturday, and the addition of a number of preparatory canons to ones evening prayers. Also, a complete fast (no food or drink) should be kept from sundown Saturday until after communing on Sunday. One should have one's confession heard and receive a blessing from the priest prior to receiving communion. Because of all this preparation, the average layperson does not usually commune every Sunday, but rather waits until some special holiday to commune so that he or she can properly prepare. The Orthodox take the mystery of communion very seriously because they believe this is the true Body and Blood of Christ Jesus. To receive the Mysteries unprepared would be spiritually damaging. Monastics, on the other hand, receive communion every day because they continually fast, have long prayers, and remain celibate. Because of the purity issue when considering preparation for communion, men, even monks, will abstain from communion if they have experienced a nocturnal emission, and women will abstain during their monthly cycle (see below - Fasting).

In modern practice, especially in the US, reception of communion is often more frequent (as it was in most of Church history), which some Orthodox Christians regard as contributing to a lack of seriousness regarding the sacrament. It is the opinion of some traditionalists that such practices are very dangerous spiritually, that this reflects a lack of piety in approaching the most significant of the Mysteries, and that this is damaging to the soul.

There are a number of pious practices that stem from the realization of this truth: the very idea that a particle of Christ’s Body and Blood might be discarded is unthinkable. At the end of the Divine Liturgy one of the clergy always remains behind in the altar in order to consume what remains of holy communion; he is very careful not to leave behind even the tiniest stray particle. For at least a day following communion, anything that enters the mouth and is then removed (e.g., olive pits, grape seeds, etc.) is not thrown into the garbage but is burned. The napkin used to wipe the mouth after the meal is also burned. Orthodox should not spit, or smoke, or chew gum for the same reason. Orthodox also are careful if they are injured soon after communion to treat their own blood with the same care (since their blood and the Blood of Christ are united), burning it in the cloth used to stop it. In general, this way of dealing with the Mystery applies to anything sacred that needs to be “removed from use” due to its being damaged. The ashes of such items are usually sprinkled in a place where they will not be walked on (under a bush, in a flower garden, etc.).


Fasting
The practice of fasting is one of many Jewish practices the earliest Christians kept, and which Orthodox Christians continue to keep to this day. The Orthodox approach to fasting is quite different from the Latin West who see fasting as a penitence for sins, almost a punishment and burden. The Orthodox, on the other hand, are reminded that perfect man, as in the garden of Eden, ate only vegetables, and sexual relations did not occur. The Orthodox seeks to recapture paradise through fasting, to regain a measure of purity. It is never looked on as a hardship or punishment, but rather a great privilege and joy. Fasting typically involves differing levels of abstinence depending on the day or season and ranges from a complete fast from all food and drink to abstinence from all animal products (meat, dairy, eggs, etc.), olive oil, and wine. Shellfish and vegetable oils are permitted on certain days and weeks of the fast as is wine. Thus, most fasting guidelines resemble vegan vegetarianism with all frying/cooking done simply with water (no oil), and most vegetarian recipes are appropriate during fasts. In addition to restrictions on food, it is generally understood that married couples abstain from sexual relations during a fast. Monasteries typically have additional fasts; although there can be a great deal of variation between monastaries, they typically abstain from all animal products on Monday as well as Wednesday and Friday; and they never eat meat or poultry, fish being the only exception. The time and type of fast is generally uniform for all Orthodox Christians living within a particular jurisdiction; the times of fasting are part of the ecclesial calendar. In this way, the whole church fasts together, and the whole church feasts together (when the fast is broken). Infants, women who are pregnant or breastfeeding, and people with other medical needs are often encouraged not to follow the usual fasting guidelines, but to work out alternatives with their priest or spiritual elder. Also, if someone wishes to follow a stricter fast, they are generally encouraged to do so only under the guidance of their priest or spiritual elder. Fasting without prayer was often called the "fast of demons" by the Church fathers, since the demons neither eat nor pray. Therefore, fasting should always be accompanied by prayer and almsgiving.

There are four major fasting periods during the year. They are:

The Nativity Fast (Advent or Winter Lent) which is the 40 days preceding the Nativity of Christ (Christmas).
The Great Fast (Lent) which consists of the 6 weeks (40 Days) preceding Palm Sunday, and Great Week (Holy Week) which proceeds Pascha (Easter).
The Fast of Saints Peter and Paul which varies in length from 2 to 6 weeks depending on the date of Pentecost which itself falls 50 days after Pascha. It extends from the week following Pentecost to the feast day of Saints Peter and Paul on June 29th.
And the two-week long Fast proceeding the Dormition (death or repose) of the Theotokos (Virgin Mary)
In addition, except during feasting weeks, members of the Orthodox Church fast on every Wednesday in commemoration of Christ's betrayal by Judas Iscariot, and on every Friday in commemoration of his crucifixion. Monastics often include Mondays as a fast day in commemoration of the Angels.

Because of the movable nature of Pascha, the number of fast days varies each year, but in general the Orthodox Christian can expect to spend at least 1/3 of the year fasting.


Almsgiving
Almsgiving refers to any charitable giving of material resources to those in need. Like fasting, it is a practice carried over from Judaism and reinforced by Jesus and the authors of the New Testament, and has remained a prominent teaching. It is often coupled with fasting (OOC-see above), as consuming less food and less expensive food should free up more resources that can be given. It is also connected to the Eucharist, in which thanks is given for all things, and it is acknowledged that all things ultimately belong to God. Almsgiving is one of the most practical of Orthodox Christian practices.

Salvation and the afterlife: When one speaks of salvation it is important to understand what the word means. In the Christian West it has come to mean “Going to Heaven”, but for the Eastern Orthodox it refers to the change in Human nature that occurred because of Jesus' life and death. Man was originally created perfect, but through his own actions he embraced evil through disobedience to God. Because of man’s fall he was condemned, when he died, to go to Hell (Hades), indeed, it is believed that from Adam to St John the Baptist, all men went to a place of separation from God. But when Jesus came into the world he himself was Perfect Man and Perfect God united. Through his participation in becoming human, human nature was changed allowing us to participate in the divine, thus paving our way to heaven. This process of salvation worked retroactively back to the beginning of time, thus saving Adam and Eve and all that followed after them.

Salvation, therefore, means being saved from this original fate of Hell. In this sense, all mankind is saved. This does not mean, however, that all men will continue to preserve that state. It is possible to separate oneself from God once again and to embrace evil. Such people place themselves in Hell; it is not God who punishes them. In the question of who is “Going to Heaven”, this rests upon the mercy of God. No man is perfect, but also no man is so corrupt that God, in his infinite mercy, cannot forgive him. The privilege of going to heaven cannot be earned; men do not “deserve” heaven. One cannot say, “I kept all the rules and regulations therefore God must let me in”; such an idea is called Pelagianism and was rejected by the church as heresy. God’s mercy alone is the key to our eternal happiness; the efficacy of this mercy, however, is contingent on our accepting it. God will not force us into salvation. Orthodox Christianity does not teach that one must be Orthodox to be saved; rather, it teaches that its traditions and practices are the very same traditions and practices taught by Jesus and the Apostles, and therefore offer the best possible road to follow to salvation. If one seeks the fullness of the Christian experience one can only find it within the Orthodox Church.

As to the afterlife and what we can expect, heaven is not a static state. Mankind will be restored to perfection, but perfection is not an ultimate end in and of itself. While it is true that all adverse traits will be gone from the human race and man will be as originally intended, it does not mean that we shall suddenly gain infinite knowledge, but rather that we will be able to swim unhindered into the infinite depths of God’s Knowledge, Wisdom, and Love. Unending progression in understanding and love is equated with unending happiness. This is the reward that awaits us. For those who reject the love and mercy of God, though, the experience of His presence will be as a painful fire. The same fire that purifies the saints will be a torment for the damned. It is the state of the soul that determines how it will experience the presence of God. Eastern Orthodoxy is "Christocentric", viewing Christ Jesus as the head of the Church, and the Church as his body; with authority derived directly from this relationship. Eastern Orthodoxy has an extensive oral tradition that predates the actual texts of the New Testament, hence, it does not consider itself to be "bibliocentric"; which is the case with most forms of Protestantism. This, however, does not in any way diminish their respect and devotion toward Scriptures, but rather puts it into perspective as the texts accepted by the Church as most important. The Eastern Orthodox Church considers the Old Testament (Septuagint) to a lesser degree of importance with the exception of the Psalms (which are a part of daily services) and the prophecies leading up to the incarnation of Christ. While many parts of the Old Testament are considered edifying (teaching moral lessons about hospitality and the result of sin) it is not a requirement that everything be taken literally. The Orthodox Church does not seek any conflict with science. It tends to consider truth to be seen in the "Consensus of the Fathers" (the golden thread of agreement that runs back through the patristic writings of the Church Fathers back to the early Church and the apostles). All theological concepts must be in agreement with the consensus of the Fathers in order to be considered truth. Rules and laws are deemphasized in the Orthodox Church in favor of guidelines with love, compassion and mercy considered in all things.

The Fathers of the Orthodox Church are not legalistic in their views of sin. Sin does not exist as an abstract entity and must be approached on an individual basis. Likewise, the prescription for sin must be filtered through human understanding in order to be effective. There is nothing within the Church that is automatic (latae sententiae). What is a sin for one man may not be for another; neither does the Orthodox Church see all sin as being the same. The traditional practice of the Orthodox is to have a spiritual father (or mother) to whom one confesses and who treats the sin on an individual basis. An experienced spiritual father will know how and when to apply strictness in dealing with sin and when to effectively "bend the rules." This relationship (father and son) is a reflection of humanity's relationship to God and is pervasive in the church.''
Helen said. ''This is some info on the Orthodox Christian religion which I follow.'' she said ''Sorry for the longness of my speech on Orthodox Christianity,Sae.'' she said nicely. ''I was trying to tell you about my religion like you did with me.'' Helen said. ''Is there anything else you wish to do or talk about?'' Helen asked. ''The Theotokos/Virgin Mary is the mother of Jesus Christ by the way.'' she said. ''When do newcomers meet the Sultan of Vastiva?'' Helen asked.

OOC-Sorry for the long post. I am not Christian in real life.

OOC: It should be interesting when Helen and Sinjin meet...


Oh my GOD kill me...

Guy liked art, but the last few hours had seemed like days. He had played it up well, though... but this women craved attention like polar bears craved half dead nations. And that said a lot comign from Guy, a news reporter who had been twice voted "Voltarum's Most Vain". Finally, he decided, it was time to make the kill.

"My dear Vizier Ohana, I must say your knowledge and insight about art is amazing... it is somethign that should be shared with the world.. and no better place to start then in my country. If it is at all possible, can we meet tonight, and discuss this more? I would be most honored if you accompany me to dinner somewhere, as I am sure your outlook and viewpoints into the culture of both of our countries would be valued so much to my people... especailly in my upcoming prime time special next month..."

"Oh, shucks!" - people still said oh shucks?!? - "I've got that thing tonight... wait. Francoise, did the invitation say 'bring a date'?"
"Yes, my Vizier."
"Did it specifically mention you?"
"No, my Vizier."
"Excellent. Take the night off."
She gave a grin of pearly white teeth to Ventuzo - while behind her back, Francoise gave him a 'I pity you, you poor dumb animal' look - before turning her considerable charms on Guy. "It would seen you and I have so much to talk about. There are, after all, a few good pieces in this show - you do remember the Rembrandt? And the Couvass, that was striking, and there were those endpieces by Vudrezu. So those shall have to be highlighted....

"I have a perfectly wonderful idea - you and I could spend some time discussing what pieces and backgrounds you'll need for your show - we'll jet over to my estate, the dome is perfectly safe, I think I have it on Autumn right now, something nice with leaves. Anyway, we'll go through there, you'll decide what pieces of my perfectly arranged collection need to be moved - or, here's a thought, you could just shoot it there, now why didn't I think of that? You're so clever, Ventuzo! And I know just where to start - unless you think the dining room is too formal, and we certainly can't start in the bedroom, what will people think?

"Oh, don't worry, we'll have plenty of time for a fitting and a quick lunch before we make our entrance - I think you'll look simply divine in a rich plum... something. It will show off your eyes, and I've the perfect gown to go with it..."

Guy smiled... his plan was working perfectly.... well, almost. Spending the whole day with this... woman... was certainly not in the original trademark brilliant plan, but then again, one had to adapt to survive.

Or so they say in Antarctica... and he had learned that the hardway.

"My Vizier, I think those are all wonderful ideas. Your dome would be an excellent setting, and as far as the artistic license we take, we have, as you say, plenty to discuss and decide. I have no doubt your presentation will be perfect...in fact, I could have one of my cameramen come and shoot some preliminary shots today if you'd like..."

"But what, may I be so bold to ask, is this 'thing' that I am priviledged to escort you to tonight? I thank you for this time of yours... but should I be prepared for anything special tonight? ...And yes, plum is one of my favorite colors..."

Herald Qailah Abecassis was less then amused by the news. “Are you quite sure you require a Herald for this, seeing as you’ve put the beans out for any to see?”
“Quite sure, Herald.” The Kadin Captain was equally nonplussed. “We are seeing to the unfortunate infection of the pillarscreens. And even with that… list circling, many have either no idea, or a very bad one.”
“Just so. And do get it off. It’s ruining the scenery.”
“As you wish, Herald.”

It took the programmers a few minutes to get Myfanwy’s virus out of the system, recalibrate the screens, and restore the illusion of “doorways to other places” – during which time, rumors flew all around the Harem.

“It’s another attack!”
“Oh, shut it you gimp!”
“Shopping?”
“I don’t need anything… well, maybe some new pumps…”
“We’re shopping for goats? But I don’t like goats, they smell bad.”
“He’s going to make us do WHAT with goats?!?”
“Do we actually have to wear whats on here? I mean, jumpsuits are so five minutes ago…”

The Herald snapped the butt of her staff against the marble floor three times – the rapping caught the attention of most of the assembled. Even arrayed in Herald tans, Qailah was a formidable presence.

“BE YE KNOWN, PAY HEED!” She cleared her throat – twas the only sound in the Harem. “It is the wish of our Sultan, Sinjin Lefkowitz al-Din, to make the acquaintance of all assembled at a SEMIFORMAL GATHERING tonight. BE YE MADE AWARE, there will be many in attendance, both the UPPER REGIONS OF GOVERNANCE, and those of significant rank within our nation.

“THOSE WHO WISH IT shall be guided and transported to one of our PREMIER SHOPPING ESTABLISHMENTS, there to do as they will to prepare themselves for THIS EVENINGS EVENT.”

Another deep breath. “It is the WISH of our Sultan that ye NOT concern yourself with cost or worry this eve, as ALL shall be seen to. IT IS THEREFORE your SOLE DUTY to make yourselves PRESENTABLE for the EVENING.”

She gives a formal bow, three raps, and departs out the doors, leaving behind a stunned silence.

For about four seconds.


***
Back at the Art Gala…

“Oh, that. Well, it’s something small and intimate – only the closest, elite will be there, very hush-hush. I suppose you could call it a… coming out party of sorts?”

She gives a giggle to her own jest. “Now have your cameraman over, Francoise can show him around while we’re fitting you in something plum – silver or gold edging, I should think, with a nice cummerbund… I don’t think your cameraman could go with us – Francoise?”

“No, my Vizier. The only members of the press there will be the Heralds.”

“Well, and mine, but we don’t have to bother Therassi…”
“Richelieu, my Vizier.”
“A Cardinal? Why do we need a Cardinal, and a French one at that?”
“Apologies, my Vizier, but Giap Guard-Captain Richelieu is in charge of security for the moment.”
“Oh?” Her face goes blonde-blank for a moment before light dawns. “OH, yes, that thing, with the thing. Right. Will she be there?”
“Who, my Vizier?”
“That one, the one about the thing.”
Entirely nonplussed now, he replies “Of course, my Vizier.”
“Ah. Maybe some body armor is called for…”
“I am sure you will be entirely safe, my Vizier.”
She doesn’t look entirely happy with that answer. “Hm. Maybe.”
“And you have Monsieur Ventuzo to keep you safe.”
At that, Guy finds his arm wrapped in a rather sultry woman. “Well, yes, at that, I do. Make some sort of arrangement for this camera person, what was his name? Ah, but have him in to look around for some useful angles. Nowhere too private, you understand?”
“Of course, my Vizier.” He gives a formal bow, just barely giving Guy a view of his eyes rolling in exasperation as he does.
“So good to you I am, Francoise. And call the seamstresses, we have to get Ventuzo outfitted properly for this, and it is a rush job at that…”

To: Nasari Yassassin, Intelligence and Security director, Sultanate of Vastiva

From: Magritte Holmauer, Assistant Director Special Circumstances, External Contacts and Affairs Department, Cadillac Gage

RE: Janus Bin-Toto

On the 11th of this past month, this office recieved a threat-message from a Vastivan syndicate calling itself 'Janus Bin Toto'.
This morning (0100 hours local time) a second threat was recieved.
Since we don't have any Arabic-derived populations, and given the nature of the threat, we presume you might know something about this organization.
Request any data you can supply.
Text as follows:

"...You have not removed the infidel whore from our land, this we have warned you will cost you dearly. For what is to come, it is on your heads."

Please send clarification of the meaning of this. Thank you

Cadillac Gage Airways Flight 109, Sixty two degrees S. Lattitude, 43 degrees West Longitude, 35,000 feet, 0345 hours CG time...

"...Uh, roger Vastiva control this is CGA109 heavy we're reading 350 Knots at thirty five K and holding steady, over."
Captain Angela Slewis looked over at her co-pilot, Jenn Airelant. "Well... we're an hour and thirty minutes out, I'm gonna catch a nap."

"right. I've got her then." Airelant said offhandedly.

the captain stood up, turned, and climbed up into the crew-rest compartment behind the flight deck.

In the first-class section, Steward Hal Jervik locked down the drinks cart and straightend his uniform in the small mirrored surface of the first-class galley.

A call-light lit, and he checked the seat number. Forty-seven. He buffed his nameplate, and headed to respond to the call.

In business class, James Morricone tried to get a little sleep. twelve-hours on the plane made his very bones ache. Morricone was hoping this trip would be fruitful-as an Ag Merchant, sometimes these long trips worked out, and sometimes they didn't.

He wanted his wife, but he had to settle for an aisle seat with a partition instead.

Downstairs, in the fore port cargo-bay, live animal cargo. Herbs, animals, and pets groaned and clucked and baaa'ed.
Loadmistress Kim Dewittler yawned and looked over her live-charges one more time.

In the aft-Starboard bay, amid the luggage, a small camera-style suitcase, buried under luggage filled with clothing, toys, papers, and mail.



0346 hours...

Anne Mulhavre was going overseas-the first member of her family to do so, to join a tour-group sponsored by her school's "International Outreach Society".

She's fourteen, and way too young to be travelling alone-she is meeting with a host-family from one of the Computer Hardware firms.

she's blonde, about five feet tall now, with freckles. She likes to play chess, and read.

She's about to become about one hundered and fifteen pounds of combustion byproducts, however.

"Um...sir, can I have another soda?" she asks.

the steward in Coach nods absently and continues aft without bothering to take her order.


0350 Hours...

the solid-state timer finishes counting down the fifteen hour trip to its destination.
Several things happen now. first, a signal is sent to a microchip embedded in a gray, waxy substance inside a camera-case in the aft hold (just below the primary crossfeeds for the wing hydraulics, and just to the right of the rear-landing-gear Hydraulic pumps.)

the microchip, in turn sends a pulsed signal to a number of cleverly-engineered detonators.

Made with Military Grade Explosives of Vastivan design, the bomb may be small, but it is quite powerful enough.

The initial explosion sends a shockwave through the airframe, blowing the floorpanels between Coach, and the rear cargo-bay, apart in jagged shrapnel-like shards.

did you know that, given enough pressure and heat, hydraulic Fluid (even very stable fluid) burns?

There's plenty of both here. Internal pressure in the zone of the blast exceeds 135,000 pounds-per-square inch for the duration of approximately ten picoseconds.
Long enough to crush, pulverize, and mix flesh, cloth, composite plastics, and shards of aluminum from the floorbeams.

This, incidentally, also tears the landing gear loose, and breaks the keel of the airplane.

Titanium burns, too.

A second explosion in the fore starboard cargo area (there is a LOT of cargo on a Volvo-Boeing 110...blended-wing design and all that...) about two miliseconds later breaches the business=class and first-class sections, as well as crushing the crew-rest module (with the Captain inside.)
the two almost-simultaneous detonations also produce "Peak" pressure on the mostly-empty fuel tanks.

Now, a fuel-tank that is mostly empty is like a bomb waiting to happen.
This one happens.

Not that anyone on-board cares, since both bombs managed to kill everyone inside the plane right before the fuel-tankage, hydraulic fluid, paint, etc. reached flashpoint and burned/exploded.

From the point of view of the Vastivan coast-guard vessel six miles and 35,000 feet below, the plane went from "Radar dot and distant marker lights" to "Goddamn, that's BRIGHT"

Boom. "Boom" comes several seconds after the flash.

Even with dedicated, trained, and excellently-equipped crews arriving almost immediately, there is no one to save. Few pieces of the plane are larger than one square meter.

542 people, gone...

in the Harem...

Engred paused. listened to the Herald, and felt a momentary dread. nonsense, it's just shopping... "I need a new outfit for tonight, anyway." she muttered to herself.

The cacophony of babble that erupted in the wake of the Herald's announcement soon gave her ample distraction...

To: Nasari Yassassin, Intelligence and Security director, Sultanate of Vastiva

From: Magritte Holmauer, Assistant Director Special Circumstances, External Contacts and Affairs Department, Cadillac Gage

RE: Janus Bin-Toto

On the 11th of this past month, this office recieved a threat-message from a Vastivan syndicate calling itself 'Janus Bin Toto'.
This morning (0100 hours local time) a second threat was recieved.
Since we don't have any Arabic-derived populations, and given the nature of the threat, we presume you might know something about this organization.
Request any data you can supply.
Text as follows:

"...You have not removed the infidel whore from our land, this we have warned you will cost you dearly. For what is to come, it is on your heads."

Please send clarification of the meaning of this. Thank you

Ab-shalom and Greetings;

The name refers to a dejectedly minor terrorist group which has attempted some four hundred and ninety six times to perform some sort of violent protest against the Sultan's rule.

We believe their objective is overthrow of the Sultanate, though for what final purpose we do not know. Nor much care, as they have proven inept beyond any bounds of that word in modern usage.

Of their membership of 4,968 we have arrested and/or executed 4,798. The remainder are currently at large in our nation and abroad, but are considered a "non-threat", as out of their many attempts, only two have managed to be more then considerably ridiculous failures. One resulted in the sinking of the Hippanoco, an aged freighter carrying a cargo of cheeses and other trade goods (80% recovery, terrorist attackers exterminated). The other resulted in a large hole in the floor of our airport and two deaths - both from our Palace guards.

Nineteen attempts were in our colony of Sisu Arshu. These resulted in the deaths of some one hundred and twelve terrorists at the hands of the Colonial Army, no damage or loss of life to the colony.

Fourteen attempts were made in our colony of Sisu Pangea. These resulted in the deaths of thirty-eight terrorists, mostly at the hands of the natives as they fled police. No damage or loss of life in the colony.

We are forwarding full reports from these actions - edited where necessary for State Security - for your perousal.

If we can be of further assistance, please contact our office directly.

Go in Peace,

Namaste,

Nasiri Yassassin
Director, Office of State Security
Humble Servant of His Magnificence, the Sultan of Vastiva

ATTACHMENT: Documentation of "Janus bin Toto" (28,474 pages)

The Citadel, Imperium

The office of the prime minister sat snugly inside the thick stonework walls of the old English fort. In the earlier times of colonization, the native trade confederation had sent a powerful raiding party up the city’s river from the ocean, and managed to raze large swaths of the city and infiltrate the governor’s mansion where they promptly slit his throat. Afterwards, the government of the English colony recognized the need for a strong fortress to protect the government of the colony.

Over two hundred years later the Citadel, as the fortress had become known, continued its tradition of safeguarding the government of the United Kingdom. The prime minister’s office lay off the main cobbled-stone square in the center of the fortress. A squat building, with an easily identifiable lineage heralding back to the days of unadorned columns sporting lintels and pediments of Greek and Roman design, it housed a media center from which the staff of the prime minister would glean the important news events from both inside the Kingdom to the whole of the international scene.

Kimberley Williams sipped from a can of lemonade as she did nothing but watch the news. Her task was to write up notes on anything important and send them off to her supervisor. While most citizens might expect a country’s national intelligence service to provide real-time intelligence, 24-hour news networks provided much the same services at no cost to the government – and so the prime minister had made sure to take advantage of that fact. On this day, however, the Azazian Broadcasting Network (ABN) had extensive coverage of the economic report due out tomorrow – nothing surprising, more outstanding growth. Until the black-haired anchorwoman –obviously on camera solely for her looks – interrupted her prewritten parts with a slight tilt of the head.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is just coming into to us from wire services over in the nation of Vastiva. According to the wire services, a commercial passenger plane has gone down reportedly in a “fireball” as reported by several onlookers. While exact details are not yet available, we believe the downed aircraft to be from Cadillac-Gage and was en route to a destination in Vastiva. At this time we no little else, but stay tuned to ABN for the latest…”

Several Hours Later

Alistair Tetley’s glass clinked on contact with his minister of finance. The two men were celebrating yet another year of economic prosperity. The Ministry of Finance placed the growth at 6.8%, quite astounding for a developed nation, of course there was always the possibility that the growth could lead to a burst bubble – but there were no indications of any such development. Both men had been alerted to the destruction of a plane – yet nothing had been confirmed and so the celebrations continued with a fine lunch and a toast.

A small thin man entered the room, his face absent of expression. He was Blake Cartwright, the prime minister’s personal aide. “Sir,” he interjected into the conversation.

“Ah, Blake. How good of you to join us. Sit, have a drink with us,” Tetley replied.

“I would, sir, however, some new developments with that plane. ABN is reporting a passenger list of over 500 people. There are some reports indicating it might even be related to terrorism.”

Tetley nodded and took one final swig from his glass. With a single glance, his minister of finance nodded and departed from the room. Blake continued to stand at the back of the room, waiting for his boss’ decision. “Blake, I’m going to send a message to the Vastivan government. Set it up if you please.”

“Right away, sir.”

Secure Message to the Sultan of Vastiva

My friend and colleague, I am saddened to hear of the loss suffered by yourself, your people, and your nation on this day. Although we are receiving only sketchy reports over here, I have heard that it might be related to terrorism. If this is the case, I wanted to assure you that my government will do everything possible to stop this organization from our end. If you need any assistance, you shall of course receive it. Not as a member of NATO, but as a friend to this government and the people it serves. Today, we here in the Kingdom feel for your loss, as we too have suffered from such diabolical acts on more than one occasion.

Again, if there is anything I can do for you, anything you need assistance with, just call me up and let me know.

My condolences,

Alistair Tetley

On the Boat...

Sharon was almost getting it, when the programme cut off. Around her feet, over a half dozen filled notebooks covered the floor. A sting, and the doc saying, "You need your rest."

There would be time to talk to the girl about the disaster later...

Engred's View...

Thana was happy to help Engred pull on appropriate clothing-indeed, the Harem Ghost seemed quite pleased that Engred was keen on going.

"Left foot now, please ayid..." Engred extended her left foot, and the harem-ghost slid the boot on, and closed the fastenings.

Certain 'ghosts' seemed to have affinities for certain tasks. Thana seemed to have taken Engred on as her own personal duty.

The guard was replaced by one who'd already donned her "going outside" clothes. Engred apologized to this one, as well, for her earlier behaviour, making eight so far in the last seven hours.

Few of the other Candidates walked to the bus with an entourage of their own Vastivan staff.

Fewer still doubled up upon exiting the Palace.

Thana caught her from the left, while the Guard caught her from the right.

"A...plane, they're going to murder those people." she moaned.
This time, the vision wasn't the sort she 'walked into'-this time, she watched it like a bad movie-from a distance.

"I'm fine...warn..." who? who can they warn?

it was over in a second.

Until they got onto the bus.

"Ayid, are you alright?" Thana asked. The guard crowded closer to Engred as she sat down.

"I'm fine...no burns this time, no...is there a plane due in today-from my homeland?" she asked.

Thana shrugged, "I do not know."

The guard spoke up, "There was, it was an hour from landing. I have just recieved a report that an airliner from your homeland was...I am so sorry. Rescue efforts have begun." She said it shakily.

Engred shook her head, "You won't find anyone alive." her tone was flat, certain, and deadpan. "I saw two blasts-it killed everyone inside before tearing the plane apart. The black-box will land on an icy shelf next to the place where ice-becomes-water, there is a jut of stone nearby, it looks like a clumsy pyramid of brown and black rock...is there a bathroom on this bus, or a barf-bag? I think I'm going to vomit."

"Should we go back inside,Ayid, you look unwell..?" Thana asked.

Engred shook her head, "No. that would constitute giving even the smallest inch to the motherless sons of bitches that did this thing. Never give a bully even a hint of sign that he has gained. we carry on." she said it ferociously.

Thana gave her a sickness-bag, and Engred used it. "I'll be fine, but I need a breath-mint or a toothbrush...Give not one damn inch. ever, to thugs. We go on as planned, until the Sultan says otherwise."

Thana looked dubious. Engred sighed, "I will grieve later, when they release it on the public 'nets. Part of my duty now, is to refuse to be manipulated by those father-raping murderers."

At the Gala...

Did this women really say 'thing' that many times? He turned his attentention to Francoise. "My cameraman's name is Alalazairaki Jekriloloui. But you can call him Al." He hands Francoise information about his hotel and suite number, and turns back to Goldie. "And as far as protection, my Lady, you can count on me. Now lets get moving.. I want that suit to look good..."

Back in the Harem...

Neira listened to the herald intently. "What a neat job, Ka'tal!" she exclaimed as the woman finished. "We should have those back in the Voltarum. So much better than those sleazy news reporters... Anyway, lets go! I need to look presentable to meet my King tonight."

Ka'tal turned. "A pawn changing into a queen, I presume. I am ready My lady. Lead the way."

With that the two followed the growing group out into the bus, where they witnessed a girl nearly faint, and then overheard the conversation regarding a downed plane...

V.B.S. Jericho, Flagship - Voltarum 4th Fleet, off Voltarum Waters

"Are you sure it wasn't downed by an enemy fighter?"
"No Admiral. We are a bit far away, but we would have picked up something if there was a bogey entering the plane's airspace."
"Very well. Message to the nearest Vastivian vessel. Ask them if they need assitance... I'll contact command."

The Great Hall, Ohm, The Voltarum

Xerco sat as his desk, fumbling with his tea. Finally, the knock he had been waiting for had come. "Enter!"

Minister of Defense Avlos Selkirk entered, in a rush. "Update from the Jericho. Looks like a total loss... over 500 people... They are positive that it wasn't taken down sir. Which means..."

"Terrorism. Another bruise for Vastiva. I can only hope we don't see any sympathy pains over here.... In any case, keep me informed. I think I have to write a quick note now..."


To: The Sultan of Vastiva, President of Cadilac Gage
Fr: Premier Xerco Longbottom, The Voltarum

It is with great sorrow that I join you and your nations in the mourning
of the loss of the 500 some odd souls aboard Flight 109. If there is any
way I, or my country and its resources, can be of any help, do not
hesitate to let me know.

With Great Respect,
Premier Xerco Longbottom

16: Into the midnight land

Some time later, a crewman arrived; apparently the Nasimah had reached port. Alexis was suprised; she hadn't felt anything. Was that a sign of good handling? She knew very little about submarines.

She retrieved her baggage from her cabin, and was guided up above. It was like stepping into an icebox, colder even than the desert night, and goosebumps rose almost immediately on her arms. But the whole place was much too interesting to waste time with being cold; besides the Nasimah were other submarines, their front decks open. Cranes and men moved about the decks, shifting cargo from the submarines to what looked like a train station. There was a lot of it - evidently Vastiva relied heavily on it's submarine fleet during the winter.

Between the submarines stretched fenced walkways, supported on metal piers disappearing into the dark water. Steam coiled down below, where the cold air hit even colder water.

"Be careful, Ayid," the crewman said, "The water is very cold - it would not do to have you fall in."

Alexis, who couldn't recall ever seeing so much water in an enclosed space before, nodded.

They headed along the walkways to the Vastivan customs facility - little more than an office, really. The Captain presented various papers to the bored-looking customs official, who waved them through.

"This is primarily a cargo port," the Captain explained to her, "Not often used for passengers. The freight inspection bay is a lot bigger. As a candidate, you don't need to worry about it."

On the far side, two crewmembers disappeared with Sharon, and Alexis herself was approached by a rather pretty woman, dressed in what at first appeared to be deep blue cloth richly embroidered with silver runes and patterns; but as she moved the inside and lining became more in evidence as fur and leather cunningly worked to allow full freedom of movement with little availability of the wearer to the elements. Her boots were decorated with a double strand of silver thread woven into patterns mimicking those on the burnoose; a double looping anklet of small silver coins and runestones adorned her left boot. Topping the ensemble off, a blue-white headcloth with silver ribbon entwined within and without.

Alexis was suprised to see anyone wearing a burnoose in Vastiva's polar climate - the woman wouldn't look out of place in Ferris' playas. But then she moved, and the thick lining became apparent; she might look at home in the desert, but she'd not last very long at all.

"Ab-shalom and greetings, Alexis McKenzie-Grey, and welcome to Vastiva." She gave a formal bow, touching forehead, lips and heart then spreading her hand wide in an offering of some sort. "Did you travel well?" She paused. "If it would not be an imposition, our people will see to your luggage - you have a semiformal to attend this evening to meet our Sultan, and he has directed all candidates be allowed to go somewhere appropriate to pick and choose any other acoutrements they might require. This way, if you will?"

"Quite well, thank you," Alexis replied. "And that will be fine. A ... semiformal? I suppose that would be a good idea - all my clothes are in a crate on the submarine."

She followed the woman and her silent, green-robed guards to a monorail train - like everything she'd seen of Vastiva, far more advanced than anything in Ferris, including the newest additions to the Ironspire's underground system.

When the monorail stopped, they disembarked - into a space larger even than the Greater Throne Room or the Central Station at Redforge.

"All this is a mall?" she aksed, astounded. "Where do I start?"

Drayaa smiled. "If you would listen, the sound of squeals is stronger in this direction, and I believe we will find the other members there."

She stops, blushing. "Many pardons, Candidate. I am Drayaa Kiigalen, deputy Grand Vizier of Vastiva. My apologies for the oversight."

"Pleased to meet you," Alexis replied, shaking Drayaa's hand. "Deputy Grand Vizier" ... that makes her the third most powerful person in Vastiva! What's someone like that doing showing someone like me around?

They walked in the direction Drayaa indicated. The mall echoed, larger than temples - what sort of people were the Vastivans, to dedicate such effort to a shopping complex?

"Why is it so empty?" she asked Drayaa - but the mall wasn't empty, not really. There were several dozen women going through the stores, laughing and chattering as they went. Alexis felt suddenly inadequate - she was no stunning beauty like all these. But if this was the Harem, she'd have to learn to live with them. She forged on, into the press.

The logistics of moving forty-odd women to the Tharan Akusef complex was relatively simple.

The logistics of emptying that mall of everyone who wasn't supposed to be there, in less then an hour, would have been daunting. To anyone else.

To Giap Guard-Captain Richelieu, it had been routine. Seven years under that Troll, I could clear Vastiva with a pennywhistle and a handkerchief inside an hour.

He directed more patrols through the back areas by subvocals - the assemblies were still in their - relative - infancy, but far superior to handsets or helmetsets.

~Captain, we have two more back here, they probably entered through sublevel nine.~
~Seal it off. Put patrol fourteen down there. If they keep coming in, put a Polar Bear Stinger set down there~
~Yes, Captain~

Trailing the targets wasn't that difficult - many of his men had spent years as police and military snipers though these days, the two aren't that different careers he mused. If the harem managed to spot a few, so be it - they weren't there for invisibility, they were there for security.

Mildly bemused, he watched on the security cameras as several women all but sacked a Paradisio - lingerie and "delicates" - followed by harrying two clerks at one jewellery store, then another.

You'd almost think they were carrying out an invasion. "Team nineteen, there's one moving into a... toy store?"
~Yes Captain, we have her.~
"Stay on her. Discreetly."
~Yes, Captain.~

Getting the baggage into the bus would be another "test of his mettle", but not that difficult - he had two more cargo carriers standing by, just in case... besides, what was the worst they could do?

"Pleased to meet you," Alexis replied, shaking Drayaa's hand. "Deputy Grand Vizier" ... that makes her the third most powerful person in Vastiva! What's someone like that doing showing someone like me around?

They walked in the direction Drayaa indicated. The mall echoed, larger than temples - what sort of people were the Vastivans, to dedicate such effort to a shopping complex?

"Why is it so empty?" she asked Drayaa - but the mall wasn't empty, not really. There were several dozen women going through the stores, laughing and chattering as they went. Alexis felt suddenly inadequate - she was no stunning beauty like all these. But if this was the Harem, she'd have to learn to live with them. She forged on, into the press.

"Our Sultan has dictated you are to prepare, however you like. It would be impolite for the population to be... interfering in such. So, we had the mall cleared for a time." She gives another bow and smile. "Those who remained behind, many believe it is an honor to wait on your convenience."

"Really? They're not ... upset or anything?" In Ferris, if the Autarch or another House Lord had tried such a thing, he'd need House security, and possibly an armour division, ringing the site to fend off the great unwashed. It was strange to think that they might feel honoured to wait after the whims of nobility.

"Dra - Sera Kiigalen - how does the Sultan want us prepared? I don't know his likes and dislikes."

That gets a truly blank look - one of the few times Drayaa has been caught flatfooted in her short-but-highly-eventful life.

"Upset?"

She rearranges the folds of her burnoose to give her some time to ponder this one. "As a harem candidate is considered one of the highest honors in Vastiva - and you are a candidate - it is generally seen as an honor to do as you will.

"As to Sinjin's likes and dislikes..." she bites her lip for a moment, "I would not say I am aware of any, save dishonesty and ill-prepared foods. This is to be a formal meeting, traditionally the first time the Sultan meets any of the candidates. While that is not truly the case..."

She grants Alexis a smile. "Be yourself, be who you are. I am sure you can do no wrong at this, it is merely a stand up and pass around, some introductions and such. Nothing to get overly worried about."

After considerable soothing from Kera, Zukie was finally calmed to the point where she wasn't in danger of having a hissy fit...

How convient was it that the Herald came in, and announced the trip to the mall. Kera seized this oppertunity for a change of scenery. "Hey, Zukie! You love to shop! And, it's all paid for by the government... Erm..." It then occured to her that Gowa Industries owns more then ten thousand malls on Planet Krowemoh alone, and Zukie, being the daughter of Chairman Irawata, can shop at any of them without ever worrying about laying down a singe Tiderc. So, this was nothing new to her. "Well, anyways, you love to shop, right?"

Zukie made a face, "Yes, yes I do..." She examined herself. She still looked like she had spent a little too much time under a tanning bed. She heaves a sad sigh. "I'll need to buy some clothes to cover myself fully. Ugh... I can't wait until this all goes away..."

Kera nods slowly, helping Zukie to her feet. "Okay. Come on, then."

~~~~~~~~

Laters, at the mall... Allegedly...

After the quick and most efficent bus ride, Zukie and Kera enter the mall. Entering one woman's clothing store, Zukie picks up a few sets of demin jeans, and groans, rather quite loudly. "Ugh... Goddess damn it all. Of course, they'd tailor to humans. Le sigh. None of these clothes will suit me as is... Kera, fetch... Hmmm... A clerk? No... One of the attendants, I'll need all the panties I buy tailored so my tail can fit through. And any pants too... Probably the dresses too. Sigh... Why couldn't this be a Neko nation? Or at least, an InuMatta(Like a Neko, but a dog instead of cat) nation?"

Kera nods quickly, turning to run off to find the nearest Harem Ninja...

"Ayid, if it please, may this one call your attention to the stores catering to our Furry population - many of them have tails, and they may better suit?"




OOC: We're not mentioning the ones that cater to penguins. They smell like herring.

Engred walked through the huge mall a little away from the rest of the crowd. The "Lacies and things" stores didn't have the right feel, nor did the department-avenue stores.

She was intent. Searching.

For what, she couldn't really say-she was not sure.

But she knew she would know when...Ah!

Tucked into a smaller corner, well off the main path of the mall, in a grimy "Suburb" area, next to the "Orange Melange" and the "Lizardmart" shops-a corner of the mall that would be unprofitable for casual walk-in custom.

"here." she said to no-one in particular (except her 'minder', who was with her even here...)

The sign simply said, "Faisal and Hamir, Family Tailors. Suits and Gowns fitted while you wait." it fairly reeked of 'small but prosperous'-a sure sign of a loyal clientele.

The guard cocked an eyebrow dubiously. Engred pushed the door open.

"Hello?" she announced her presence (though the bell on the door probably did a better job.)

An older man, and a pudgy, friendly-looking middle-aged woman came out from the rear of the tiny shop.

"You two, are the owners, yes?" she asked.

The woman laughed, "Ya, we're partners... and you are Engred Stahlhaver, Harem Candidate."

Engred nodded, "Yes, and today, I have an unlimited budget, but not unlimited time..." she pointed out several bolts of cloth. "the Creme silk, that wool, no, the Navy Blue...and I noticed the pattern in your display..."

The seamstress had several examples of her own design available to look at-and an ensemble that was close to fitting was on-hand. Engred stood still while the final-fit work was begun.

"The others are crowding the larger stores..." Mdme Faisal sighed.

Engred rolled her eyes, "They do not know quality comes from skilled hands, not the back of a cargo ship." she quipped, adding, "besides, this way, I know it is not just 'good enough' but right."

This brought a chuckle from the Matron.

"Oh! I see..."

She didn't, truly - how did Vastiva command such loyalty? The Autarchy couldn't do it with enough power to level cities*. You couldn't please everyone - certainly no member of Ferris' upper classes could command such respect as to leave thousands of people happy about closing a giant mall for several hours.

Be who you are. That's easy enough, I suppose - it's a rare man who values the reality over the idealised imaginary, but if Sinjin is one of them ... well then, this could all work out quite well.

So. What do I wear? What I wear to exhibition openings, I guess. Exhibit A, Alexis McKenzie-Grey, age twenty-six, with all her own teeth.

"I think, sera," she said, "I need to find a dress."

She looked about for an appropriate store and found half a dozen.

OOC: *Ferris' first nuclear warhead was dropped on Kellburg a few years ago - the Age of a Thousand Suns is just beginning.

OOC: Somehow I find it hard to RP young women shopping lol. Maybe I should have let my wife write this for me...

Neira and Ka'tal walked throughout the mall, slighly off from the main group of people. This was quite a new experience to both - Ka'tal, who wore her Guard suit as much as possible and hadn't wore a dress since she was probably 10, and Neira who at such a young age and in such a high position of power had all her "shopping" done for her. Ka'tal couldn't dream about using so much money for clothes, while Neira couldn't fine anything as good as her own dresses.

Still, they moved on, away from the others. Ka'tal eventually found some clothing that she could tolerate, a rather tight, long flowing tailed red dress, which was tied up around her neck, and which wouldn't leave many wondering about how fit she truly was. Neira picked it out of course, along with adequate shoes. A purse and hair berets garnished with rubies (and which almost cost as much as the dress) rounded out the outfit. Neira regarded her. "I am thinking, Ka't, that the Sultan will be very displeased that I am the candidate and not you." She laughed as she saw a brief glimpse of panic on Ka'tal's face. Neira spoke and grabbed her before she could move. "And no, you are NOT going to change. It looks good on you."

As for Neira, she could not resist buying something new, but none of the clothing really did anything for her. She had accessories galore, jewelry, undergarments, shoes, purses, scarfs, hats... but she continued to search for that one dress that would make her stand out.

In the end, she settled for a rather expensive one from a small high-end shop. She was always partial to the brighter colors, and she chose a spaghetti strap light orange, flowing dress. She liked everything about it except for one thing... She looked down at her chest.. When are they going to start growing more, damnit...

They packed up their things and went back to find the group, and to start loading their purchases back on the bus.

There is a lot to be said for losing one's luggage, thought Myfanwy. It forced her to focus on the task at hand. This goal had been helped considerably by the fact that she had been able to chivvy Nasheed onto the bus. The young woman was still apparently expecting some sort of retribution for the computer fiasco, but getting her out of the Harem should surely postpone whatever-it-was until the whole misunderstanding could be set right.

Now: the Mall. Overwhelming in size, it was still a mall, and so obeyed the principles of design that governed all such enterprises. Myfanwy ignored the tempting 'feeder' shops that drew shoppers further in; ignored, too, the big retailers whose familiar outlets, one per floor, digested the masses. There were two places she wanted to see: the below-ground floors where shops' rents were low, and the upper fastnesses where the ordinary shopper went only for the pleasure of being insulted -- If you have to ask the price, you can't afford it.

Down below she would find the newcomers whose untested talents, five years from now, might well come up with The Latest. But she'd have had them first. In the heights would be the ones who knew they were the ultimate and had a glitterati client base to prove it; these would have the styles and materials that had earned the description 'classic'.

First, though, a trip to the information panels. Ah, a toyshop; some of those intricate Vastivan puzzles for the younger Children of the Goddess (and, she had no doubt, not a few of the adults). Next, a bookshop: high-school textbooks, philosophy, biography, and several collections of political cartoons. She wanted to know Vastivans through the ordinary person's eyes. And here was what she needed for this semi-formal thing: a "Celtic Gift Shoppe". Mixed in with the tourist tat would surely be one or two of Findhorn's finer exports?

So it proved. Spinning Nasheed a disrespectful and hilarious commentary on the goat's-horn 'love spoons' and the terrible "be-tartaned' stuff that no Celt would wear, she zeroed in on a hand-woven strip of material in Abbey tartan -- the invented one that had been adopted as official to avoid the clash of clans that would have resulted if one were favoured over another. She could even guess who wove it, and allowed herself a nostalgic memory of Ellen McKenzie's flashing fingers.

"Since this is semi-formal, I'll wear a tartan sash over a simple white dress," she explained to Nasheed.

For the dress itself it was up to the 'couture' floor for a gown -- never the word 'dress' for such a creation -- with fitted bodice, tiny V-pointed waist highlighted with seed pearls, demure and restrained puff sleeves and a neckline that would give no-one cause to blush even when she dipped into her deepest curtsey. Its style would not have raised eyebrows in any ballroom of the past 200 years.

Not so the close-fitting red tunic, long-sleeved, high-necked, buttoned from throat to knee and almost transparent, over the plain silk chemise and tailored pants that, appearing through seams left open on the skirt, made her legs actually seem long.

Nor the flowing deep blue-green embroidered dress with uneven handkerchief hem, or the rich cinnamon robe that mocked a monkish habit, or the short, fringed "flapper' outfit in oyster silk, with tiny beaded helmet to match -- and how could she resist something from the lower-ground-floor cupboard of a shop where every garment was a shade of purple?

Beads, pendants, necklaces, rings, bracelets, earrings; hats, caps, scarves, belts, even gloves; weird nail-polish; sensible shirts from sensible shops; underwear that was happily rated G and lingerie that demanded an R-rating; a visit to a terribly hearty camping goods shop for the dreaded coveralls; and, last of all, the shoes ...

Nasheed liked shopping for shoes. She was able to sit down and rest her feet while Myfanwy pranced around.

''This mall is very huge and has a lot of stuff!'' Helen said happily carring so far two bags of items. Helen was very excited to buy things from Vastiva's malls. ''I hope they have necklaces and bracelets.'' Helen said looking for the jewelry shop. When she got there,she bought a lot of jewelry from necklaces to bracelets and so on. Then she went to the bookstore and bought many books on people like The Apostles or cities like Constantinople or Rome. ''I need to rest up for the party.'' Helen said sitting down in one of those restaurants you find in malls and she had a little snack and then went off to the audio shop and bought many CD's.

OOC-Is this ok? Should I add more?

''This mall is very huge and has a lot of stuff!'' Helen said happily carring so far two bags of items. Helen was very excited to buy things from Vastiva's malls. ''I hope they have necklaces and bracelets.'' Helen said looking for the jewelry shop. When she got there,she bought a lot of jewelry from necklaces to bracelets and so on. Then she went to the bookstore and bought many books on people like The Apostles or cities like Constantinople or Rome. ''I need to rest up for the party.'' Helen said sitting down in one of those restaurants you find in malls and she had a little snack and then went off to the audio shop and bought many CD's.

OOC-Is this ok? Should I add more?

OOC: Works well - you've got jewellery to add to your dresses you brought, and some books to read, and music.

Stahlhaver number fourteen, Mockinjojka Canton, Cadillac-Gage, 0500 Hours...

"We've lost the water supply!" yellow lights flashed red.
Boom
"What the Hell is that??"

inside the reactor building the fuel rods drop away from each other, cancelling the reaction. This was not what the sabotuers had in mind when they planted their bombs...

"We've got a fire on level four and...[static]ipes look [static} gonna have to shut down the whole comp[static].."

Ambulances begin arriving within minutes.


To: Nasiri Yassassin
From: Magritte Holmaur
timestamp: 1800 Hours Vastivan Local time (Date)
Re: second incident in 24 hours.

They tried to bomb a power-plant in the Mockinjojka Canton. two dead, six injured. You're right, these guys got 'lucky' with Flight 109. They hit the cooling pumps and auxiliaries, I think they were trying to create a Tchernobylyensk incident, Police found four unfired bombs in the reactor room-looks like a rush-job. I'm air-freighting samples of the explosive for testing, it's not local stuff, maybe your Lab people can trace the source.
We've got a security vid of a suspect (See attatched MPEG file), we'll need an Extradition warrant, entry records indicate he's with your Diplomatic group and covered under the blanket-immunity, as long as he doesn't step off the Embassy grounds, we can't touch him.

Bigger problem is 24kg of Plu-239 is missing from the number-fourteen. It was part of a shipment being reprocessed for use in the Mandeville reactor in the Phlynt Canton.

In case you were wondering, Suse Randall's currently unavailable for medical reasons, so I'm watching the whole store. Hope to hear from you soonest.

After a rest,Helen got up and went to look for more things to buy. She bought several Icons from the Icon shop. She then went and bought some Byzantine Chanting CD's and a books on The Byzantines. She then went and bought several hats and outfits including a Arabian style dress and a Ancient Greek style dress. ''I have lots more things now!'' Helen said happily. ''I hope someone else is here so I can talk to them and I wonder what the party will be like.'' Helen thought to herself. ''Is anyone here?'' Helen said a little loudly as she sat down and rested again reading one of the books she bought. Then she got up and went and bought a Quran as she was studing the Arab peoples. Then she went and looked around for more things to buy.

OOC-When will we have the party that the Sultan mentioned? I would like to know as it is interesting.

To: Nasiri Yassassin
From: Magritte Holmaur
timestamp: 1800 Hours Vastivan Local time (Date)
Re: second incident in 24 hours.

They tried to bomb a power-plant in the Mockinjojka Canton. two dead, six injured. You're right, these guys got 'lucky' with Flight 109. They hit the cooling pumps and auxiliaries, I think they were trying to create a Tchernobylyensk incident, Police found four unfired bombs in the reactor room-looks like a rush-job. I'm air-freighting samples of the explosive for testing, it's not local stuff, maybe your Lab people can trace the source.
We've got a security vid of a suspect (See attatched MPEG file), we'll need an Extradition warrant, entry records indicate he's with your Diplomatic group and covered under the blanket-immunity, as long as he doesn't step off the Embassy grounds, we can't touch him.

Bigger problem is 24kg of Plu-239 is missing from the number-fourteen. It was part of a shipment being reprocessed for use in the Mandeville reactor in the Phlynt Canton.

In case you were wondering, Suse Randall's currently unavailable for medical reasons, so I'm watching the whole store. Hope to hear from you soonest.

Ab-shalom and greetings;

Documents attached, copy enroute by special courier. Suspect detained by diplomatic guard pending your taking custody.

We have several satellites which could be moved to positions able to flyover your nation or in geosynchronous position. All are capable of detecting radioactives.

Do inform us of any discoveries.

Go in Peace,

Namaste,

Nasiri Yassassin
Director, Office of State Security
Humble Servant of His Magnificence, the Sultan of Vastiva

Neira and Ka’tal were the first back onto the bus – by about an hour and a half.

“You are free to step off, a book or something?” This could take years with the hairdressing and all…. the “harem ghost” smiled.

Not so in the CP-90V Command Vehicle placed discreetly at the end of the parking area.
“Team sixteen, where are you?”
“Outside the fitting rooms.”
“Still?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you sure she’s still in there?”
“Yes, sir. You can tell from the swearing.”
“Oh, that’s what that is.”
“Yes, sir. We estimate she’s about half done.”
“Ah…. Keep me posted.”
“Yes, sir.”

The Giap Captain looked at the digital read. Not bad. Three hours, two incidents and no arrests. The reports were reasonable – most of the women headed for dresses, jewelry, shoes, easily understandable things. A few added stacks of books to their purchases Who reads at a party? and a few went after minicams and notebook computers …interesting choices, ladies….

The one from Cadillac-Gage had been in the same shop for nearly two hours, but her ‘watcher’ and the patrol nearby hadn’t reported anything. He checked the store’s feed for a brief moment, made a note for the digex recording, and switched views.

Nasheed is remaining close to that one… Myfanwy? Sounds like a snack. ‘would you care for another dish of Myfanwy?’… actually, I wouldn’t mind a dish or two…toys? What are you going to do with those nail puzzles… or the shell ones… interesting choices…

He kept her in view – no buzzer disturbed him.

“Team Eleven, do you have her still?”
“Yes, sir. We’re near David’s Bookshoppe, third level.”
“Have you on scope.”

Cartoons? She’s interested in cartoons? The textbooks were understandable – a provincial like that probably needed help figuring out how to use the shower. Biographies… what, no fashion magazines?

How many dresses does she plan for one evenings time? He sighed and signaled the first cargo bus to trundle over. They all act like this is their last opportunity to find clothes for the month!... no, wait, bathing suits. Make that the year.

Allah forfend, coveralls?!? To a ball? And a camping store?

“Team Eleven, is she looking for knives or such?”
“No, sir. She picked out some all weather coveralls, heavy hiking boots, and a pair of doeskin gloves.”

Interesting.

A little goat tending before the hors d’oevers?... I may have to inform housekeeping to keep the pens available for some sort of ‘mating ritual’….hmmm, extra cameras…

He lost her in the shoe store, but Nasheed was still visible – and he was sure his team hadn’t lost sight.

Now what is that prancing princess doing… cute tail on her though… ignoring the little one, bad idea princess… head pats are so cute, what is she, your pet?

***

Far distant, a solitary figure entered her room – waiting for the lights to soak the room before entering.

She also made very sure the room was sealed and locked before going farther.

From a wall safe came a silk-lined box, black and featureless save the touch-lock, which opened easily as she pressed and turned. Into this went her headpiece – and as the top closed, she looked all the more relieved to have it off.

Heavy red clothes and leather boots were hung, set aside; a long hot shower followed, scrubbing out every pore, tending to hair, skin, even under finger and toenails in a long, efficient ritual. When this was done, the water was drained completely before she stood in front of a full-body drier, turned on very warm, and brushed out her long hair and applied a dry conditioner.

When she was done, her room had cooled to just above unacceptably chilly; she tapped a code into the room’s panel before sliding beneath her covers, resting against the cool bedsheets.

The lights went out moments later. But it was some time before she… slept.

***

Elsewhere in the Palace, Francesca paced out her speeches, her lesson plan - and most of all, what she knew of the candidates.

An efficient failure or a tragic success? Mentor or Mistress? Big Sister, perhaps – someone to come to when they need to cry their eyes out… Shama has seen to it they won’t turn to her…

She considered herself in the mirror again, turned this way and that.

Keep the routine, still works… I should be able to wear the Sparrow, which means something with a slit skirt… or less… a wry grin lit her features with the memory of a certain member of IDF’s parliament groping for a favor – and finding her firearm.

Fortunately, not all men are the same… can’t remember the last time Raahmid tried something… oh, yes I can, that dinner party… butt was sore for a week. Quite a grip on him…

She mentally reviewed her closet, settling on a royal blue number for this evening – and a set of semiofficial robes for her appeal and appearance. Nothing purple – too forward. Maybe that German number, he appreciated that… with a nice French braid… and short heels…silver would go well, armband and bracelet… neck bare? Yes, I think we shall this time…

Each piece assembled carefully as her plan reviewed, played out, refined…

“Ventuzo” had been dressed within an inch of his life.

Goldie Ohana was the sort who probably wouldn’t take “no” from a charging elephant if it got in her way – a small army of seamstresses added “oh, a little more fringe there, dear” and “no, that won’t do, the French cuffs are so last year. Try something a bit more… Rosian, I think” and the inevitable “You simply don’t understand woman – if he doesn’t look good on my arm, he doesn’t look good enough.”

It probably would have been entirely unbearable if not for the “Oh, Ventuzo dahlink, you simply must try this port, a rather unpredictable temper if I do say so myself, more fruity then dry certainly… Yes, this is a ’34 Merlot, usually not a house wine, but I find my cellar overstocked at the moment and simply must get rid of some of it however I can. Do you think that nice cameraman would care for a bottle to take home? Perhaps, after he does some nice shots of the Perleman in the Solarium?”

***

The ride back was a noisy mess – somewhere between comparing and bragging, many of those who went had become, well, cattish in their mannerisms.

It may have gotten far worse had not their arrival back into the Harem coincided with Nivia’s arrival.

Where the other Herald was a powerhouse, Nivia was a grandmotherly type with a relatively soft voice – one had to go completely silent to hear all she said.

Perhaps that was the point.

“Your attention, please, if you would? Thank you, thank you so very much. As you all well know, tonight will be a rather special evening for all of you. While we do not expect you to know all about Vastivan formalities, we do expect some basic protocols.

“Normally I or one of the Heralds would take you through these steps, but tonight we have a special treat for you. An al-Dalai – that is, one who has already served in the capacity you are all hoping to achieve – has acquiesced to a request to give you some pointers for the evening. She will be here within an hour or so, so please, do give her your attentions. In the meantime, lunch will be served. Namaste, candidates. And good luck.”

She gives a stiffly formal curtsey and departs – passing a swift wink to Myfanwy.

“Ventuzo” had been dressed within an inch of his life.

Goldie Ohana was the sort who probably wouldn’t take “no” from a charging elephant if it got in her way – a small army of seamstresses added “oh, a little more fringe there, dear” and “no, that won’t do, the French cuffs are so last year. Try something a bit more… Rosian, I think” and the inevitable “You simply don’t understand woman – if he doesn’t look good on my arm, he doesn’t look good enough.”

It probably would have been entirely unbearable if not for the “Oh, Ventuzo dahlink, you simply must try this port, a rather unpredictable temper if I do say so myself, more fruity then dry certainly… Yes, this is a ’34 Merlot, usually not a house wine, but I find my cellar overstocked at the moment and simply must get rid of some of it however I can. Do you think that nice cameraman would care for a bottle to take home? Perhaps, after he does some nice shots of the Perleman in the Solarium?”

***

The ride back was a noisy mess – somewhere between comparing and bragging, many of those who went had become, well, cattish in their mannerisms.

It may have gotten far worse had not their arrival back into the Harem coincided with Nivia’s arrival.

Where the other Herald was a powerhouse, Nivia was a grandmotherly type with a relatively soft voice – one had to go completely silent to hear all she said.

Perhaps that was the point.

“Your attention, please, if you would? Thank you, thank you so very much. As you all well know, tonight will be a rather special evening for all of you. While we do not expect you to know all about Vastivan formalities, we do expect some basic protocols.

“Normally I or one of the Heralds would take you through these steps, but tonight we have a special treat for you. An al-Dalai – that is, one who has already served in the capacity you are all hoping to achieve – has acquiesced to a request to give you some pointers for the evening. She will be here within an hour or so, so please, do give her your attentions. In the meantime, lunch will be served. Namaste, candidates. And good luck.”

She gives a stiffly formal curtsey and departs – passing a swift wink to Myfanwy.


Engred sighed with fatigue. standing still for Mdme Faisal for three hours took a lot out of her. Dealing with some of the arguments on the bus (i.e. having the good manners not to immediately jump into a scolding match with the louder, cattier, and less...civilized candidates). Seeing newscoverage of the airliner didn't help her mood much, but the Seamstress was kind enough not to mention it during the fitting, the guards and mall-staffers she encountered were classy enough to not mention what was on every screen she passed, and more importantly, the candidates she personally knew were likewise quite circumspect about the whole affair.

Lunch... and then what? Engred mildly wished she had been able to take a few minutes out to run to a bookstore-but her final fit had run almost up to departure time as it was.

The seamstress had been kind enough to rig a shoulder-bag for her, though-making the assistance of another pair of hands to carry such a small package irrelevant.

I'll still need help getting into it, though... she followed the others to the dining area.

Do you think that nice cameraman would care for a bottle to take home? Perhaps, after he does some nice shots of the Perleman in the Solarium?”

Guy smiled. "I am sure that would be Lovely, My Vizier." Inside, he was near boiling point. And Al didn't help. He knew in between the "Shots" he was taking, he was inwardly reminding himself of things to make fun of later. Guy was sure that when this was all over, Al would never shut up about these last few hours... or was it days? In any case, he made sure he politely refused as much wine as possible without offending. He needed to be as sharp as possible for tonight.

Guy shook his head. I might need a few bottles myself after tonight. For now, though, all Guy could think of was what was to come in the next few hours.. and hoping they woudn't catch the small camera Al was to slip him before they left.

Shizuka regarded the interaction between the Sultan and Medea with interest. This Krivalian showed much disrespect and seemed either ignorant of that fact or apathetic. Cocking her head slightly Shizuka notched this up to cultural dissimilarity.
I was acknowledged by her superior, the Sultan. I then greeted her as a lesser but she ignored my greeting. I am as nothing to her? Should I challenge her to a duel? Should I try again and assume that I was unheard? Perhaps I was not forgiven as easily as earlier indicated.

Yes, it’d be inappropriate to strike her, but some action needs to be taken. I will try again and perhaps she will acknowledge me, albeit as a lesser.

Clearing her throat quietly Shizuka tried again, this time with an even deeper bow. Quite the feat of balance and dexterity this bow held her straight hair pins just above the floor with the only bend in her body at the neck and hips.
“I bid you good day Medea-sama. I must congratulate you on the swift resolution of the harem conflict; surely a feat of fair arbitration if I have ever seen one.”

Huh? Medea thought. Figuring that it couldn't hurt, Medea offered a slight bow of her own, but nowhere near as deep as Shizuka's. "My apologies for being so direct, but I'm afraid I can't reciprocate fully. In Krioval, if one were to bow so deeply, one would get the impression that the recipient was either the Commander, the High Priest, or a divine avatar." As the other woman moved to depart, Medea hurriedly added, "Going so soon? I thought we were to tour the museums first? I'm in desperate need for some culture...and conversation."

(OOC: heh language bit. Good day as in I hope you have a good day not in, I am leaving.)
Shizuka shakes her head in the negative.
“I am of course staying for the tour and am honoured by your accompaniment. I must admit that the bow was not what I sought as much as the recognition. As we were introduced it is customary where I come from to make at least some verbal acknowledgement. Not doing so suggests that you feel I have not earned the respect to even be mentioned to you. I am very familiar with not being bowed to as it is only on Kanku in Nova Hope that it is practiced with any regularity.
“But I babble. Jut be comfortable in the fact that I address you as my superior here and I appreciate the respect you’ve shown me thus far.” Smiling again Shizuka motioned to both the Sultan, Medea, and herself.
“I am ready for conversation, the tour, and… most else we might undertake.”

20: An embarrassment of riches

Alexis had been quite suprised at the loads other candidates had emerged from the mall with; how could any one person buy so much? Was there something these others had been told that she hadn't? Surely an evening's clothes couldn't possibly require the profusion she saw around her.

She herself had bought only the necessities; shoes, underwear, a dress, jewellery. Her list wouldn't have been even that comprehensive, if it wasn't for her own clothes being in a crate somewhere between the submarine port and the Harem.

Like everything else in Vastiva so far, the Harem was impressively large. Alexis had seen the Royal Apartments in the Ironspire, which stretched warrenlike through three levels along the North side of the spire. All told, they would have come to about the same area - but they definitely lacked this airy sense of space.

In Ferris, everything was private, hidden from the world and the elements; here in Vastiva they were certainly hidden from the elements, but the near-paranoid secrecy of the Autarchy wasn't to be seen (or possibly it was better hidden).

She would certainly welcome the arrival of the al-Dalai; she had not a clue of the proper order in this place, left outside the groups which had formed prior to her arrival. For now, she clung to her bags, uncertain of what to do with them.

A "harem ghost" - a silver and white liveried girl - appeared at her elbow.

"Your pardon, Ayid, but our Sultan has stated the rooms are to be opened, save those with gold edging. If you would come this way?"

She led her to a vaguely curtained opening. "If it pleases, your things have been seen to; the sheets have been perfumed with lavender - though this can be changed if you wish it otherwise" she adds hastilly.

The room itself - just as every other silver edged room - is a dwelling into itself. While still just a single room, screens and curtains make it seem an apartment, with bedroom, reception or public area, and a smaller private area.

The closets are more then adequate for anyone's needs - in fact, the only thing truly missing is a kitchenette. And a bath or bathroom.

"Will this do, Ayid?" She smiles and gives a slight bow. "If you will, lunch will be served in the second dining room - any of us can escort you - and we are all to be blessed with the presence of our Vizier of International Activities... oh, yes, Ayid, pardons, she is the al-Dalai that was spoken of by our Herald. The others have proven to be... indisposed?"

(In the Museum with Sinjin... )

“… so, as you can see – would you turn that knob? Thank you – while Vastiva’s original interest was coal, it was much the diamonds present, not to mention other precious stones, which gave us a real hand up. The natives had no real use for such, save as decoration. And once we got some reasonably good gemcutters and a good supply of raw materials, we were able to trade for wood and other materials, which eventually led to our trade fleet.”

Sinjin stops for a bit, looking at his two guests. “Apologies, perhaps we should stop there – I did tell you this one was rather boring, unless you like ancient history. Besides, we can pick up after the thing tonight.”

“What? Oh, terribly sorry. Yes, I’m supposed to be ‘meeting you for the first time’ tonight, a little soiree finger food thing. Semiformal, which of course means everyone will be dressed in their itchy things and out to impress. I believe…” he checks his watch.

“Ah, well, nevermind, it is later then I thought. I had sent the candidates to one of the local malls to outfit themselves – but by now, they’re probably back and resting in their rooms.

“Yes, rooms. I’ve opened the silver rooms, you will all be assigned one – those travel beds are perfectly beastly, even when out on maneuvers. And while I can understand the need, that need is gone. No need for you not to be comfortable.”

He pulls his M-TCOD off his belt and considers. “Hmmm, it appears to be around lunch. Francesca will be giving a talk on etiquette and protocol, though she won’t be wearing anything shiny and gold…” – this gets a chuckle – “And you might as well be there. I’ll have someone take you back.”

He snaps his fingers; to the green robe that “appears” he speaks simply. “Please escort these two lovely ladies back to the Harem, they have a lunch and a dinner to prepare for.”
For this, he receives a nod – which his back is to as he takes Medea’s hand and gives it a swift kiss. “I shall be seeing you… again… tonight, perhaps?”

To Shizuka, he gives a slight bow. “We will need to talk more afterwards. And we have no difficulties with your bringing daisho if you see the need.” Another head-nod bow, and he retreats – and departs.



OOC: As there has been a conspiracy to remove the longer post from my ability to retrieve, I’ll have to satisfy with this… sorry!

Shizuka was absorbing the tour in earnest when the Sultan suggested its boring nature. She was a bit surprised at that comment, with classical education and degree in anthropology this sort of thing was right up her alley. Once the gathering was mentioned Shizuka paused, considering her wardrobe. Her dilemma laid not a lack of clothes but a lack of appropriate clothes.

Theoretically to be seen in public she should have the geisha attire on, yet this function would not be served by her and the nature of geisha is to serve. Continuing to walk with the Sultan and Medea again she considered her options.
I can of course wear the formal kimono, but it would not seem to be appropriate. Though made of mostly silk I won’t be itchy. I can of course be seen without the geisha attire but that would be a departure from the traditional ways, through theoretically the palace is to be my home. I will have to give this more thought. Possibly send a letter back home to inquire as to the practical application of the code here.

As Medea and Shizuka were escorted back through the lavish halls towards the harems, to what would be their new rooms, Shizuka thought of how she might resolve her problem. Turning to Medea beside her she offered up a polite smile.
“Medea-sama, if it would not be too much trouble may I ask: What are you wearing tonight?”

The pile of packages on her bed and almost spilling over into Ka'tal's space gave Myfanwy considerable satisfaction. Lose my luggage, would you? Hah!Wait till you see the bill!

"It's so-o-o good to have actual undies," she confided to Nasheed. "It was okay this past few days, washing a pair every night, but they did tend to stay a bit damp."

Nasheed grinned. She had been the perfect shopping-buddy, Myfanwy mused. She seemed to know instinctively that, "Oh, dear, do you think you could find the same thing in a different size?" always meant larger, preferably two sizes. And the variety of soothing answers she came up with for, "Does this make my butt look too big?" was absolutely brilliant.

On the bus home, too, as they'd looked through the collections of political cartoons, there hadn't been a single caricature she couldn't identify. She was plainly intelligent, well-educated, confident -- so why would a person like that be worrying about the computer goof-up, when even the dumbest boss could plainly see that it wasn't her fault?

Maybe something to do with that aircraft blowing up, theorised Myfanwy, leaping to an unjustified conclusion with all the skill of Cadwallader the goat exiting a pen. The explosion had been a constant backdrop to the shopping expedition, tuned out for the most part -- it was just "the news" -- but shocking when consciously noted. Did it mean something for Vastiva? Or for one of the candidates? Nasheed couldn't be lured to comment, but Myfanwy felt a sort of general uneasiness.

"Ask Ka'tal," went on Myfanwy's mental to-do list, along with "Ask Nivia". When everyone was chatting about the exodus of half the harem, she'd wanted someone to discuss it with, too. The pair from The Voltarum had been discreet, but she'd been really impressed to find they had already analysed things so thoroughly. So they'd be good to talk to about this latest event.

Enough of that, she decided, trying for a party mood. Let's unpack. Nasheed had secured tonight's garment and gone off somewhere with it, but there were lots of lovely crinkly things left ... and an envelope.

The handwriting on the address was enough. Mother Mirrim! Myfanwy devoured the news; line after line of tiny, domestic things that drove her mad when she was among them, but sang to her when she wasn't. Ah, here's something ... Have you seen any way we can do business with Vastiva? We don't have anything they actually need, but we might have things they'd like. Maybe we should send a trade mission ... Myfanwy giggled as she imagined the possible composition of that bunch; Malkie Mackie? Ianto? Hang on, what was this?

We miss your voice in the choir and your songs after supper. Glenys says she'd love to hear you sing 'Lord Albon's Dream' again, but Rhys says 'The Sorry Maidens' is funnier and Emrys gives his vote to that frisky one about the Cailleach. Maybe you can record us a CD ...

This was crazy! They already had all those songs available; they'd insisted before she left. And The Sorry Maidens was anything but funny, just as The Cailleach was anything but frisky. They were all ballads of the early times. Lord Albon, betrayed by his nearest liegeman, had mistakenly killed a devoted servant. The Sorry Maidens were sisters, one of whom had plotted to kill the other's husband after hearing false tales about him. As for The Cailleach, that was a particularly bloody lament about the old woman who washed the clothes of those about to die.

They're not game to say it directly. They're sending me a message, but what the hell is it? Myfanwy, frantically reciting the words of each song to herself, kept coming up with warnings, each more dire than the last. The Sultan would believe that she was an assassin. The Sultan would believe that all the candidates were assassins. Everybody would be killed ...

Mother Mirrim sure knew how to make a party go with a bang.

At lunch, Thana had a new trick for Engred. Rigging tape.
For the first time in a week, she could eat without being fed- it wasn't really rigging-tape, per-se, it was more along the line of velcro-stickies on the fork and spoon, and corresponding stickies on her right hand bandages.
She still had to have her meat cut for her-but anything that didn't need cutting she could handle on her own.

"[sigh] I wonder how Medea's doing..." she muttered idly. It felt like Zukie and Kera-Light had been avoiding her since the bombing, and few of the other girls seemed able to look at her directly, though Engred realized, her 'minder' hadn't changed shifts today-she had the same guard, and the same Ghost every time she went anywhere in the Harem since this morning.

Thana brought her an envelope, and opened it.

"Who's it from?" Engred asked.

"Thor Stahlhaver." the Ghost replied.

Engred smiled. Uncle Thor... Her father's 'mad' half-brother, had chosen the Military over the family business, and married a woman in the Department of Competetition and Antitrust Enforcement. Dad and him are oil and water...this could be interesting.
"I guess it's safe to read it, then, Uncle Thor very rarely says embarassing things..." Engred said, and set the spoon on the tray in front of her.

She man-handled the letter flat onto the table, and read...

"Dear Engred:

I don't want to alarm you, but we've had threats from a Vastivan group over your going to join that Harem. I expect the Sultan's got good security people over there, and you'll be safe, but Carrie said you ought to be warned anyway-that some folks might try some kind of violence or something.

Your Mother is well, we visited her home two days ago, and she says all is forgiven-it took me several hours to explain to her that you needed to go your own path, and being a village wise-woman wasn't the path you chose-incidentally, your cousin Gemma was nominated to the Canton Court in Mojknojka Canton-I think she'll do fine as a Judge, she sends her love too.

The Alliance Joint Command is falling apart, it looks like maybe you made the right decision after all.

Your father is involved in some kind of business down in Phlynt Canton involving Dr. Heisenberg-I can't imagine what it may be, but when a Nuclear Scientist and a Structural Geologist are both working on the same project, It's probably not something your grandmother would approve of. The 23rd Infantry Regiment is pulling security duties, so whatever it is, it's something they don't want spread around the news yet.

Do write when you can, of all your side of the family, I think you're still the one with real potential to bring some honour back into the family. I just wish you had found a different way...strike that, it's my moralistic side preaching again.

I heard you got hurt-actually, I saw a photo. How in hell did you get both arms injured badly enough to need that kind of wrapping? I hope you weren't down in the Palace Kitchens trying to tell the cooks how to make soup!

There was more, but it was all like the first few paragraphs-vague warnings, home-news, family arguments.

"This ... this will do, thank you," Alexis replied. "All this will be fine."

The room was bigger than her entire apartment back in the Ironspire (although that, carved out of the ferrous rock, had the advantage of solid walls).

OOC: I sat down to write and my brain exploded. Most upsetting.

The Lunchroom...

Engred noticed it first-the babble in the room tapered off as someone came in.

Medea was back, and Shizuka was with her-and all eyes were on the two of them.

Some of the other girls frowned, and Engred found herself smiling like a fool. Missed the trip, but it looks like... yeah, it looks like Medea's still here, and still the Alpha Female.

She also noticed that Shizuka's blades were with her-in their customary places.

...and Shizuka's Honour is confirmed. They'd never let her carry those if the Sultan didn't trust her. This is a good thing.

Sharon, In Holding...

Whatever the ship's doctor gave her, was wearing off, and the come-down was getting heavy. Sharon kind of 'pulled inward' as the Polar-Bear class vehicle rumbled along. Her guards, a pair of green-robes, sat in silent vigilance.

The notebooks she'd filled on the trip across the straits were collected and currently in a sealed case.

The track stopped, and a woman with several more guards was waiting.

Her guards gently nudged her out of the track, and into a large garage-like structure, built as a pass-through. Sharon realized this wasn't a prison, when the Ambulance pulled in almost on top of the military vehicle, and a crew of EMT-looking people rushed a patient in through a double-door.

"I'm at a hospital?" she finally spoke-the ride here had taken more than half an hour.

"Yes. Normally you would be medically-processed at the port of entry, but certain precautions had to be taken, given the events of this morning." The woman said.

Sharon looked at her, confused, "what event?"

The woman motioned for her to follow, and the guards behind her nudged her forward.

"You'll hear about it soon enough, Miss Henrik." the woman and the guards took her in through a side-door, and through several side-corridors that appeared (by glances through the occasional window) to mirror the public areas of the medical facility.

"So, I'm getting a screening?" Sharon asked, secretly relieved that she had something to think about.

"Not exactly... you've been admitted as a patient." The woman said, as they reached an elevator. "Floor seven."

“I shall be seeing you… again… tonight, perhaps?”


Medea bowed to the Sultan, though perhaps not so deeply as she was capable, and said, coyly, "If Fate...and you...allow."

“Medea-sama, if it would not be too much trouble may I ask: What are you wearing tonight?”

Sinjin had left, and Medea was now faced with an important decision. Looking to the other woman, she said, "Well, I'll bet everybody else is going to try to outdo one another with colors and jewelry, so I figure I'll go the opposite route. Black evening gown, maybe, maybe with a gold pendant I brought from home? I'm not much for earrings. What were you planning?" The Kriovalian woman was definitely interested in Shizuka's response. Up until now, she had considered the other woman to be a direct rival to power, but the more she thought, the more she realized that Shizuka might also be an incredibly useful ally, especially given the rather unusual political situation surrounding the Antarctic empire.

(OOC: FYI taking off to Boston for the weekend.)

Shizuka was glad that Medea answered so earnestly. The answer offered up an openness and understanding, though it was not as helpful as she would have hoped. Carefully considering the question poised to her she decided it served no interest to hold the truth of the matter from Medea.
“To be frank I have no idea. My personal possessions here are littered with traditional attire and the sort. The problem is that as Geisha each of these robes suggests servitude, yet I am only acting as a servant in a very loose manner tonight. So it would be awkward to be waited upon while wearing the traditional robes of the Geisha. The obvious answer would be to appear without the robes. Yet tradition mandates that I must appear with my facial makeup on to the Sultan. So I am left with a sort of cultural difference.” Shizuka sighed at this before lamenting. “Perhaps inspiration will strike once my clothes are laid out on my bed; which thankfully I now have.”

Already though ideas began to circulate through Shizuka’s head. Perhaps Medea-sama’s idea has merit beyond its initial suggestion. Looking back to Medea she spoke again repressing a smile.
“Medea-sama I would not want to intrude on your statement of sorts but if it would not be displeasure able to you I might take creative license from the idea you have given me.”

With simple, polite, and efficient use of subtle proddings, the candidates were herded into the second dining room; the presence of the purple robes was almost taken as a "given" by now, and they did their best to blend in with the purple-covered walls. Long tables had been set out, filled with delicacies from every candidates nation, along with good helpings of Vastivan standard fare. Coffee, tea, an assortment of different beverages was available.

"If you will, Ayid? Ah, yes the al-Dalai shall be down shortly. It may be she is still finishing matters with our Sultan?"

With simple, polite, and efficient use of subtle proddings, the candidates were herded into the second dining room; the presence of the purple robes was almost taken as a "given" by now, and they did their best to blend in with the purple-covered walls. Long tables had been set out, filled with delicacies from every candidates nation, along with good helpings of Vastivan standard fare. Coffee, tea, an assortment of different beverages was available.

"If you will, Ayid? Ah, yes the al-Dalai shall be down shortly. It may be she is still finishing matters with our Sultan?"

Engred chose a seat near the largest open-space in the room, and sat down gracefully with a book salvaged from her belongings. The crude manual-dexterity problem of her bandaged hands didn't stop her from reading quietly while she waited.
Engred wasn't deliberately isolating herself from the other candidates, but the nature of one's upbringing tends to override conscious desires. Thus, while most of the others were engaging in animated conversation with selected peers, she sat somewhat apart, the two she'd felt most akin to, (Medea, and Kera Leight) being otherwise busy or absent.

This didn't stop her from feeling isolated, but it was a familiar, if unhappy, sensation she'd borne through most of her life, and thus felt almost normal.

“Medea-sama I would not want to intrude on your statement of sorts but if it would not be displeasure able to you I might take creative license from the idea you have given me.”

Medea looked up in surprise. "Oh Gods," she uttered, though shock was giving way to bemusement. "How creative are we talking about?"

OOC: glad I didnt miss much this weekend... heh this is short, but wanted to post something...

Neira and Ka'tal walked with the group into the second dining room. They were both famished, and pratically drooled over the assortment in front of them. They sat down in no particular spot and made themselves cups of tea.

Neira had no idea what to expect from this former Harem member they were about to meet. But she had a good mind to observe all she did and say, and hopefully get the chance to talk to her privately later.

Ka'tal was still dreading the fact she was going to wear a dress later that night.

And somewhere, many miles away, Guy Smiley was in complete agony...

“Well. I have within my possession a slinky black dress with built in choker. It raises my bust and sits on my body in a very provocative manner. The choker would allow me to do up my makeup and not let anyone see where the white ends and my true skin colour begins, but still offer them a peek of my true skin colour via my arms, legs and cleavage. The dress is knee length and sleeveless after all, but it is an asymmetrical cut and is ankle length on the right side.” Shizuka paused for a moment considering how she’d look.
“I’d have my hair done into the formal bun held with two straight needless, as you see now. I would have silk runners on the needle heads, something light and airy, no red, to match my lipstick. The only thing I can’t imagine looking entirely appropriate would be the cloak. I would have the sword on my back, just right of my spine, for the dinner but to put people at ease I think a cloak would be in order. I have a clan cloak with the crest embroidered into the weave. It is not terribly discrete but the gems in the weave are very subtle and are only seen when I move to refract light.
“Oh thank you Medea-sama I think I know what my outfit should be.”

In the Hospital...

cold. Hard, slick. Sharon sighed, as the scanner ran over her, and tried the restraints agian. The doctors were polite enough, but they didn't seem all that reluctant to use the hospital's "Muscle" to make her comply with their diagnostic efforts. well, at least it won't bruise... she'd tried to make a break for it when the greeter told her she'd been turned into a patient. she'd made it ten whole yards before an orderly neatly took her off her feet and restrained her.

What Sharon couldn't see, was causing a bit of a stir in the monitor booth.

Most bipolars are the result of chemical imbalance. most. This makes treatment of the disorder a simple matter, though it often requires therapy to break the mental habit of "Going on the 'coaster".

In a few cases, bipolar disorder, or other instabilities, may be the result of actual organic brain-damage. Few cases of such injury leave the patient able to put together a coherent thought, much less demonstrate a genius-level intellect.

Sharon's CAT scan showed dark, scar-tissue patches in her brain-the kind associated with a brain-injury.

The 'Doctors' in Cadillac-Gage were rapidly becoming something of a laughingstock among the medical professionals here.

Sharon Henrik had brain-damage, the kind associated with early-childhood-abuse, and her 'prescriptions' were, effectively, nothing more than 'chemical riot controls', the sort of thing given by unskilled or ignorant medical personnel in frustration.

"LET ME OUT OF HERE!!!" she shouted. The mild sedative given on the boat was wearing off, this, combined with stress from the journey and being in a foreign land, made her cranky. When Sharon gets cranky, we mean, 'almost psychotic.'

She thrashed violently against the restraints.

"... and I'm going to look like a sparrow that's pecked its way through a patty-cake paper, but I suppose I'll be sustained by the knowledge that I'm (sigh) Doing The Right Thing ..."

Having snatched up a notebook and pen when the purple-robes started their herding, Myfanwy at least had something to do.

She'd already penned an invitation to Nivia, properly embellished with all the Herald's formal titles but signed with a few jokey titles she'd invented for herself -- surely that experienced person wouldn't believe "Doyenne of the Goatherds" was an official post? Anyway, "Sister of the Sobriety of Folksingers (Lapsed)" would be a dead giveaway.

She'd asked if Nivia would be interested in dining with Neira and Ka'tal as well. The older woman might prefer that this first in what Myfanwy hoped would be a series of friendly get-togethers should be just the two of them. But that, of course, was up to her, as even the time and date was up to her; Nivia's professional responsibilities would mean that her friends had to be flexible.

Now Myfanwy was busy with her reply to Mother Mirrim. She'd just described the dress she planned to wear tonight. Everyone at home would be surprised she was being so proper. But she was some sort of ambassador, she supposed, so she had some sort of obligation to look ... well, normal. At first, anyway.

But what was she going to say about the incomprehensible warnings Findhorn had sent her? If she didn't acknowledge that she'd at least got the drift of their concern, they'd just reply with something more insultingly obvious -- or maybe do something official, Goddess forfend. What song title could she use that would let them know she had been warned, but tell them to shut up?

Inspiration struck. With an evil smile, Myfanwy set about composing a sentence that would innocently mention that sentimental oldie from the previous century, Killing Me Softly.

She wondered, in passing, if she'd ever grow out of this propensity to let the fox into the henhouse? She hoped not.

"LET ME OUT OF HERE!!!" she shouted. The mild sedative given on the boat was wearing off, this, combined with stress from the journey and being in a foreign land, made her cranky. When Sharon gets cranky, we mean, 'almost psychotic.'

She thrashed violently against the restraints.

Nurse Abjra was at her side in a moment, airhypo in hand. 50mg of Mepherol flooded into her bloodstream instantly.

200mg, and you could catch fire without caring.

She did her the kindness of keeping near, and a gentle touch as the drug took effect, slowing motor reflexes and removing the nervous systems ability to transmit stress.

"Now, Sharon... Sharon, I'm over here, dear... good girl, can you hear me?... Sharon?... There, you go, easy..."

She watched as Sharon's thrashing completely subsided. "Easy, girl. It'll be over soon, promise."

On the other side of the wall, prints were forwarded into databases, surgeries became a plausible option - and all of it was forwarded to Nasiri, though the doctors might not have been fully aware of this.

Medea sifted through her collection of clothing. Deftly snatching a simple silk gown from the collection, black to match her rather pale skin (especially by Kriovalian standards), she found a reasonably private section of a room and slipped it on. Returning to her luggage, she selected a tasteful gold pendant and clasped it around her neck. It had been handed down for four generations through her mother's family, and what it lacked in flair it made up for with history. Very few craftsmen were as skilled in metalworking in modern Krioval these days. Thinking about other accessories, Medea decided on a red ribbon to braid into her long hair, if only to keep it out of her face, but then changed her mind. She'd wear her hair naturally for the "first" meeting with the Sultan. Black heels rounded out the ensemble, though the Kriovalian cursed the necessity of wearing those types of shoes - they usually hurt like hell by the end of the night. Well, I've got something to look forward to at the end, she thought, smile coming unbidden to her face.

Nurse Abjra was at her side in a moment, airhypo in hand. 50mg of Mepherol flooded into her bloodstream instantly.

200mg, and you could catch fire without caring.

She did her the kindness of keeping near, and a gentle touch as the drug took effect, slowing motor reflexes and removing the nervous systems ability to transmit stress.

"Now, Sharon... Sharon, I'm over here, dear... good girl, can you hear me?... Sharon?... There, you go, easy..."

She watched as Sharon's thrashing completely subsided. "Easy, girl. It'll be over soon, promise."

On the other side of the wall, prints were forwarded into databases, surgeries became a plausible option - and all of it was forwarded to Nasiri, though the doctors might not have been fully aware of this.


"i really didn't mean to break it..." Sharon lapsed into confused mumbling.

Even under such heavy sedation, she wasn't entirely quiet, her waking dreams alternating between ultra-logical analysis of high-level speculative physics, and childish 'defense' pleas to some unseen person, promising to be good, promising not to embarass whoever it was tormenting her at the moment.
Sometimes, the babble ran together in strange and disturbing patterns, and often, it actually shifted into an almost incomprehensible sub-dialect that was derived from english-or seemed to be.

Fifty milligrams was a "Safe" dose, given her general health and size. It was certainly sufficient to keep her from hurting herself or others-but it seemed to let the 'demons' out to play in her psyche.

OOC: can i join in, i wanna get my teeth into a decent rp

At the suggestion/request of the Harem attendants, Alexis made her way/was led to the second dining room. Once again her gut twisted itself into knots - which was odd, as she'd never suffered much in the way of social anxiety back in the Iron Domain, or in any of the other countries she'd visited. Maybe it was just nerves.

She took her tea in the Krismen style; dark as sin and thick enough with condensed milk "to stand a spoon in it". Like most of Ferris' cuisine, it was very much an aquired taste.

OOC: Brain still somewhat exploded.

Francesca did not so much appear as she simply was there. In skill long born of diplomatic and other service, she wound her way within the milling women, trading pleasantries and giving gentle suggestions - or asking for such - as to the cuisine, to the beverages, as to appearance or general gossip. She blushed nicely at a few off-color bits, then wove herself to another part of the room and gave others cause for reddened cheeks with the same bits, nicely twisted and folded into a conversation.

When at last she had cycled her way to the head of the room, she merely stood apart, watching from the walls before giving two sharp claps of her hands.

"Greetings, candidates. Are you enjoying yourselves?"

A few nodded their heads; a scattered few gave spoken assent. For the most part, the room stayed dumb, wondering at this new "thing".

"For those who do not know - or did not ask," and that was most of them, "I am Francesca Berenstein al-Dalai, current Vizier of Intenational Activities, former Ambassador to British Morocco, former Consulate Staff of the Vastivan Embassy to the Ottoman Khaif Empire and of the embassy to IDF - and for eighteen years a past member of the sisterhood which you seek.

"Tonight," she paused, "Tonight will be your grand chance to meet many of our Viziers, Ministers, Sharifs, Beys, Pashas, Caliphs, Imam, Kjik, Kjak, Rebbi; you may hear a few Alids, Ayids, and Saiyyids. A few may wear the suffix "Ra". You are likely to meet many of their deputies and helpmeets, not a few of their mistresses and Jeeves, quite possibly their dates - be they there voluntarilly or hired for the evening.

"You will meet no Emirs, and you will find none of the Mossadiqqah in attendance."

She looks at the group for a moment. "It would serve you all well if you remembered some of them. The position you seek can be one of passive luxury - or of impact, if you so choose."

A smile catches her lips. "I am sure many will choose the former, and there is nothing wrong with becoming a butterfly under glass. It is a life of relative ease, gentle pleasures, and a complete lack of want.

"For those who aspire to more, I call for your attention. There are few protocols in Vastiva - fewer then elsewhere, particularly when one expects the foreigner not to know our ways. What there are, there are - and, truly, you may choose to entirely ignore them. If you so choose."

The room is given to silence. Let us pause and see who bites the hook which dangles... come closer, my pretties... let us see who wishes to truly dance.

To Cadillac-Gage went an official messenger, bearing to Sharon's father two items.

The first was a release for medical services and "other services to be determined at a later time", to be signed by the next of kin - and notarized.

The second was a very large check, to be released after the signing of the first. Not quite as large as a lottery win, in Vastivan terms it was certainly worth five years of work in a very good position.

At the rate of exchange, it was nearly thirteen years pay to someone in Cadillac-Gage. All for a single signature and release...

"For those who aspire to more, I call for your attention. There are few protocols in Vastiva - fewer then elsewhere, particularly when one expects the foreigner not to know our ways. What there are, there are - and, truly, you may choose to entirely ignore them. If you so choose."

Engred looked over Francesca Al-Dalai, as the pause stretched into the tens of seconds. She raised her hand, finally. nobody else is going to ask, then I will...

In the Hospital...

Sharon's waking dream was not abating...

"...your father spoils you. but I know the truth you little bitch. you'll take your medicine!" Sharon could see Touma vomiting. She'd seen what mother put in the dosage. she shook her head, and backed away. "no. that's not medicine, that's poison." At six, Sharon Henrik was already quite bright.
the frying pan slashed out of the left... her nurse heard the denial clearly, and Sharon's head twitched...
"...energy constant...Miss Henrik, you have something to contribute?" her first-year prof asked sarcastically. she was in class, one of the few safe-places she knew of. "Light can be bent, yes? How then can you call even white light a universal constant?" she asked.
Professor Dunnar rolled his eyes, and began going back over the basic theory once more, ignoring her question.
Sharon tuned the man out, and began working the calculations of Einstein's theory-for the thousandth time, At thirteen, she could not make the numbers add up...

the semiconscious girl began muttering equations again, inserting real values into what had to be Einsteinian relativity...

"...found her in the bedroom." Her father's trial had dragged on for three months now. Sharon was sitting with her Grandmother in the rear of the Canton Court, helplessly watching them prosecute her father. The family had agreed to throw him to the wolves rather than let her tell the court what really happened. Not that the word of a 'confused' and 'disturbed' fourteen-year-old would carry much water with the Jury, and even two dead brothers would not be evidence enough in a society that doesn't believe a woman can be as abusive as any man.
She looked up at Gramma, and realized something she'd never realized before.
She hated the old witch...

Sharon moaned.

"...Our Mother Earth." She was being forced to do this. Standing in the cold, naked, while some shrivelled old loon beseeched the Earth Goddess for protection. Sharon's rational nature rebelled against it hard, and she was freezing. "That's it. You can't make me do this anymore." she snapped, and walked away from the circle. Hands tried to stop her, she shook them off. "Gramma, I'm bigger than you now, you can't make do your looney rituals. I'm going back to town." She spat on the ground, "As for your 'sacred Earth', Nature doesn't respect humans. Go freeze in the mud if you want. I'm through with this. it just keeps everyone poor."

her expression twisted into a feral grin.

"...professor, it would work better if you placed the charges at these strata, and it would produce less fallout to use a higher-level fusion reaction-say in the four to five megaton range." She'd worked the calculations out precisely-the engineering blasts would not only build the canal, but it would also eradicate huge tracts of bad experiences and finish the "Friends of the Earth" as a society, by erasing their secret nests...

Long before any releases appeared, surgery was scheduled.

A far cry from bone saws and cranial topography, the only sign of anything having been done - externally - would be a mark attributable to a vampire with a taste for dandruff, and a discolored patch which would fade in it's own time.

Internally? That was under debate. Even with fundamental knowledge beyond the range of Cadillac-Gage's dreams, there was still much which could go wrong.

Much of which could be planned against, much of which could be hedged against... but it was a brain, not a toy. And breaking it could lead to the unforseen, even with the best of intentions.

Alexis' hand went up, along with several others, several seconds after Engred's. It was almost an example of the Abilene Paradox; nobody wanted to be the first to do something, for fear of being the only one, but when someone did, many followed.

In Alexis' case, she wasn't so interested in "impact" per se - she had never wanted to be a mover and shaker, and didn't now - but to be entirely a pampered, protected creature seemed foolish - how would one protect oneself, if that protection was retracted? Surely it was better to know the ways Vastiva operated.

The thing about a butterfly under glass, after all, was that it had a pin in it.

Francesca Berenstein al-Dalai gives a slight curtseying bow with a slight head turn. "Indeed, ladies," she rises smiling, "this may be a classroom of sorts, but we do not stand on such ceremony - for the moment, so to speak. I am indeed gratified you seek to confer onto me the status of 'teacher'.

"Shall I speak a bit, or do you have your questions? Oh - and those not so interested are free to leave, or to stay, as they choose. I do... request you not disrupt the proceedings."

She gives another of the same, odd bows.

Engred Blushed. "Please, go ahead... sorry if I interrupted."

Francesca favored her with a gentle smile. "Ah, but I have - two lessons so far, at the least. Perhaps you noticed them?" The timbre of hope touches the last word - and her gaze remains on Engred.

Elsewhere...

In space, no one can hear you scream.

In Goldie's tender mercies, they might hear you scream - but I doubt they'd care much.

The photographer was being given a tour - which meant he was just short of being drawn around on his elbows, shown what would and would not be photographed and centered, and liberally lubricated with libations from Goldie's rather extensive cellar - in the name of Art, of course.

On the other hand, Goldie herself was "getting ready" for things - which meant another "guest" of the Vizier was going to be matched to what she had chosen to wear - and if things did not match, he was due for another fitting.

They didn't match.

Poor boy.

Francesca favored her with a gentle smile. "Ah, but I have - two lessons so far, at the least. Perhaps you noticed them?" The timbre of hope touches the last word - and her gaze remains on Engred.

"I am not certain. I notice that while your presence was announced as being that of an instructor, you seem surprised to be considered as a teacher. I find this somewhat confusing. What is the significance of the bowing gesture you have made twice since coming in?"

Engred fell back on her people's native-manner here. She added a second question to it, before sitting down again: "Mossadiqqah, would that be the mindwalker strega that was here with the guard-captain earlier, or does the term apply to all the armed guard?"

She then did a curtsey, and sat down again.

"I am not certain. I notice that while your presence was announced as being that of an instructor, you seem surprised to be considered as a teacher. I find this somewhat confusing. What is the significance of the bowing gesture you have made twice since coming in?"

Engred fell back on her people's native-manner here. She added a second question to it, before sitting down again: "Mossadiqqah, would that be the mindwalker strega that was here with the guard-captain earlier, or does the term apply to all the armed guard?"

She then did a curtsey, and sat down again.

Francesca smiles warmly. "This particular bow" - and she does it again - "is used by members of the Harem, present or prior, and none other. It can be used to show a particular opinion - affirming with the chin moved left, disapproval with it right - and of course there is the... distraction afforded by it's motion. Normally, it is considered good manners to use it, as it shows your position and announces a form of... graceful femininity. Some take this as submission or somehow being lesser, but it is none of these things.

"Teachers," the topic moves aside rapidly, "are prized in Vastiva, usually more then other lands. It is a condition of appreciable status to be a 'teacher' as opposed to merely an 'instructor'. This comes from our language patterns - the exact word used, the inflection, and the placement all imply something, though it does take an artistic if not metaphoric mind to appreciate all that is being said. To date, we know of one foreigner who has managed this, and he is a bard... which, strangely enough, is another prized position.

"Finally, the Mossadiqqah" - and she gives an involuntary shudder - "are the Sultan's interrogators. They number few, and have a tendency to cause a ceasure to conversation. They are rarely employed, and then only at the order of the Sultan or by condition of usage in maintaining his house. Most often, they are used to settle guilt or innocence in treason cases, though they certainly have... other uses. The harem guards are most often referred to as 'Kadin' when they leave the area, or as a direct reference to them as opposed to the Sultan's Guard - the 'green robes' you see about often.

"Very good questions, my dear, do you have others?"

Francesca smiles warmly. "This particular bow" - and she does it again - "is used by members of the Harem, present or prior, and none other. It can be used to show a particular opinion - affirming with the chin moved left, disapproval with it right - and of course there is the... distraction afforded by it's motion. Normally, it is considered good manners to use it, as it shows your position and announces a form of... graceful femininity. Some take this as submission or somehow being lesser, but it is none of these things.

"Teachers," the topic moves aside rapidly, "are prized in Vastiva, usually more then other lands. It is a condition of appreciable status to be a 'teacher' as opposed to merely an 'instructor'. This comes from our language patterns - the exact word used, the inflection, and the placement all imply something, though it does take an artistic if not metaphoric mind to appreciate all that is being said. To date, we know of one foreigner who has managed this, and he is a bard... which, strangely enough, is another prized position.

"Finally, the Mossadiqqah" - and she gives an involuntary shudder - "are the Sultan's interrogators. They number few, and have a tendency to cause a ceasure to conversation. They are rarely employed, and then only at the order of the Sultan or by condition of usage in maintaining his house. Most often, they are used to settle guilt or innocence in treason cases, though they certainly have... other uses. The harem guards are most often referred to as 'Kadin' when they leave the area, or as a direct reference to them as opposed to the Sultan's Guard - the 'green robes' you see about often.

"Very good questions, my dear, do you have others?"


Engred felt a mild jolt of surprise at Francesca's shudder when she described the Mossadiqqah, but the indirect confirmation of her question-and the correct name for the Purple-Robes was gratifying.

She glanced around the room, noting some of the others had raised hands earlier, and were now paying rapt attention.

Ehtiä , sinun ilve on tukala!* Engred stood again, "Could you teach me that gesture? I think we who-would-be-accepted need every scrap of protocol you can give us-I would not want to be an embarassment..." she offered a pleading look.

[*"Maker, your Prank is Uncomfortable!" a {common} prayer for deliverance, if you will. Engred is rather unused to being the centre of attention.]

Sharon...

"Te areena hupsu we , I-KIRJAIN osata mikä te haluta. Te kanisteri ei loukkaantunut we anymore!!"

Sharon's drugged ramblings were getting louder. The nurse tried reassuring her again, and she barked out (unknowing)

"I-KIRJAIN Hävittää Te. Te pitäisi harus avulla Ehdottoman..."

She stiffened, then relaxed again.

"Johon on Engred? johon on minun kaveri kas noin?" she murmurred. Forty minutes into the drug-cycle, the sedative's deepest effects seemed to be stripping layers away.

[ooc: I 'Borrowed" an english-Finnish dictionary, it seemed appropriate...]

Engred felt a mild jolt of surprise at Francesca's shudder when she described the Mossadiqqah, but the indirect confirmation of her question-and the correct name for the Purple-Robes was gratifying.

She glanced around the room, noting some of the others had raised hands earlier, and were now paying rapt attention.

Ehtiä , sinun ilve on tukala!* Engred stood again, "Could you teach me that gesture? I think we who-would-be-accepted need every scrap of protocol you can give us-I would not want to be an embarassment..." she offered a pleading look.

[*"Maker, your Prank is Uncomfortable!" a {common} prayer for deliverance, if you will. Engred is rather unused to being the centre of attention.]

Francesca nods, raising her skirt a bit. "Note where my feet are. It makes the motion a little more comfortable - even in high heels."

She again - and much slower - performs the curtsey-bow.

"If any of you are familiar with Japanese culture, the time you hold the bow is of some importance, for it shows respect the longer you hold the lowest point - though, again, this is somewhat of an option. Most don't expect you to hold it for any time, though most do," and a slight giggle escapes, "many seem to enjoy the view.

"We also use a short head-nodding bow, little more then an acceptance of someone's presence. This is appropriate while walking, or seeking to acknowledge the presence of someone else while in conversation. You may add a slight dip," which she does, "in the case of someone of exalted rank passing by - though to a member of the Harem, that is few indeed. You may also use this to show favor to someone - such as your friend, Sharon."

Francesca nods, raising her skirt a bit. "Note where my feet are. It makes the motion a little more comfortable - even in high heels."

She again - and much slower - performs the curtsey-bow.

"If any of you are familiar with Japanese culture, the time you hold the bow is of some importance, for it shows respect the longer you hold the lowest point - though, again, this is somewhat of an option. Most don't expect you to hold it for any time, though most do," and a slight giggle escapes, "many seem to enjoy the view.

"We also use a short head-nodding bow, little more then an acceptance of someone's presence. This is appropriate while walking, or seeking to acknowledge the presence of someone else while in conversation. You may add a slight dip," which she does, "in the case of someone of exalted rank passing by - though to a member of the Harem, that is few indeed. You may also use this to show favor to someone - such as your friend, Sharon."

Engred's posture stiffened. Sharon?? Magritte had promised to take care of... Engred felt a wave of guilt. I was supposed to communicate... She wanted to ask how Francesca knew about Sharon, or why she'd been brought up...

"Like this?" she practiced the curtsy-bow. "and I hold it longer for those above me, like so?" she held it for several seconds, "and for friends, I would do it thusly?" She practiced the second one.

[ooc-Francesca would catch the 'stunned' pretty easily. So would anyone with a view of Engred's face.]

Engred's posture stiffened. Sharon?? Magritte had promised to take care of... Engred felt a wave of guilt. I was supposed to communicate... She wanted to ask how Francesca knew about Sharon, or why she'd been brought up...

"Like this?" she practiced the curtsy-bow. "and I hold it longer for those above me, like so?" she held it for several seconds, "and for friends, I would do it thusly?" She practiced the second one.

[ooc-Francesca would catch the 'stunned' pretty easily. So would anyone with a view of Engred's face.]

Each one gets a nod from Francesca. "Good dear, but you don't have to put your chin quite to your chest. You might walk into something." She smiles warmly.

And if that doesn't get her asking to talk to me later, nothing will...

Each one gets a nod from Francesca. "Good dear, but you don't have to put your chin quite to your chest. You might walk into something." She smiles warmly.

And if that doesn't get her asking to talk to me later, nothing will...

I must talk to her later... if she knows Sharon... There were too many ways that Francesca-Dalai might have knowledge, but Engred's gut feeling, is that Sharon had done something and gotten into trouble. "I would like to talk to you later, if that would be convenient, but I am sure the others have better questions than I do at this moment." engred said, doing the Curtsey-bow and holding it for a few seconds before sitting down.

I must talk to her later... if she knows Sharon... There were too many ways that Francesca-Dalai might have knowledge, but Engred's gut feeling, is that Sharon had done something and gotten into trouble. "I would like to talk to you later, if that would be convenient, but I am sure the others have better questions than I do at this moment." engred said, doing the Curtsey-bow and holding it for a few seconds before sitting down.

"Good - add a slight look upwards to the person if you make a request, it makes more impact. Anyone else care to attempt?"

A few try, then a few more, Francesca getting each into the "right" mode of movement and position. She gives a nod to Ka'tal - "You need not, but it does not breech protocol that you do".

Neira watched closely as Francesca showed them the bows. She knew they had some signifigance even before the question was asked, but she was glad to have the opportunity to practice them now, with such a fine teacher.

Ka'tal sat and watched as the women around her practiced this bow. The obvious 'view' it presented, wearing the right garments, was hard to swallow, but then again, she had to remind herself where she was.. and what Neira was getting into.

She gives a nod to Ka'tal - "You need not, but it does not breech protocol that you do".

Ka'tal smiled, and began practicing the bow with the slight dip - the one to show favor, or to regard a passing high ranking member. Hopefully, this will be the only one I will ever need...

***

Guy Smiley had read once about religions around the world. In college, he thought. Why had he taken a religion class in what is one of the most atheist countries in the world?

He was pretty sure that a lot of hot women took it too. Actually, he was quite certain.

He closed his eyes. Right now, he was thinking about a certain class session near the end of the semester. He was rudely interrupted as he was staring at a nice young lady and her low cut shirt...

"...Mr. Rootgear! I said, what is one of the fundmentals of Buddhism?"
Guy fumbled. "Oh... Uh... oh yeah, Karma?"
"And what does it teach?"

Guy, despite his lackluster approach to academics, was blessed with an astounding quick and brilliant mind. Once he read something, it just seemed to stick. It made reporting a breeze. It also often scared him at what his mind remembered. He replied to his professor:

"In this world nothing happens to a person that he does not for some reason or other deserve. Usually, men... or women... of ordinary intellect cannot comprehend the actual reason or reasons. The definite invisible cause or causes of the visible effect is not necessarily confined to the present life, they may be traced to a proximate or remote past birth - previous lives. According to Buddhism, this inequality is due not only to heredity, environment, or in other words, "nature and nurture", but also to Karma. In other words, it is the result of our own past actions and our own present doings. We ourselves are responsible for our own happiness and misery. We create our own Heaven. We create our own Hell. We are the architects of our own fate."

"Very good.... Because, as we know, Buddha said...."

At about that point, he stopped listeing and went back to the blouse to his right....

He snapped out of his daydream, opened and rubbed his eyes, and looked down at his new outfit. One that "just had to" match. He looked over at Goldie.

Karma... He had never believed in something so much as he did right now.

Sharon...

Half-awake she tried to sit up, and bellowed
"Ajaa ei antaa heidät hiottu we auki!!! ajaa ei haluta jotta häviö we! Johon on Engred. we edellyttää jotta juoruta jotta häntä..."
Hssst!
She went back under. it was a close-call, having the patient wake up right before surgery. Rare, but not unheard of-some people simply have more resistance to Anaesthetics than others, and it's not a resistance that can be found if the patient has never been under before.

Dipping and swaying through the various moves, Myfanwy wondered what Brother Rhys would make of "all this bowing and scraping". A few years ago it had bid fair to become a major theological issue back on Findhorn, with Rhys arguing that the Goddess needed no such submissive nonsense from Her children.

Fortunately, since it would have been difficult to train the whole Abbey out of their habitual devotions, compromise had been reached. Everyone else continued bowing while Rhys, spine unbending, awkwardly hugged a chosen member of the congregation in his "embrace of acceptance". No-one ever told him that the post of hug-ee was chosen by drawn straws, loser cops it.

But, according to Francesca's explanation, Vastivan bowing was special. Not submissive; not a declaration of inferiority. "R-E-S-P-E-C-T!" recited Myfanwy to herself, finding it helped her keep the rhythm. She would certainly like to perform this move faultlessly for Nivia -- and the 'view' wouldn't matter, either.

Just as well, given that there's as little to see when I bow as there is when Neira does.

Maybe she could curtsey nicely to Nasheed, since she'd certainly come to respect that young person's abilities. Would it be proper, though?

Perhaps this Francesca-Dalai could help with her social dilemma. At the moment, talking to Nasheed felt like discovering your best friend's working in the fast-food joint you've just wandered into. How much can you talk to her before she gets into trouble? How much can you not talk to her before you get into trouble? Are you embarrassing her by talking at all?

This whole Hareem venture, entered into with such enthusiasm, was showing Myfanwy just how much she had to learn about the world she thought she knew. She hadn't realised what a small-town girl she still was, despite her ambitions.

"I'm 23 going on 13," she thought, grinning ruefully.

This, of course, jerked her chin gracelessly off-centre, and moving to correct it forced a mis-step, which forced a twitch, which forced a fumble ...

"Praise the Goddess for cushions!" she giggled to Neira.

Francesca wafts through the crowd, correcting a motion, catching a few from falling. “Good, good…. A bit deeper, dear, the worst you can do is fall and that’s not bad at all… excellent…”

When she has wound her way to the center, the instruction continues. “For the most part, any title you hear is functional. That is to say, no one inherits a title in Vastiva – they are earned through your own works. There are very few exceptions. As many foreigners have discovered to their displeasure, marrying a Caliph – or having the child of one – guarantees them little to nothing.”

She waits for that to sink in.

“We begin with the big three. ‘Viziers’ normally belong to the Department of Domestic Affairs. ‘Ministers’ belong to the Ministry of Science. And Sharifs belong to the Department of Peace – these are the three main areas of our government.

“There are, as I said, exceptions. I am one – the Vizier of International Activity is part of the Department of Peace. The Grand Vizier is another, as his office supervises all three sections of government, and can override any of them. The Chief Architect is part of Domestic Affairs – you’ll know him pretty quick.” She gives a purely Vastivan shrug.

“Beys and Pashas make up the lower portion of government – the local powers. Beys are elected officials, Pashas are nominated or appointed for the most part – though there can be a meritocratic part to that. Often, they don’t like each other, but it does… function.”

“A Caliphate is appointed by the Sultan – at the moment, there are two. One is our representative to the United Nations, the other is the governor of our colony of Sisu Arshu, granted such mostly for his actions in advancing our space program – and increasing our land enough to insure viability. You might think of them as Dukes or Princelings – they are ineligible for the Sultancy, but they can wield enormous power in their domain.”

“Our legal system is overseen by the Imam – who are not part of the government, but part of the Sultanate, which means they’re immune to the rest of the government. The Kjik and Kjak – “lawyers” – on the other hand, work under the Department of Peace, directly or under license. The first are “rules lawyers”, the latter “debate lawyers”. They often work together, often separately.”

“Finally, ‘Rebbi’. We globally apply this to religious scholars and religious personages of some merit, though it can be equally applied to any in most situations where one is not aware of their religious position.”

She waits to see if there are any questions. Much information, short time… who here can manage to play in the big leagues…

Neira listened intently to Francesca. Much of it was review. But she did have one question that she wanted to make certain of. She gently got the teacher's attention.

"You said before that we will meet no Emirs. Is that because none are attending, or ...that there aren't any to begin with...?" She stopped her bowing to take a breath.

Francesca's summary made Myfanwy's head spin; not with confusion, but with enjoyment. What a government! Wheels within wheels! Some elected, some appointed -- by the Sultan? Well, presumably ... no, never presume -- and what were the checks, official and unofficial, spoken and unspoken, and where were the balances? Aaaahhh, politics!

She was going to go back and study those books of political cartoons from cover to cover. Already she could see that public opinion here was lively and unfettered. But remember, even in meritocracies, dynasties of officialdom developed or bosses saw that their anointed successors inherited. Then there was the matter of religion. Not, happily, part of the apparatus of government. Plainly, though, a few worthies had learnt to use the popular Press as their pulpit ...

So much would depend on the character of the Sultan. On the surface it sounded as if there was nothing he couldn't do, but ...

Neira's question broke Myfanwy's train of thought. Goddess, but that kid was sharp!

That question got a grin and a nod. "There are no Emirs - our Sultan has not appointed any, nor have any risen to that position. It is from the Emirs - the word anciently means "Prince" - which the Sultan comes, usually."

Medea suppressed her natural tendency to roll her eyes. Francesca has spent a good deal of time going over aspects of the government that, while useful, could be M-TOCD'd in about three minutes - two if one was particularly quick about it. And while she could understand the utility of such knowledge, a gaggle of harem candidates didn't necessarily *need* to have that knowledge so early. Thus, the Kriovalian realized, it was a test, and a particularly obnoxious one, from her perspective. So she sat back and watched, mostly, making the effort to look at least marginally interested. Either he's interested in me for my mind or solely for my body. Either way works. I'm sure that my mind can find things to do on its own. She considered the M-TOCD briefly, wanting to call someone, anyone, in Krioval she knew to have what could pass for a normal conversation, without the bowing or jockeying for position. Medea gave up on that - it would be far too inappropriate - and instead started looking for people she actually knew. Engred had to be *somewhere* nearby.

"Ayid - as many of you know - means "honored guest". It is a title of some respect. 'Alid' is much the same, save it is closer to 'friend of the family'. And then there is 'Sayyid', which is 'friend of a friend', so to speak. We have one among us who would carry that, formally as 'memshayyid', or 'madame friend' if you translate directly."

"The term 'Ra' is a very simple one. You may consider it the same as a knighthood - of little potence, but much prestige. Achieving some status in the arts, sciences, or courtesy and communality can gain one such a suffix from the Sultan - though it is not often granted, there are many who carry it."

She looks around the room, settling on Medea. "Now, how many of you, given the time you have been here, have done enough research into our ways to know these things before I did instruct you of them? You are, after all, going to be around these people for most of the rest of your lives...."

Blah blah blah she's looking at me blah. Damn. "Some was known. Other parts will take a bit of time to absorb." Medea managed a slight bow, which she performed gracefully and yet with some hesitation. I hope that wasn't insultingly too short or something...not that it isn't *always* something. Now where is Engred?

Blah blah blah she's looking at me blah. Damn. "Some was known. Other parts will take a bit of time to absorb." Medea managed a slight bow, which she performed gracefully and yet with some hesitation. I hope that wasn't insultingly too short or something...not that it *isn't* something. Now where is Engred?

"Oh, so you have studied some?" Braille on the Sultan doesn't count for much with me... "Do tell us then, what does it mean to be invited to dine? Any meal will do."

OOC-Please tell me if I did this right. I don't want to mess up. I can edit it too.

!C-'"Excuse me.'' said Helen politely tapping on Francesca's shoulder. ''I would like to know if you could tell me more about this country.'' Helen said with a polite smile and a respectful bow.''There is a lot of people here. I have not seen this much people since the National Festival back in my country.'' Helen said with her hands together waiting for a reply.

OOC-Please tell me if I did this right. I don't want to mess up. I can edit it too.

!C-'"Excuse me.'' said Helen politely tapping on Francesca's shoulder. ''I would like to know if you could tell me more about this country.'' Helen said with a polite smile and a respectful bow.''There is a lot of people here. I have not seen this much people since the National Festival back in my country.'' Helen said with her hands together waiting for a reply.



IC: Francesca goes bolt upright before relaxing. Didn't see her there... "What would you like to know of Vastiva, dear? Our history would take some time..."




OOC: You did just fine, RG. :) If you click on the "World Factbook of Vastiva" on my signature, it'll take you to some pages about Vastiva.

IC: Francesca goes bolt upright before relaxing. Didn't see her there... "What would you like to know of Vastiva, dear? Our history would take some time..."




OOC: You did just fine, RG. :) If you click on the "World Factbook of Vastiva" on my signature, it'll take you to some pages about Vastiva.

''I would like to know about the customs of Vastiva. What is life like here? What is the language?'' Helen replied before sitting on a chair nearby. ''How is the title of Sultan given to the Monarch? I thought Arabian and Turkish Kingdoms used it(Not to be rude).'' Helen said nicely before looking around the room and at all the other people. ''These people seem very nice,I hope I fit in.'' Helen thought to herself before turning back to Francesca,waiting for a reply.

OOC-Thanks for the compliment,Vastiva. :D

Francesca goes bolt upright before relaxing. Didn't see her there... "What would you like to know of Vastiva, dear? Our history would take some time..."

Medea seized on the intrusion to dissolve, albeit briefly, into the background. She knew nothing of Vastivan culture thus far, though she had thought to say that an invitation to breakfast the evening beforehand could be interpreted positively. Why am I here again? She struggled to regain the memory. Right. Mother had a vision years ago - said I should leave Krioval when she and father were both dead. I wonder...

Ah... Engred heard Medea's reply and looked in that direction.

[semi-IC]

Francesca goes into a brief history of culture and history of Vastiva ("We were founded by Moors, in particular by Prince... ") and gives much of the information to be found in the factbook, reasonably clearly.

(OOC: I'm not writing it out again)

Ah... Engred heard Medea's reply and looked in that direction.

Medea caught the other woman's glance, and relieved, made her way quickly yet gracefully to her counterpart. "How are things?"

Medea caught the other woman's glance, and relieved, made her way quickly yet gracefully to her counterpart. "How are things?"

Engred gave the "Little bow" and said, "well, 'things' are okay, I guess... I take it you dealt alright with the Strega-but I think madame Francesca is either playing a game of Foxes, or my buddy Sharon has herself in some kind of trouble on my account... and you?"

That question got a grin and a nod. "There are no Emirs - our Sultan has not appointed any, nor have any risen to that position. It is from the Emirs - the word anciently means "Prince" - which the Sultan comes, usually."

Ka'tal couldnt hold back a followup from this topic. Somethin was eating at her, and she wanted to know more.... She quietly asked, as soon as Francesca was done with the brief history lesson: "I am sorry to dwell on this topic, Al-Dalai. But what if at the time of our Great Sultan's... passing... there ARE no Emirs...? In addition, what would happen to his Harem?"

Not one for holding back, Ka'tal was still unsure whether she should have spoken at all...

"At that time, the Council would vote in the next, much like we understand the Roman Catholics work their Popes. The Harem passes to the next Sultan."

Two lines, much depth.

Engred gave the "Little bow" and said, "well, 'things' are okay, I guess... I take it you dealt alright with the Strega-but I think madame Francesca is either playing a game of Foxes, or my buddy Sharon has herself in some kind of trouble on my account... and you?"

"People who can poke into others' minds is nothing new for me. Dealing with people who insist on protocol lessons before lunch, on the other hand, kill my appetite. I was a *soldier* by training, not a politician, the degree notwithstanding. Besides, a person's usually given a few weeks to absorb another country's political and cultural structure before being expected to vomit up facts on command." Medea thought about Engred's question. "I wonder if we could find out using this," she said, pulling out her M-TOCD.

"Ooh, what's that?" Engred asked, looking at the M-TCOD, "I've seen a few of them, but never up close..."

"It's a pretty useful device. Of course, I'm probably back to 'basic' access, which isn't nearly as fun to play with. It lets you look at the 'net." Medea glanced around to make sure that people weren't paying undue levels of attention before continuing in a hushed voice. "I like using it to do crosswords when I'm supposed to be listening to boring lectures."

[semi-IC]

Francesca goes into a brief history of culture and history of Vastiva ("We were founded by Moors, in particular by Prince... ") and gives much of the information to be found in the factbook, reasonably clearly.

(OOC: I'm not writing it out again)

OOC-Sorry for late response.

''That is very interesting.It is surprising to me how people in the Desert could live in the cold snow.'' Helen said nicely hoping not to make herself rude. ''Thank you for telling me that info on Vastiva.'' Helen said.

"If not for the discovery of the geothermally heated lake, and the coal mine, we are rather sure Vastiva would never have come to exist - which is a good reason Vastiva considers the Tabu Nekku our closest thing to a 'sacred' object."

"If not for the discovery of the geothermally heated lake, and the coal mine, we are rather sure Vastiva would never have come to exist - which is a good reason Vastiva considers the Tabu Nekku our closest thing to a 'sacred' object."

''With all due respect,what is Tabu Nekku translated into English?'' Helen asked.''Is there anything I should know about? Manners? Customs? Bows to people in Authority? I am only asking as I do not want to be rude towards anyone.'' Helen politely asked.

It was all the baklawa's fault. If there hadn't been baklawa, Myfany would have been taking part in the chatter around the tables -- "Isn't that sweet, that myth about the little golden cat thing?" "I wouldn't say 'myth' too loud, if I were you."

But she wasn't. With Francesca's talk finished and the how-to-bow practice over, Myfanwy had been all set to retire with her books when she noticed one poor, lonely sweet just begging to be put out of its misery. Thus she was sitting licking honey off her fingers and chasing stray bits of chopped nuts round her face; not a pretty sight and not prone to attract conversational partners.

So she thought instead. And the more she thought, the more she realised that there was something funny about Francesca's comments. One, they seemed to sort of skim over any role the military played in Vastivan society. Myfanwy was aware she didn't really understand about full-time armies, since Findhorn didn't have one, so she'd made a point of studying whatever she could find about Vastiva's. There didn't seem to be any remember-the-fallen days, no great battles recalled. Well, fair enough, if they'd managed to have a military without being militarist, good on 'em. But they had a space force ... and army comrades were supposed to be so important to everyone ... surely you'd see more of 'em about? Unless, of course, they were all off somewhere fighting or defending or liberating or whatever ...?

And then there was the current events angle. Apparently, if one took Francesca's account literally, noteworthy events simply stopped happening about two years into Sinjin's reign. But when the candidates had been at the mall, there'd been more than one subject on the news screens. Mostly it had been the air deaths, but hadn't she heard something about Vastivan troops in South Africa? And Francesca was the Vizier of International Activity, so surely she'd practically live and breathe news ...

If Myfanwy was going to live in a nation that was a big cheese on the international scene, she was going to have to develop ways of finding out things. Today she'd had the feeling that all around her subtle meanings, whole volumes of them, were being conveyed with a lifted eyebrow or a note not sent, while she plunged about the farmyard in great muddy gumboots. It was dispiriting.

Right. She was going to go back and have a good natter with Ka'tal, who seemed to have a shrewd practical bent, and Neira, who must have taken in politics with her mother's milk. Or, if she couldn't buttonhole that pair, perhaps Nasheed ...? No, that wouldn't be honourable. Okay, if she couldn't manage to have a chat with The Voltarum's favourite daughters, then she'd shelve the whole idea till tomorrow and just enjoy her new Forresters DVD.

On second thoughts, forget intrigue and suspicion. She'd just revel in the music. When the Forresters sang, they turned their audience into part of the family. Right now, Myfanwy really needed that.

"At that time, the Council would vote in the next, much like we understand the Roman Catholics work their Popes. The Harem passes to the next Sultan."

Two lines, much depth.

Ka'tal didn't like that answer, and it only heightened her innate suspicions about her surroundings. Her training as a house guard crept up more and more. Without an Emir to take over, a member of the council could become Sultan if he controlled enough of the other members. A very good motive, if anything.

The look in Neira's eyes told Ka'tal that she too was starting to make some of the same connections.

Neira decided to ask of Francesca one more question. When she and Helen were done talking, she curteously interrupted and asked, regarding their previous line of dialogue: "You said the council would elect a new Sultan from amongst themselves. Are women allowed to be considered?"

A quick nod. "Of course. There is no preference for sexuality. One of our more impactive Sultan's was the Red Sultan, Eola Sinitii al-Din; several since have been female, and one - Zahrah Rahil al-Din - allowed no discussion of their sexuality, nor has a gender ever been assigned them." Francesca concluded with a shrug. "Are there any questions about tonight's minor festivity?"


''With all due respect,what is Tabu Nekku translated into English?'' Helen asked.''Is there anything I should know about? Manners? Customs? Bows to people in Authority? I am only asking as I do not want to be rude towards anyone.'' Helen politely asked.

"Tabu Nekku translates to 'Lucky Cat'. It is often considered a symbol of affection to give someone this symbol, or of good fortune. However, in the wild... well, let us say, they have held the polar bears at bay successfully.

"Beyond the harem bow, there are few expectations to your presence - there will be some dancing, with the Sultan giving each a turn at the least. The providence has been designed to contain as many of your native repasts as possible - we have imported some chefs to keep authenticity. Drunkenness is not... prohibited..." She lets that one fade off.

"When you do first see the Sultan - those of you who are familiar with him, or know his looks - may find it somewhat unseemly, but be reassured, it is certainly not. Those who do not... " she gives a slight grin.

"As to the rest of the guests - you may assume status at least equal to all of them and need take no special precautions. We have no foreign dignitaries - the one invited did not answer* - so there is no need for any particular topics to be avoided. Indeed, feel free to corner anyone you want on any topic you wish to discuss - I am sure, at the very least, Chief Architect Kava Noordi-al-Naaman will be happy to discuss ceiling tile to the wee hours. Though his son does have some interesting tales of his recent diplomatic trip to FCD..." at this, she taps a finger to her chin.

"Might I be of service in answering any other concerns of tonight? Truly, speak up, there are no stupid questions..."

A quick nod. "Of course. There is no preference for sexuality. One of our more impactive Sultan's was the Red Sultan, Eola Sinitii al-Din; several since have been female, and one - Zahrah Rahil al-Din - allowed no discussion of their sexuality, nor has a gender ever been assigned them." Francesca concluded with a shrug. "Are there any questions about tonight's minor festivity?"



"Tabu Nekku translates to 'Lucky Cat'. It is often considered a symbol of affection to give someone this symbol, or of good fortune. However, in the wild... well, let us say, they have held the polar bears at bay successfully.

"Beyond the harem bow, there are few expectations to your presence - there will be some dancing, with the Sultan giving each a turn at the least. The providence has been designed to contain as many of your native repasts as possible - we have imported some chefs to keep authenticity. Drunkenness is not... prohibited..." She lets that one fade off.

"When you do first see the Sultan - those of you who are familiar with him, or know his looks - may find it somewhat unseemly, but be reassured, it is certainly not. Those who do not... " she gives a slight grin.

"As to the rest of the guests - you may assume status at least equal to all of them and need take no special precautions. We have no foreign dignitaries - the one invited did not answer* - so there is no need for any particular topics to be avoided. Indeed, feel free to corner anyone you want on any topic you wish to discuss - I am sure, at the very least, Chief Architect Kava Noordi-al-Naaman will be happy to discuss ceiling tile to the wee hours. Though his son does have some interesting tales of his recent diplomatic trip to FCD..." at this, she taps a finger to her chin.

"Might I be of service in answering any other concerns of tonight? Truly, speak up, there are no stupid questions..."

''Is this where the party will be held?'' Helen asked looking around. ''Also,what does FCD stand for? I have never heard of that country.'' Helen stated.''Thank you for all the information you have given me. I hope to put it to good use.'' Helen said very politely.''What will be the events at the party?'' Helen asked.''Also,how does the Sultan show interest in a particular lady in this Harem?'' Helen asked nicely and curiously.

OOC-Thanks for allowing me to be in this RPG. :D

In the Harem...

Medea's search of the M-TCOD took all of about thirty seconds once Engred gave her the name, and a few parameters about her friend.

Two items of interest showed up while Francesca-Dalai was answering the Roman-Grecian's questions...

someone with a name identical to Sharon's, was in a military hospital, that person had been admitted less than two days ago.

The second piece of information, was the arrival of 'A person of interest' from Cadillac-Gage, also less than two days in country.

As Sharon was often fond of telling her: "Doing the math isn't hard, coming up with the right question takes work."

"Oh... crap." Engred muttered under her breath. Medea gave Engred a questioning glance. Engred nodded. "She's here. I would be willing to bet dad's Company on it..."

Francesca favored the Greek with another warm smile. "No, dear, the ball itself will be held elsewhere - a rather much larger room, considering the number of people to be there. The main event will be to chat and introduce yourselves, to meet the Sultan formally, and a bit of dancing - though inevitably someone brings a few boards and there will likely be gaming here and there.

"Other events are certain to happen, but" - another elegant shrug - "the nature of people to enjoy themselves cannot be abridged."

***

Meanwhile the two scroungers had managed to get more out of the English sections of the Intranet: Ka'Tavek Hospital wasn't listed in any of the normal databases. Officially, it didn't exist.

Unofficially, it was mentioned in several blogs centering around Kjik'Kjak, Vastiva's southernmost city. So much for secrecy. There were also news reports about divisions being moved there to help in the defense of the gates, and of construction companies moving to the eastern shores to perform "additional duties".

Further digging hit a wall - of linguistics. Any further delving into Ka'Tavek resulted in replies in Vastivan or German - sometimes both.

Recovery room...

Sharon opened her eyes. "ow." the light was too bright. someone turned the lighting down and came over. "how are we feeling?" the voice was heavily accented.

"I feel like crap. thanks for asking." she responded.

"That sensation will wear off with time. Can you see my hand?"
Sharon focused her eyes with some effort. "Yeah. Two fingers and a thumb, right? I'm not hung-over that bad... where am I?"

a face loomed out, a kind face, a woman's face. "you are in post-operative recovery."

she squeezed her eyes shut, and opened them again, "Post Operative Recovery?" she was aghast. "what did you do to me??"

Francesca favored the Greek with another warm smile. "No, dear, the ball itself will be held elsewhere - a rather much larger room, considering the number of people to be there. The main event will be to chat and introduce yourselves, to meet the Sultan formally, and a bit of dancing - though inevitably someone brings a few boards and there will likely be gaming here and there.

"Other events are certain to happen, but" - another elegant shrug - "the nature of people to enjoy themselves cannot be abridged."

***

Meanwhile the two scroungers had managed to get more out of the English sections of the Intranet: Ka'Tavek Hospital wasn't listed in any of the normal databases. Officially, it didn't exist.

Unofficially, it was mentioned in several blogs centering around Kjik'Kjak, Vastiva's southernmost city. So much for secrecy. There were also news reports about divisions being moved there to help in the defense of the gates, and of construction companies moving to the eastern shores to perform "additional duties".

Further digging hit a wall - of linguistics. Any further delving into Ka'Tavek resulted in replies in Vastivan or German - sometimes both.

''I would like to meet the Sultan when I am able to.'' Helen replied. ''Thank you for all the information you have given me.'' she said. ''By the way,my nation's name,Roman Greece has a story to it.It was given to my nation when Greece got many refugees from Byzantium following the Ottoman conquest.That is one of the reasons for the name.'' Helen said explaining a little about the name,Roman Greece.''I can dance very well.I know many dances of the Greek culture which I could do.I could do it with or for the Sultan or any other royal offical if the Sultan or a Royal offical wished or wanted me to.'' Helen said about the dancing.''I also know much Greek music and if I could,I could make some Greek music for everyone,even the Sultan himself to listen to.'' Helen said nicely.

OOC-The story of the name Roman Greece is somewhat long but I will be updating it soon.The mentioning of refugees is one of the reason for the name.

Recovery room...

Sharon opened her eyes. "ow." the light was too bright. someone turned the lighting down and came over. "how are we feeling?" the voice was heavily accented.

"I feel like crap. thanks for asking." she responded.

"That sensation will wear off with time. Can you see my hand?"
Sharon focused her eyes with some effort. "Yeah. Two fingers and a thumb, right? I'm not hung-over that bad... where am I?"

a face loomed out, a kind face, a woman's face. "you are in post-operative recovery."

she squeezed her eyes shut, and opened them again, "Post Operative Recovery?" she was aghast. "what did you do to me??"

"Do you want it technical or simple?" The voice didn't hesitate long for an answer that wasn't forthcoming. "Simply put, dear, we removed several masses of scar tissue, grafted in a new capillary system, and gave an excellent medium for new nerve tissue to grow from the stem-cell soup we added to the mix."

''I would like to meet the Sultan when I am able to.'' Helen replied. ''Thank you for all the information you have given me.'' she said. ''By the way,my nation's name,Roman Greece has a story to it.It was given to my nation when Greece got many refugees from Byzantium following the Ottoman conquest.That is one of the reasons for the name.'' Helen said explaining a little about the name,Roman Greece.''I can dance very well.I know many dances of the Greek culture which I could do.I could do it with or for the Sultan or any other royal offical if the Sultan or a Royal offical wished or wanted me to.'' Helen said about the dancing.''I also know much Greek music and if I could,I could make some Greek music for everyone,even the Sultan himself to listen to.'' Helen said nicely.

OOC-The story of the name Roman Greece is somewhat long but I will be updating it soon.The mentioning of refugees is one of the reason for the name.

Francesca gives Helen another wide, warm smile. "We'll have to add those skills to your dossier, Helen. I'm sure many would be interested in seeing you dance - particularly if you're so willing to do so. Though tonight, just enjoy yourself."

She reorients. "As you all should. As there aren't any further questions, do finish your lunches and get prepared - you have a good two hours before you'll be called in, use the time wisely." Another smile, a deep harem bow, and she nods her way out.

"Do you want it technical or simple?" The voice didn't hesitate long for an answer that wasn't forthcoming. "Simply put, dear, we removed several masses of scar tissue, grafted in a new capillary system, and gave an excellent medium for new nerve tissue to grow from the stem-cell soup we added to the mix."

Sharon's expression was shocked. This was followed by worried. "you messed with...my... brain?"
Her reaction was what you would expect from someone who'd just undergone surgery without their knowledge or permission. She was upset.
The string of invective was eloquent, multilingual, and included some rather unique phrases (for the sake of our audience, this has been censored.)

"You missed a phrase." the Nurse told her.

Sharon stopped, "what?"

The nurse smiled agian, "Your rant was quite extensive, but you missed one or two that I've heard before. The permissions were obtained before you went into the O.R., as a Legal Minor in your home nation, we had to obtain the permission of your Legal Guardian. You sued successfully to have that transferred back to your father. He was quite willing to permit us to treat your...disorder."

Sharon fell quiet, and frowned. "Daddy let you cut my head open?"

The nurse shook her head, "Two small incisions, they are hidden by your hair-and the work was done using advanced techniques that I can either spend time explaining, or let you examine for yourself...other than waking up in the middle of the procedure, your treatment went about as smoothly as I have ever seen one go. But, to be completely accurate, yes, he did, because he loves you and he wants you to live a better life."

Sharon's hand drifted up to her head, and felt the small shaved patch surrounded by stubble.
She looked concerned. "All I've got, really, is my brain, you didn't break anything, did you?" she asked.

The Nurse settled back, "Now that you are awake, we can determine if anything important was, as you put it, 'broken'."

Neira and Ka'tal retired back to their rooms. After a few minutes they each headed to the shower to get a much needed breather.

As they came out, and began to get their things ready for that night, Neira could tell Ka'tal was not at ease. Her former House Guard sat there, looking at the dress they two had bought for her earlier. After making sure the trading cards were in her purse for tonight, she turned to regard her friend.

"Ka't... I have told you many times - the dress is perfect - you look great in it, in fact so good you will probably outshine me and everyone else..."

Startled from her day dream, Ka'tal smiled. "I know, its not the dress... Its just..."

Neira butted in. "Then the political puzzle we are in right now. I know what you are thinking... but until I have more information about whats goign on, I am going to take this as some ordinary Vastivian weirdness and coincidences..."

Ka'tal frowned. "There is more here than we know, that is for sure... but I haven't dwelled on that since we left Francesca..."

Now Neira frowned. "Then what! We are in the palace of a national leader, treated like royalty, and are going to an elegant ball in just over an hour. I know you Ka't, you are worried about something."

Ka't fell silent for a few moments, then finally turned to Neira, after making sure no one else was within earshot. "I... I reallly don't know how to dance... I mean, I haven't done it in quite some time, and _never_ in such a formal setting... do you think the Sultan will include me in the dancing?"

Neira kept a straight face for about 2 seconds before bursting into a giggle. She smiled at Ka'tal. "So you _are_ human after all, my friend.... Do not worry, my father taught be how to dance to just about anything by the time I was five. I can give you a few easy pointers in the next few minutes."

"I doubt the Sultan will spend time on someone who is not a candidate... but I do not want to embarass you, my Lady."

"I don't think you could ever do that, Ka't. Now stand up, I'll show you some basic steps..."

Francesca gives Helen another wide, warm smile. "We'll have to add those skills to your dossier, Helen. I'm sure many would be interested in seeing you dance - particularly if you're so willing to do so. Though tonight, just enjoy yourself."

She reorients. "As you all should. As there aren't any further questions, do finish your lunches and get prepared - you have a good two hours before you'll be called in, use the time wisely." Another smile, a deep harem bow, and she nods her way out.

''I am willing to dance some Greek dances.'' Helen replied. She then left the room and went to her bedroom(or where the Harem women go to) and changed into a Bedouin dress(for the Party).''Francesca is a very nice person.'' Helen thought to herself as she grabbed her book on the Byzantine Empire and read it for a while until she stopped to practice her Greek dancing.After this,she wrote in her journal about what had happened so far and then decided to continue the book she was writing as she was a author in Roman Greece.

OOC-How long is it till the party by the way? Only making sure. Also,I hope that I will be descriptive enough if you want me to describe the Greek dances,etc.

Sharon's hand drifted up to her head, and felt the small shaved patch surrounded by stubble.
She looked concerned. "All I've got, really, is my brain, you didn't break anything, did you?" she asked.

The Nurse settled back, "Now that you are awake, we can determine if anything important was, as you put it, 'broken'."

She slides a disk into a panel. "If you're really curious, you can watch the proceedure - we record everything for later review, and patients all get copies if they want. With your record, I figured you'd want."

A few moments are spent explaining the controls for the wallviewer - a slightly more sophisticated version of the one she got to play with on the sub.
"You can view from the overhead or physicians view if you like - I wouldn't really recommend overhead, there's not much to see. And the incisions on the back of your head are little more then bugbites - the fibers we use for this sort of surgery are very slight. They'll heal nearly smooth."

She gives a pat to Sharon's knee. "Really, not many people get to look around in their own head. Or understand how micropulse lasers can be used for this sort of thing. There should be a commentary on there from the attending surgeons - real time and post-operational - but it may be a little too technical. Now, if you're hungry or thirsty or anything else, press on the red key and a nurse will be by." Another smile.

Despite her resolve to just veg out with CDs, Myfanwy couldn't resist a quick glance to see what Neira and Ka'tal were up to. But she saw this wouldn't be a good time to start a political discussion. The utter seriousness of little Neira, the total concentration of Ka'tal and the complete reversal of roles -- "See, Ka'tal, you just put your feet like this and wait till the music tells you, and then you go like this ..." said the pair wanted to keep their dance lessons private.

Aimlessly she wandered out into the larger room. She was just about to buttonhole Nasheed -- without someone to giggle with, there was no way it would take two hours to just get dressed -- when she noticed one of the big screens was showing some local television program. A concert, it looked like, with -- oh, Goddess --

"The Forresters!" she screamed to the room at large.

There they were up on stage, all 12 of them, with the Mama wa-a-ay out front, her deep voice rich on the spare words ... To some faithful heart/ Are you forever 19? ... and the others just humming a harmony, except for Liam (was it?) on the penny-whistle ...

"I always get weepy when she sings Private Willie McBride," Myfanwy whispered to Nasheed, who had crept up beside her.

The other kept silent until the Forresters were shifting around for their next number, then answered, low-voiced, "Just wait, Coven Guard's going to be on again soon. If you think your fat lady can sing, you haven't heard our Coderiada al-Jahfar!"

"She's not my fat lady, she's from the Republic of Brydog," muttered Myfanwy rebelliously. But she had to agree. Even in Findhorn, they'd heard of Coven Guard and its well-endowed, dance-mad singer.

"Aww, that Bill Geldom guy is going to talk again," said a disappointed voice behind them.

She slides a disk into a panel. "If you're really curious, you can watch the proceedure - we record everything for later review, and patients all get copies if they want. With your record, I figured you'd want."

A few moments are spent explaining the controls for the wallviewer - a slightly more sophisticated version of the one she got to play with on the sub.
"You can view from the overhead or physicians view if you like - I wouldn't really recommend overhead, there's not much to see. And the incisions on the back of your head are little more then bugbites - the fibers we use for this sort of surgery are very slight. They'll heal nearly smooth."

She gives a pat to Sharon's knee. "Really, not many people get to look around in their own head. Or understand how micropulse lasers can be used for this sort of thing. There should be a commentary on there from the attending surgeons - real time and post-operational - but it may be a little too technical. Now, if you're hungry or thirsty or anything else, press on the red key and a nurse will be by." Another smile.

Sharon watched the surgery from all perspectives-using the display's 'Picture in Picture' system to show it from both inside, and outside.

Her expression was grimly determined.

The total concentration wasn't actually focused on the procedure after the first running of the recordings. She was working on her escape plan.

mentally, she retraced ever step, every meter, of her trip here, except for the areas 'blank' because of sedation.

so far, she had four "Zones" already figured out, not including this one.

Sharon's lunch arrived - though without a clock or natural light, it might have been breakfast, it might have been dinner, it might be a post-midnight snack. It wasn't fancy, but it would be filling.

The utensils were of high-tensile plastic, as was the plate and the glass; there weren't any pills on the tray of any sort - the latter part of the operation had included a dissolving pain-block; antibiotics (or rather "proactive anti-infectives") had been placed in the soup used to add liquid mass into the area reduced. They'd be absorbed naturally over time, directly where they'd be needed.

Elsewhere...

The harem ghosts were working at full tilt to get everyone ready on time - they'd even called in support to insure everyone got the attention they deserved... or demanded.

Sharon's lunch arrived - though without a clock or natural light, it might have been breakfast, it might have been dinner, it might be a post-midnight snack. It wasn't fancy, but it would be filling.

The utensils were of high-tensile plastic, as was the plate and the glass; there weren't any pills on the tray of any sort - the latter part of the operation had included a dissolving pain-block; antibiotics (or rather "proactive anti-infectives") had been placed in the soup used to add liquid mass into the area reduced. They'd be absorbed naturally over time, directly where they'd be needed.

Sharon ate distractedly, then looked over the utensils. Twisting, bending, and examining them for possible uses.
A few (very few) occurred to her-especially the "safety fork" and the handle of the spoon.

Spinning faster and faster, Coderiada al-Jahfar whirled her way into a gypsy dance, the coins and scarves of her costume catching the light, spraying about in smears of deep color as the lights plumed to rainbow - then filled the room with intense brightness...

"See? See?" Nasheed bounced around on her cushions. Her normally impassive "ghost" persona had disappeared. She was glowing, lit from within.

Myfanwy saw. Saw why she'd never be more than an amateur, a hobbyist who played guitar a bit. This woman Coderiada didn't play music, she was music.

"See? See?" Nasheed bounced around on her cushions. Her normally impassive "ghost" persona had disappeared. She was glowing, lit from within.

Myfanwy saw. Saw why she'd never be more than an amateur, a hobbyist who played guitar a bit. This woman Coderiada didn't play music, she was music.

Nasheed looked up at Myfanwy "You know, you can have her perform, whenever you like, Ayid..."

Myfanwy looked sharply at Nasheed. That was a leading remark if ever she'd heard one. So the "ghosts" were, indeed, more than fetch-and-carry servants? Of course, it had been clear enough from the start that they weren't just "gophers"; but Nasheed had seemed so young for such a job. On the other hand, the candidates had been told clearly that Vastivans rose on their own abilities, so obviously the people who worked here had to be best-of-the-best at what they did ...

All this took a few seconds, no more. If this was a crux in her candidacy, well, she could do no more than answer honestly. "If I were Al-Dalai, you mean? No, I couldn't, Nasheed. She's worth more than that."

Encountering a puzzled -- or perhaps encouraging, as in, "Come on, put both feet in it" -- look, Myfanwy ploughed on. "I couldn't have her perform; not just for my pleasure, anyway. I could ask her to, for a purpose -- like, to lull a person we needed something from, or to show off Vastivan culture. For something like that I could be extremely persuasive. But I couldn't make her do it. It'd be like ... I dunno ... like trying to make Steven Hawking come up with a new theory about the Big Bang."

She chewed the idea over a bit more. "I guess I could offer her a lot of money, if I were Al-Dalai. And she's a professional musician, so she'd probably accept. But it'd be Vastiva's money, so it'd have to be for Vastiva's purposes, the sort of thing I said before. Unless her career were in decline, of course, and she needed a bit of a boost, and playing for someone in the Hareem was good publicity ... " Myfanwy's voice trailed off and she stared intently at her big toe, which was the first thing her gaze had hit on as an Idea began to take shape.

"Hey, Nasheed, do you know anyone whose career does need a boost?" she demanded, gripping the other girl's arm. "I mean arty types, you know, poets? Or musicians? Or film-makers or whatever? And would it help them to say they'd shown some work for the Hareem? Because that's something we could do ..."

All thought of being diplomatic or careful was forgotten. "See, I've been thinking. If things are going to be just show-pony stuff for us until the Sultan makes his mind up, then we're all going to be bored out of our brains. But if we could meet some of the people who haven't made a name for themselves yet -- and if it would help them to have it known they visited at the Hareem -- I don't mean Command Performances or anything like that, just sort of hanging out with us, telling us what's going on ... look, I don't want to be rude or anything, but you've got to admit, Nasheed, there aren't a lot of young people around here."

Two heads nodded wisely, in total accord: the whole Palace seemed to be full of 30-somethings, even 40-somethings. "I mean, it's not right," Myfanwy pressed on. "The Sultan's not all that old, but from what I've read all he ever sees are Generals and Ambassadors and Viziers and ... well, serious people, like Francesca. Not that she's old, of course, but I bet she's never just silly, just for fun."

Another silence while the plotters tried unsuccessfully to picture Francesca being silly. "So maybe, after this ball is over -- and after I've seen Nivia, if she can come -- maybe you could find out if something like that would be okay?"

Myfanwy looked sharply at Nasheed. That was a leading remark if ever she'd heard one. So the "ghosts" were, indeed, more than fetch-and-carry servants? Of course, it had been clear enough from the start that they weren't just "gophers"; but Nasheed had seemed so young for such a job. On the other hand, the candidates had been told clearly that Vastivans rose on their own abilities, so obviously the people who worked here had to be best-of-the-best at what they did ...

All this took a few seconds, no more. If this was a crux in her candidacy, well, she could do no more than answer honestly. "If I were Al-Dalai, you mean? No, I couldn't, Nasheed. She's worth more than that."

Encountering a puzzled -- or perhaps encouraging, as in, "Come on, put both feet in it" -- look, Myfanwy ploughed on. "I couldn't have her perform; not just for my pleasure, anyway. I could ask her to, for a purpose -- like, to lull a person we needed something from, or to show off Vastivan culture. For something like that I could be extremely persuasive. But I couldn't make her do it. It'd be like ... I dunno ... like trying to make Steven Hawking come up with a new theory about the Big Bang."

She chewed the idea over a bit more. "I guess I could offer her a lot of money, if I were Al-Dalai. And she's a professional musician, so she'd probably accept. But it'd be Vastiva's money, so it'd have to be for Vastiva's purposes, the sort of thing I said before. Unless her career were in decline, of course, and she needed a bit of a boost, and playing for someone in the Hareem was good publicity ... " Myfanwy's voice trailed off and she stared intently at her big toe, which was the first thing her gaze had hit on as an Idea began to take shape.

"Hey, Nasheed, do you know anyone whose career does need a boost?" she demanded, gripping the other girl's arm. "I mean arty types, you know, poets? Or musicians? Or film-makers or whatever? And would it help them to say they'd shown some work for the Hareem? Because that's something we could do ..."

All thought of being diplomatic or careful was forgotten. "See, I've been thinking. If things are going to be just show-pony stuff for us until the Sultan makes his mind up, then we're all going to be bored out of our brains. But if we could meet some of the people who haven't made a name for themselves yet -- and if it would help them to have it known they visited at the Hareem -- I don't mean Command Performances or anything like that, just sort of hanging out with us, telling us what's going on ... look, I don't want to be rude or anything, but you've got to admit, Nasheed, there aren't a lot of young people around here."

Two heads nodded wisely, in total accord: the whole Palace seemed to be full of 30-somethings, even 40-somethings. "I mean, it's not right," Myfanwy pressed on. "The Sultan's not all that old, but from what I've read all he ever sees are Generals and Ambassadors and Viziers and ... well, serious people, like Francesca. Not that she's old, of course, but I bet she's never just silly, just for fun."

Another silence while the plotters tried unsuccessfully to picture Francesca being silly. "So maybe, after this ball is over -- and after I've seen Nivia, if she can come -- maybe you could find out if something like that would be okay?"

Nasheed listens very intently through the whole speech. "Ayid, if you will, an 'al-Dalai' has retired. You will be a Dalai, most likely - or a Kadai. As such, you may - should the Sultan allow the right - summon anyone from anywhere in Vastiva to do as you like, with very few limitations."

She bites her lip. "If it would not be saying too much, the Sultan's private fortune amounts to more then most countries see - including, if this one can be so bold, your nation's GDP."

She waits again, listening. "Indeed, Ayid, there are many who could use - as you say - 'a hand up'? Though to be in the Harem itself is a death sentence, to be invited to the Palace itself is an honor. There are several stages and such... mostly unused. The best to ask on art might be our Vizier of Artistic Expression... or perhaps not." Another lip bite. "You may, of course, consult any you choose to consult, if allowed that right. Or just watch television for awhile, or read publications or... "

"As to it being right.... Ayid, if you are dalai or kadai, there is very little that is 'wrong' for you to do, should the Sultan allow it."


OOC: I think Nasheed is about nine, but I'm sans notes at the moment.

"Yeah, I know the Sultan's rich," Myfanwy said, carelessly. "So I guess you're saying that if he wanted, he could 'give' somebody a performance by the Forresters? Fair enough, I suppose, though it seems a bit ... well, I mean ..." she trailed off, stopping herself before she went into Findhornian notions about the whole idea of a single person having so much. "It seems very romantic," she substituted.

"But what was that you said, about being in the Hareem being a death sentence? Do you mean, like, it's for life? They made that clear enough when we, um, applied, if that's the word ... Nasheed?"

Nasheed, apparently deciding that she'd said enough, sat quietly. A sensible decision. Myfanwy was perfectly capable of leaping to any number of conclusions without the least encouragement.

OOC-This is only my character getting ready,Vastiva(like you said in the telegram).Also,I have made my character go to where that Gypsy dancer and so on is. I can edit that part if you don't like it.

Helen got changed into a party dress and began to get ready for the evening's party. She changed into a white dress with black gloves,golden jewelry,and all the attire to make her look like a member of the Greek Royal Family. Then she mumbled a quick prayer and stepped out of her room so she could get a quick look at the Harem/Palace before the party. Helen came to the part of the Harem/Palace where the music(the dancer,etc) was as she had heard it and she found a chair to sit on so she could watch what was going on.''The Vastivans know how to have a party.'' Helen thought to herself watching the Gypsy dancer and listening to the music.

OOC-I meant the Gypsy dancer in the post-Spinning faster and faster, Coderiada al-Jahfar whirled her way into a gypsy dance, the coins and scarves of her costume catching the light, spraying about in smears of deep color as the lights plumed to rainbow - then filled the room with intense brightness... That is the post that the Gypsy dancer is mentioned so I thought that she was still there. Is this part the preview or near-beginning before the party?

Herding cats might have been easier, but at least the Harem candidates were more amenable to being moved then their feline counterparts.

They were met outside by a rather officious and very slight gentleman clothed in orange, who saught to talk to all of them as they were led through the torturous corridors and windings of the palace.

"Each of you are to go in singularly, except you, Ayid - your Saiyyid is to accompany you in... Now, I've given the Heralds there all your names, they should know who is whom and from where... the double doors? Yes, Ayid, they are large enough to fit several across, only don't run through, the stairs would be a fright to fall down... there should be many there, Ayid, and plenty of places to sit, if you wish... Apologies, Ayid, perhaps a different pair of shoes?... "

The talk continued nearly constantly, the useful gist being as each entereed they would be announced as "Lady thus-and-so of wherever", and would from the double door entrance walk down a short flight of stairs to the gathering itself. The stairs could be reclimbed - there was a balcony going most of the way around - but the doors would be closed afterwards, and not opened until afterwards. There was a garden to see, with a fountain, and a domed area with a view of the stars - "Quite nice this time of year, now that the storm has blown over - no clouds or light pollution at all, once the door is shut!".....


OOC: More coming, Jolt ate the first one... :( but I have copies!

At long last they reach the double purple doors.

"Ready? Yes, Ayid, I have a comb... and one for you as well... mirror? Of course... would you care for a mint, Ayid?...."

Somehow, the mass of femininity is straightened to a semi-straight line. "Everyone get ready, this won't take long... and enjoy yourselves, it is a party after all..."

The huge doors swing open.

It would perhaps have been expected that the room beyond be large beyond belief, decorated wildly and richly, envy and greed made reality... while perhaps some part of these beliefs is true, the room itself has a domed high ceiling; the balcony which surrounds the main floor is sparsely populated, mostly with footmen in costume, who watch quietly, enigmatic smiles upon their faces. All in all, the room holds perhaps five or six hundred, no more, and it does so comfortably enough for the small orchestra at the far end to fit without a single foot stepped upon. Buffet tables line the left and right sides, to the midway mark - servants dash back and forth, keeping it all stocked and fresh, while merrily dressed cupbearers fill each glass and keep the spirits flowing.

The most center area is certainly a dancing floor; though currently not used as such, most stay to the outer areas, apparently in respect for its purpose, or perhaps they do not wish to traverse its width. The walls are bedecked mostly with mirrors; a few artworks are scattered about, but all in all, the room is given the illusion of being far larger then it is by this simple addition.
To one side, a tank of water is present, in which languishes what must be a costume, for do mermaids truly exist? Yet the height is such she may surface easily, and converse - and apparently, many have found time to take in her charms.

The ceiling, on the other hand, is plain, white, frescoed but not presented with any great importance save thin bands of gold leaf circling at various heights.

The Sultan himself is completely in absence, insofar as can be discerned, though the Council and Nobility are well-represented, including no small number of "guests" of each.

Against the marble floors, conversation can be heard cooing to a stop as the doors finish their swing with a thump. A Herald stands at each side, their tan uniforms still a pattern of muted importance: as the first girl timidly steps beyond the doors, there is the silence a pin dropped could shatter.

"Presenting the Lady Caliose Navarre of Tanagondaria"

The Heralds do a much, much better job of it.

Style isn't about what you get at the Gap, or at a jewellry store. Style is about the person inside the get-up. It's all in how you wear it.

Of course, having something good to wear helps. Thana had found some blue-tinted cloth to decorate Engred's bandages. This knocked quite a bit of the raw "Utilitarian" off. Engred didn't ask, and the Harem Ghost didn't tell her precisely what had prompted the idea.

but it worked.

"Engred Stahlhaver of Cadillac-Gage."

Engred shot a glance at Medea, smiled weakly, then steeled her posture and stepped through the doors.

Engred was dressed in her new clothes, her hair done up in a braided style that would "Keep" without becoming tangled. She was always fortunate with her complexion-and no less tonight. She wore no make-up.
At the foot of the descending stair, she rendered a formal gesture of greeting, then drifted to the side to clear the path for the next Candidate.

whew, I didn't stumble... The butterflies in her gut settled down to a minor distraction-a distraction erased by the announcement of the next Candidate.

Casually, she surveyed the huge party of "Official" guests and their entourage.

Exposure to the Kadin Guard and to the Palace Staff had given her one impression of Vastivans. Here was another. Ostentation and peacock displays of wealth and colour screamed "Pay attention to ME, I'm Important!!" all through the room. Her own simple-yet-rich dress with its spartan elegance was almost a violent refutation of the "more, bigger, flashier" attitude of so many in the room.

It was, oddly enough, fun. She felt like Sirgaard in the hall of King Hrolsch. Well, it is the hall of a King...I am wounded, and still recovering, and if these officials and their hangers-on aren't the very image of Hrolsch's decadent warlords... she smiled wide, showing perfectly even white teeth.
Just have to remember not to offend them like Sirgaard did in the story-I'm in no shape to fight a hundered duels with a broadsword...

Helen came inside the room where the party was and looked around the room trying to find someone to talk to about anything as she wanted to know more of the people in the Harem.

''Helen Of The Greek Kingdom'' the heraldman had said as she entered the room.

Helen was dressed in her new Byzantine style dress, her hair done up in a Eastern style that would stand out from other people's hair styles. She was always fortunate with her looks and she was tonight too. She wore no make-up as she felt she did not really need it.
At the foot of the descending stair, she rendered a respectful gesture of greeting(as she learned in Rhodes), then drifted to the side to clear the path for the next Harem lady could come in after her.

The Hospital...

At some point, Sharon dozed off. The increase in alpha-wave activity from dreaming was detected by her condition-monitors, which in turn activated a recording system, along with a number of sensitive instruments..."All Part of the service" as it were...

Sharon floated in a null-place, a 'spaceland', contemplating the problem before her without distraction. she reached out and gently diverted a flow, creating a new strand. "containment..." she found that she could use carbon...

In between mouthfuls of what he swore was Voltaru Herring Ala Xerco, Guy Smiley's mind was racing. Anything, everything, in order to get this over with quickly and get away from that women. The last few hours in transit to the Palace, Guy had decided, was the most excruciating pain he had ever encountered.

Please let this start...pleasepleaseplease... anything to get away from her, anything....

As he sipped some wine, perhaps his 10th glass of the day, his mind briefly wandered to Al.... his cameraman had not left with the rest of Goldie's entourage... and when Guy last saw him, Al was taking adavntage of the local laws a bit too much... He did hope he would make it back to the hotel in one piece.

Startled from the day dream, he nearly spilt the wine on his mind-numblingly ugly tuxedo as the doors opened, signaling the arrival of the candidates.

In stepped a young girl, and the heralds in all their esteem did the announcment:

"Presenting the Lady Caliose Navarre of Tanagondaria"

After a moment to clear his head, Guy, as best he could, used the distraction to palm the camera from his jacket pocket. Smaller than his fist, Guy would have no problem snapping the pictures of the candidates from where he was standing...no one would mind the low quality, either... it would be good enough - Guy had used this type of camera on several other "assignments" that came down through the High Order. He briefly wondered to himself when he made the transition from beat reporter to a secret government semi-spy. He shook his head... one too many glasses.... He would have to remember to keep shifting... act like the shots came from different people...

He hoped the Vektori girl would come soon, before his hand cramped. And he did hope she had the cards...

***

''Helen Of The Greek Kingdom''

The line was getting shorter, and Neira could almost see inside the room. Her parents had attended gatherings like these ever since she was born... the Minister of Education had taught her to foxtrot at one of them... And of course, when she became the head of her house two years ago, she was the honored guest, mingling with the Voltaru elite...

Yet, she stood there more nervous then she had even been.

Ka'tal briefly rubbed her shoulders. "I think you have been to more dinners like this than the rest of these girls combined. I hope you are not doubting yourself right now, my Lady."

"THis is different and you know it. Very different. I know no one in that room... and yet they all know something of me...."

"The Sultan is what matters, Neira. Remember that. Success means having the courage, the determination, and the will to become the person you believe you were meant to be. Make sure the Sultan learns who you are, and what you are doing here..."

"I will. Thanks Ka't."

Ka'tal smiled and almost as an afterthought, replied: "Oh, and you were wrong... You will know two people in that room."

Neira's face twisted. "What?"

"I am following you in, my lady. So you know me of course..." she hesitated.

"And the other?"

Ka'tal's eyes sparkled. "Why yourself, of course."

Neira frowned. "Thats stretching it.... but thanks." She sighed, took a deep breath, and checked her purse one last time to make sure the cards were in there. She had a feeling the 2nd person was not who Ka'tal said it would be. She hated it when Ka'tal knew more than she did... or perhaps she was just imagining it...

"Presenting the Lady Neira Vektori and Ka'tal Jilret of The Voltarum"

Neira stepped out, Ka'tal offset and two steps behind her, both dressed in the elegant gowns they had bought earlier that morning. Neira's long brown hair was braided rather intricately, falling to her mid back. Her dress brought out the jewels in her hair berets. She wore little makeup, as was custom for a noble. Ka'tal wore her figure hugging dress, and her long brown hair matched Neira's in its intricate weaving, but this time it ended up, in a complicated bun. The only jewelry she wore was a large platinum and ruby necklace, at Neira's insistance. She wore even less makeup than Neira.

Neira continued walking, and smiled.

Guy smiled more, mostly at the woman he saw escorting the young Vektori girl.

Several in the audience were not as enthused to see the young girl candidate.

The Heralds didn't even pause as the next and the next came through the doors.

"Lady Sadira Saleh of Scandavian States... Lady Vivian Vagqu of Zatarack, of the Tqu ethnic group... Lady Aliandra" and so it continues...

~bits of conversations here and there, presented mostly as atmosphere~

"What an absolute dog and pony show!"
"True," a sip from a tea glass, "but at least the dogs are brushed and the ponies curried."
The two women watched the entries politely, noting - with quiet superiority - all the children of other nations making their way in.
"Tanagondaria. I'm not familiar with it."
Another sip. "As well you shouldn't. It collapsed last year. All that remains is it's embassy - I did hear the sacrifice of a virgin daughter was good for another ten years room and board. That one is probably worth, what, six months?"
They tittered and continued to watch.

"Oh, that? How simply droll."

"...possibilities these notes suggest, particularly with the fund backing we'll be getting from the Designwerks projects?"
"Of course, but the question remains - yes, I'll have another one, no ice, thank you - where to put the facility. One error, and you have a wedge cut from the planet..."
"If it fails."
"Or succeeds. It all depends on how you look at it."

"And how does the provincial fit in?"

"... hairstyle is just going to be the rage next year..."

"It's so hard to get good help these days. You'd think at the very least they'd dress them up for the occasion."
"Mumsy, for goatherds, they are dressed up."

"Be sure to get a good look on the lines on that one, we'll want the action figure to move the same way."
"Got it."

"Wow! Is that a kimono?"
"Has to be, see the makeup? Has to be the Noviet Geisha..."

"Another farmgirl?"
"Don't stare, it's not polite."

"I've simply got to get her autograph... have you got the cards?"
"Right here in my purse. Do you suppose she likes creampuffs?"

"Come, come, ogle the nice people. That's what they're here for."
"Well, that and the free meal."
*chuckles* "Quite"

"Easy for you to say, Conrad. You're at the perfect height for... conversation."
"Yes, rather. And I do get to sit down for the entire event."
"Quite. Can I get you another drink?"
"No, thank you, I'm driving." ~guffaw~


OOC: Things to do today... find Aliandra's last name! Had it somewhere...

In the Hospital...

Sharon sat up in the bed suddenly-there were no precursors in the sensor readings to show her awake, she just got up.

Bored... she headed for the small attatched bathroom, took care of her eliminations, and wandered over to the room's door.

she checked the knob first, before messing with the complicated-looking control panel on the inside doorsill.

Naturally, the simplest route did not provide the way out. She looked around the room for something to address the lock with.

In the Nurse's station, the on-duty guard watched with some curiousity, and some amusement, as Sharon went through every piece of furnishing in the isolation room. The girl searched methodically, examining every single item, hinge, pin, connector, door, drawer, etc. before moving on. He'd been warned that the patient was a "MacGuyver", and so far, she did not disappoint.

"I'll give you three she tries to short the lock next." The duty-nurse commented.
the guard shook his head, "I don't think so- she looked that lockpad over very, very, carefully before she walked away from it."

The nurse snorted, "Wanna put money on it?"

The Heralds didn't even pause as the next and the next came through the doors.

"Lady Sadira Saleh of Scandavian States... Lady Vivian Vagqu of Zatarack, of the Tqu ethnic group... Lady Aliandra" and so it continues...

~bits of conversations here and there, presented mostly as atmosphere~

"What an absolute dog and pony show!"
"True," a sip from a tea glass, "but at least the dogs are brushed and the ponies curried."
The two women watched the entries politely, noting - with quiet superiority - all the children of other nations making their way in.
"Tanagondaria. I'm not familiar with it."
Another sip. "As well you shouldn't. It collapsed last year. All that remains is it's embassy - I did hear the sacrifice of a virgin daughter was good for another ten years room and board. That one is probably worth, what, six months?"
They tittered and continued to watch.

"Oh, that? How simply droll."

"...possibilities these notes suggest, particularly with the fund backing we'll be getting from the Designwerks projects?"
"Of course, but the question remains - yes, I'll have another one, no ice, thank you - where to put the facility. One error, and you have a wedge cut from the planet..."
"If it fails."
"Or succeeds. It all depends on how you look at it."

"And how does the provincial fit in?"

"... hairstyle is just going to be the rage next year..."

"It's so hard to get good help these days. You'd think at the very least they'd dress them up for the occasion."
"Mumsy, for goatherds, they are dressed up."

"Be sure to get a good look on the lines on that one, we'll want the action figure to move the same way."
"Got it."

"Wow! Is that a kimono?"
"Has to be, see the makeup? Has to be the Noviet Geisha..."

"Another farmgirl?"
"Don't stare, it's not polite."

"I've simply got to get her autograph... have you got the cards?"
"Right here in my purse. Do you suppose she likes creampuffs?"

"Come, come, ogle the nice people. That's what they're here for."
"Well, that and the free meal."
*chuckles* "Quite"

"Easy for you to say, Conrad. You're at the perfect height for... conversation."
"Yes, rather. And I do get to sit down for the entire event."
"Quite. Can I get you another drink?"
"No, thank you, I'm driving." ~guffaw~


OOC: Things to do today... find Aliandra's last name! Had it somewhere...


Engred waited long enough to show respect for the other Candidates. For the main part, she found the snide comments from the guests and their lamprey-like sycophants annoying-not quite annoying enough to offer up an insult in kind, at least, not while sober.

But, annoying enough with her worries about Sharon, that she was put-on-edge.

Engred had so many things on her mind, she missed the precursor sensations.
She saw Medea come down the steps, and suddenly a sense of dreadful Emptiness hit her. Something horrible had just (was about to) happened (about to happen). She realized it was (will be) Medea's tragedy.


Engred paled visibly, and seemed unsteady. There was a distant...nothingness. Something big had gone missing(was destroyed), far away... She took her eyes of Medea.

Harem's insulated, we're not insulated here... she fought down the nausea and vertigo, and slid her eyes over the crowd.


"...possibilities these notes suggest, particularly with the fund backing we'll be getting from the Designwerks projects?"
"Of course, but the question remains - yes, I'll have another one, no ice, thank you - where to put the facility. One error, and you have a wedge cut from the planet..."
"If it fails."
"Or succeeds. It all depends on how you look at it."

Engred's gaze happened on the two conversing. The vertigo was worse... she felt her feet carry her to them, and absently listened as her voice said, "You'll lose the first two facilities because someone cut corners to skim a personal profit off the programme. You might want to run an audit on your appointed staff before you lose good people to an embezzler."

Back in control again, she smiled, did a bow, and said, "Enjoy your evening." then, she retreated as fast as she could.

what the hell?? She wanted, no, she needed a drink. Badly.

"Myfanwy apHywl of Findhorn ..."

Swanning gracefully down slippery stairs in absurd high heels wasn't something Myfanwy had any qualms about. A childhood spent in a robe that "surely she'll grow into soon", in an Abbey built on top of a mountain honeycombed with tunnels and staircases, was excellent training.

Nor was she concerned about her appearance. She'd showered, combed her short brown curls into temporary truce, had her dress fastened by the hovering Nasheed and pinned the tartan sash in place with the traditional cairngorm. "Presentable" was her aim, and she was sure she'd achieved it.

In truth, thanks to generous nature and gifted Vastivan couturiers, she'd achieved quite a bit more. The dress highlighted what she had, skimmed over what she hadn't and produced the "subtle scream" effect with delightful discretion. The sash, a recognised part of her country's diplomatic attire, had the contradictory role of proclaiming her to be someone with a serious purpose and at the same time emphasising the jaunty auburn glints in her hair.

But Myfanwy, unconscious of that, was concentrating on first impressions. She knew this was the scene that would define her for many of those she would meet. But it would also define them for her, and she wanted to take in as much as she could.

The crowd seemed to be the usual mix -- high society, wannabes, the military, the occasional scientist or academic here because, though very few really understood what it was they'd done, they were too important to leave out. And, of course, their offspring.

As she came closer to the throng, she caught a glimpse of a miserable-looking man whose garb unwillingly echoed the excesses of his partner's costume. The man had waved, or a ring had caught the light; something had drawn her eyes briefly to him.

A wave of hostility distracted her. For a moment, disoriented, she wondered if the weird pair from Ardchoille had awakened magic in her despite her objections. Then she realised that her peripheral vision had captured a movement. A whole group of people had turned away from her. Her instincts, noting the break in the sea of watching faces, had "read" the act as hostile. But there were hundreds of reasons people might turn away, boredom high among them; she relaxed. Still, she might move over that way later ...

There was an interesting man just there: he was in a wheelchair, but the people around him were not speaking above his head, nor were they treating him as a pet or a patient. So either this was a man of singular personality, or Vastivans were so innately courteous that they simply treated wheelchairs as a useful accessory, like glasses.

Remembering some of the comments she'd overheard, Myfanwy didn't think that was the theory to go with. Besides, she was sure this man was important. She was mentally trying to remember the unfamiliar titles when she noticed that Engred girl, the one who'd mentioned herbs, the one with the bandaged arm. She was heading somewhere fast, looking disturbed.

Myfanwy deftly removed two glasses from a nearby tray and made her way unobtrusively toward the other candidate. Herbwomen should stick together.

Myfanwy deftly removed two glasses from a nearby tray and made her way unobtrusively toward the other candidate. Herbwomen should stick together.


Smilingly, the serving man rebalanced the tray, assembling the glasses of sweet and unsweet TIORan teas to better suit his movements. When he reached Neira and Ka'tal, he very properly offered the tray first to Neira, his headbobbing bow wafting his facecloth about.

"A repast, milady, to remove the parch from your throat? Green stems are sweetened with honey, red with sugar, and blues stand by themselves. If you have no preference, I'd suggest the green - by themselves, these are a might strong, though if you have another preference, it can be fetched?"

The tray then swam to Ka'tal's level. "Would you care for one, mam'selle?"

A simple grin plays over his face as he watches her reaction. "A good turn out, one would think. You'd faint know there t'were a hundred and a half commons here, spread among the upper crusty and the titled." He gives Neira a slow, practiced wink.

Meanwhile, Myfanwy notices others in wheelchairs or with canes - and all such devices are treated as if they don't exist, save with some who make light of the situation on occasion.

Several dozen of the harem candidates are quickly engaged in conversations, ranging from weather to beers to global politics to discussions of the merits of various dishes to fashion and so on and so forth. A few guests are brazen enough to put forth - some timorously, some boldly - for autographs on cards or napkins or... well, a few suggestions border on the suggestive.

A few guests stand out strongly.

General Riva Sola al-Din is one of these, her Inuit ancestry combating Moorish blood at every turn; stocky and hard-featured, she moves as if carrying a mace and looking for someone to use it on. Her aide is a smiling Germanic man, whose entire set of movements appear to be designed to keep people from running into her.

Another is the showpiece, Vizier of Artistic Expression Goldie Ohana, who all but drags her magnificently plum-clad escort about the room. Her costume - for it can be described as little else - is subtle enough to stay just below the level of the candidates; yet beside most any of them, she is the one to stand out, gold brocade and platinum linings drawing the eyes away from any other.

Sharif of Law and Order Nudbah Nusrullah bin Sayyidah, on the other hand, must have been drawn quickly here, as he still wears judicial robes of a sort usually seen worn by English courtiers - perhaps less formal then the ones worn in official court, one could guess, but still stiff and potent with the power he wields.

Far from finally, Chief Herald Nivia Alix von Cohen makes her way about, making most polite conversation, her tan robes blending easily with the crowd, though she has made space for a sash of white and gold, clasped by her official badge of office - a rearing horse and trumpet, both in silver and outlined in gold.

Smilingly, the serving man rebalanced the tray, assembling the glasses of sweet and unsweet TIORan teas to better suit his movements. When he reached Neira and Ka'tal, he very properly offered the tray first to Neira, his headbobbing bow wafting his facecloth about.

"A repast, milady, to remove the parch from your throat? Green stems are sweetened with honey, red with sugar, and blues stand by themselves. If you have no preference, I'd suggest the green - by themselves, these are a might strong, though if you have another preference, it can be fetched?"

The tray then swam to Ka'tal's level. "Would you care for one, mam'selle?"

A simple grin plays over his face as he watches her reaction. "A good turn out, one would think. You'd faint know there t'were a hundred and a half commons here, spread among the upper crusty and the titled." He gives Neira a slow, practiced wink.

Meanwhile, Myfanwy notices others in wheelchairs or with canes - and all such devices are treated as if they don't exist, save with some who make light of the situation on occasion.

Several dozen of the harem candidates are quickly engaged in conversations, ranging from weather to beers to global politics to discussions of the merits of various dishes to fashion and so on and so forth. A few guests are brazen enough to put forth - some timorously, some boldly - for autographs on cards or napkins or... well, a few suggestions border on the suggestive.

A few guests stand out strongly.

General Riva Sola al-Din is one of these, her Inuit ancestry combating Moorish blood at every turn; stocky and hard-featured, she moves as if carrying a mace and looking for someone to use it on. Her aide is a smiling Germanic man, whose entire set of movements appear to be designed to keep people from running into her.

Another is the showpiece, Vizier of Artistic Expression Goldie Ohana, who all but drags her magnificently plum-clad escort about the room. Her costume - for it can be described as little else - is subtle enough to stay just below the level of the candidates; yet beside most any of them, she is the one to stand out, gold brocade and platinum linings drawing the eyes away from any other.

Sharif of Law and Order Nudbah Nusrullah bin Sayyidah, on the other hand, must have been drawn quickly here, as he still wears judicial robes of a sort usually seen worn by English courtiers - perhaps less formal then the ones worn in official court, one could guess, but still stiff and potent with the power he wields.

Far from finally, Chief Herald Nivia Alix von Cohen makes her way about, making most polite conversation, her tan robes blending easily with the crowd, though she has made space for a sash of white and gold, clasped by her official badge of office - a rearing horse and trumpet, both in silver and outlined in gold.

OOC-I would like my character to talk to these guests so I will do so on this post.

Helen noticed the General and her Germanic aide walking about in the room. ''Perhaps I can talk about Military,etc with the General.'' Helen thought to herself. She went towards the General and when she was there said to the General ''Hello there,do you have time for a little talk? I would like to know people here.'' Then Helen clasped her hands together and waited for a reply.

Helen noticed the General and her Germanic aide walking about in the room. ''Perhaps I can talk about Military,etc with the General.'' Helen thought to herself. She went towards the General and when she was there said to the General ''Hello there,do you have time for a little talk? I would like to know people here.'' Then Helen clasped her hands together and waited for a reply.

General al-Din considered the Greek girl for a moment, sizing her up.

"Ah. Yes. You must be Helen. General Riva Sola al-Din and you may call me Riva." She gives a slight nod of the head. "And my aide de camp, Sirdar Cheliadnia Gala ne’Pakho von Rommel."
"Charmed, indeed." von Rommel gives a more formal bowing motion.
"Yes. Are you enjoying yourself?" The General seems a bit uneasy with small talk.

General al-Din considered the Greek girl for a moment, sizing her up.

"Ah. Yes. You must be Helen. General Riva Sola al-Din and you may call me Riva." She gives a slight nod of the head. "And my aide de camp, Sirdar Cheliadnia Gala ne’Pakho von Rommel."
"Charmed, indeed." von Rommel gives a more formal bowing motion.
"Yes. Are you enjoying yourself?" The General seems a bit uneasy with small talk.

''I am enjoying myself here. So many nice people and everyone is very kind to me.'' Helen said. ''Could we talk about Military? It is one of my favourite subjects.'' she asked nicely giving a formal bow to both Riva and Von Rommel. ''Thank you for allowing me to talk to you.'' Helen said before waiting for a reply and fixing her dress.

''I am enjoying myself here. So many nice people and everyone is very kind to me.'' Helen said. ''Could we talk about Military? It is one of my favourite subjects.'' she asked nicely giving a formal bow to both Riva and Von Rommel. ''Thank you for allowing me to talk to you.'' Helen said before waiting for a reply and fixing her dress.

"The military?" Riva gives her a Spock Eyebrow. "Really? What portion of it do you wish to discuss, Ayid?"

With a start, von Rommel gives her a look at that last word, but says nothing.

"The military?" Riva gives her a Spock Eyebrow. "Really? What portion of it do you wish to discuss, Ayid?"

With a start, von Rommel gives her a look at that last word, but says nothing.

''What is the military here like? Does Vastiva use Military tactics like that of Sun Tzu,etc? I mean that sort of stuff,my Vastivan friend.'' Helen said nicely.

''What is the military here like? Does Vastiva use Military tactics like that of Sun Tzu,etc? I mean that sort of stuff,my Vastivan friend.'' Helen said nicely.

"The VAS" - she takes a sip of her tea - "comprises the full of the Vastivan military: navy, air force, coast guard, border guard, military, all of it. Unified under one "cap", we find more flexibility and inter-aspect cooperation is possible, then if one creates different wings with no common good.

"Our tactics have reflected many former tacticians, yes.... our current military posture is a defensive one, though we have on occasion been called to an offensive one because of treaty obligations, or beliefs in others right to exist."

She takes another sip. "Should you like, we could arrange a tour of Nassanuella Base for you - that should answer many questions, possibly create more. But for such a distinguished guest, that certainly would not pose a great problem."

"The VAS" - she takes a sip of her tea - "comprises the full of the Vastivan military: navy, air force, coast guard, border guard, military, all of it. Unified under one "cap", we find more flexibility and inter-aspect cooperation is possible, then if one creates different wings with no common good.

"Our tactics have reflected many former tacticians, yes.... our current military posture is a defensive one, though we have on occasion been called to an offensive one because of treaty obligations, or beliefs in others right to exist."

She takes another sip. "Should you like, we could arrange a tour of Nassanuella Base for you - that should answer many questions, possibly create more. But for such a distinguished guest, that certainly would not pose a great problem."

''I would be honored if I could see Nassanuella Base. Please arrange a tour for me.'' Helen said nicely. Then she said ''Your military seems very interesting,I have never heard of a country's military under one ''cap'' as you say.'' ''By the way,is there anything else I should know about on Vastivan Military?'' she asked.

''I would be honored if I could see Nassanuella Base. Please arrange a tour for me.'' Helen said nicely. Then she said ''Your military seems very interesting,I have never heard of a country's military under one ''cap'' as you say.'' ''By the way,is there anything else I should know about on Vastivan Military?'' she asked.

"What is it you wish to know, Ayid? I am entirely at your service."

At that last part, von Rommel downs his tea - and plucks a glass off the tray of a passing waiter and downs that too.

"What is it you wish to know, Ayid? I am entirely at your service."

At that last part, von Rommel downs his tea - and plucks a glass off the tray of a passing waiter and downs that too.

''Can you give me a history of the Vastivan military?'' Helen asked. ''I am also open to history and many in Greece say I will be a Historian some day.'' Helen then stated.

"A tall order, Ayid, one subject which could take a long time to discuss in depth.

"In shortest form, we were founded by a warfleet which had ill luck and a worse navigator - this was during the crusades. Our ancestors then kept this land and subjugated the few native tribes in our immediate area. It took long to move north and take part of what is now South Africa. From there, Vastiva turned into a true merchant power, trading as far as Austrailia, it is said.

"Unfortunately, again things turned against us, and we became isolationist after losing our African foothold. There we lay, dormant, for a very long time, until we were stumbled upon - and promptly took the attacker's land and people. This caused another flurry of wars, as their allies discovered us and we fought back.

"Closer to modern times, Vastiva was a gulag for the Nazis, which proved to work in our favor. We were later a weakly connected part of the first incarnation of NATO - then occupied by the Soviet. This ended with us in some distress as their power folded in on itself, and Vastiva decided it was far better to use other forms of warfare.

"However, we have retained our military tradition - we have universal conscription, and no one is ever truly free of their military bonds. Instead of land wars, we concentrate our efforts on the sea foremost..."

She pauses. "Vastiva has placed troops at many sites, mostly for defense. Our notable exception was in attacking Zarbian positions during the Brimstone conflicts. For that matter, I do not believe we have ever begun hostilities in the modern age - though, too, we have also not failed to give a stout and true defense in all our actions."