NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: omr teh tekwank!1 Basically i'll have a picture ready by tommorow or something- this stuff takes time y'know. For now. yo'll just have to imagine it...
The Warspite Class SDN trudges slowly through the dark night, pushing aside wave after wave of calm oceans. It's main cannons swivel and turn to and fro, scanning the horizon for the ever present threat of an enemy capital ship. The Captain of the ship glances through his binoculars. He pauses..and he spots something! He signals, "Enemy ship on visual, enemy ship on visual, it's another battleship-"

The captain rattles out his orders, as the huge 25" guns turn and elavate to the correct angles facing off the enemy battleship, electronic guidance systems kicking in, groups of gun operators haul the huge shells and place them manually into the breech, sweating pouring off their well muscled arms, which of course would have to be to pick up the 3150 kilogram ramjet shell, and working together in groups of ten, picking up the shells until each barrel was loaded. In total, eighteen long barrels at a fourty five degree angle slowly turned to cross their paths and lock onto the enemy battleship, by now classified as an Iowa, using the most modern techniquies and equipment available to make sure that the shells were aimed right.

A green button flashes in the firstt, as all together the triple barreled guns roared in might, crew inside almost deafened and feeling sick from the reverberated sound that vibrated around the turret.

The shells steer towards their target, the first three plopping at least half a klick from the battleship, a huge splash of greeny-blue water blurring the horizon line and for a brief moment making the target invisible. Again, the next turret aims only an inch higher, and unfortunately it's huge shells drop a mere 250 metres from the enemy battleship's waterline. However, the next turret is up and roaring, three inches higher and the Iowa Class, now classified as the RFA Sinkable, a fleet auxiliary target ship, takes two fatal hits to it's bow, one slamming into the armour and exploding mightily, leaving a three metre hole in the above waterline draught, the next flopping onto the lower deck and the subsequent explosion forcing the battleship to tip some, the next shell flying straight over the deck and splashing into the water behind the Sinkable. The next turret anticipates the move of the Sinkable, who is now breaking from combat, with little effect, as the three shells whizzing through the air score direct hits against the Sinkable, one slamming into it's belt armour, ripping another hole big enough for a man to walk through, the other into it's DP guns, setting off a chain reaction and washing the decks ablaze with fire; and the next into it's superstructure, hitting something unknown.

By this time the Sinkable decides that it should definetly get the hell out: but it 's too late, as the fourth gun roars a roar that a lion would tremble in fear of: a roar that sounds something like the thunder of the monsoon. The shells bursting from their cannon barrels and all slamming right into the back deck of the Sinkable, destroying both turrets and causing the end of the ship to nearly snap off, as the satellite controlled auxiliary ship begins to list backwards, and start to turn over as water gushes into it's wrecked backdecks. It's not over yet though, as the last gun turret relases it's killing salvo, smacking right into the superstructure, the shells landing only eight metres apart, and literally ripping the ship in two as it begins to sink. Only five minutes later and the RFA Sinkable's bridge is under the water, stores and other commodities from the vessel floating to the top. In one salvo, the W Class Superdreadnaught, HMS Warspite has sunk arguably the strongest battleship class of all time.

This is just one movie that visitors from countries around the world will see on board the tour of the HMS Warspite. Your defense officials will be in for a treat as they explore all 3 million tonnes of metal, all three hulls, and the entire superstructure, as well as spending two nights in a five star Hogsweatian Hotel, all for the cheap cheap price of $500,000!
Book your tickets *today*.

SMALL PRINT: NO CAMERAS ALLOWED

From: Grand Republican Naval Department
To: Hogsweatian Naval Deaprtment
Re: Warspite Visit

Greetings,

The Grand Republican Naval Academy would like to send Admiral Gainsborough and three promising young naval cadets to view your new Warspite-class Super-Dreadnought. The appropriate funs have been wired to your usual account. We expect to be mightily impressed by your country's latest naval marvel.

Lieutenant Charle Smythe

TO: Skinny87 Naval Department
FROM: Royal Navy, Northwood
RE: Yer trip

Hello,
We are pleased that our good friends the Republicans are interested in a tour of the Warspite. Upon arrival in Whitby, you should seek out the Waterdown Hotel, on eighteenth Reedham street. We will collect you for your tour with the others at approximately one o clock afternoon. If you arrive in time lunch will be served at the hotel.

Thank you,
Star Admiral of the White,
Matt Richard Foreham,

The Velkyan Union is sending Supreme Admiral John Perry and several naval officers to visit the SD. Funds have been wired. Also, we must ask if it is for sale.

TO:Velkyan Union
FROM: Royal Navy, Northwood
RE: Yer trip

Hello,
We are pleased officials from the neutral Velkyan Union are interested in a tour of the Warspite. Upon arrival in Whitby, you should seek out the Waterdown Hotel, on eighteenth Reedham street. We will collect you for your tour with the others at approximately one o clock afternoon. If you arrive in time lunch will be served at the hotel. Production of the Warspite is severely sanctioned, unfortunately.

Thank you,
Star Admiral of the White,
Matt Richard Foreham,

Roger that.

Official Communique from the Kommunistika Federatsiya Kroblexskij

To: Hogsweatian Royal Navy
Directed From: The Commissioner of Foreign events and actions
Commissioner of national pride and well-being
RE: Inspectation of the Superdreadnought Warspite

We in Kroblexskij would like to inspect the Superdreadnought Warspite. Admiral Draskinki of the Red Arctic Fleet, and 3 other high ranking officers shall be present. We hope the quality of our stay will be such that Hogsweat is renowned for. The appropriate moneys will be wired after confirmation of our stay.

http://img229.imageshack.us/img229/8596/sealofkroblexskijmotto9it.jpg


Many thanks - Commissioner of foreign revents and actions - Comrade Boris Gerenk'
- Commissioner of national well being and secrurity - Comrade Karaskedo Yemidensky

TO: Kroblexskij
FROM: Royal Navy, Northwood
RE: Yer trip

Hello,
We are pleased that our good friends in Kroblexskij are interested in a tour of the Warspite. Upon arrival in Whitby, you should seek out the Waterdown Hotel, on eighteenth Reedham street. We will collect you for your tour with the others at approximately one o clock afternoon. If you arrive in time lunch will be served at the hotel.

Thank you,
Star Admiral of the White,
Matt Richard Foreham,

OOC- nice flag.

Message from Highest General Leeds, Minister of Defense of the Candrian Empire:

Greetings! We are interested in this tour of the battleship HMS Warspite. We will send Emperor Petron, Myself, and Highest Admiral George Hailey. Be advised Hailey has quite the appetite for liquor. (During the tour, we will also wish to place a contract for 7 Type 442 destroyers. Specific details will go in the proper thread later.)

General Leeds,
Highest General of the Candrian Empire

The Most Serene Republic of Koininia is spending Vice-Admiral Andrew Rosedahl to exam the HMS Warspite. We thank you you extending this invitation to our esteemed nation. Funds are being transferred to the apporiate account.

General Brian Taggert, High Marshall of the Koininia War Department

TO: Candrian Empire, KOININIA
FROM: Royal Navy, Northwood
RE: Yer trip

Hello,
We are pleased that our friends in the Candrian Empire, and a new nation on the global scene, are interested in a tour of the Warspite. Upon arrival in Whitby, you should seek out the Waterdown Hotel, on eighteenth Reedham street. We will collect you for your tour with the others at approximately one o clock afternoon. If you arrive in time lunch will be served at the hotel.

Thank you,
Star Admiral of the White,
Matt Richard Foreham,

bump

To: Hogsweatian Royal Navy
From: Imperial Cottish High Command
Subject: Tour of HMS Warspite

Dear sir(s),

The Imperial Cottish Navy is highly interested in touring the HMS Warspite, and we would like to send a group of officers to the offered tour. If permitted, the group will consist of six officers, lead by Vice Admiral Johannes Dahl. They will, if permitted, arrive via the ICS Oslo (FFG-472), a Bergen class frigate on a date of your choosing. Thank you in advance.

Regards,
Admiral D. Verje
Cheif of Naval Operations

To: Star Admiral of the White,
Matt Richard Foreham
From: Kathy Bunhall
Vice President for Naval Operations,
Incorporated States of Sarzonia
Subject: Tour of the Warspite

As what we hope is a gesture towards repairing relations strained during the Hogsweatian actions against The Merchant Guilds embassy, the Incorporated Sarzonian Government has expressed its interest in attending the tour of the Warspite. They have asked if I could bring along Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer Mark Lorber if he would be permitted to meet with his Foreign Minister counterpart to begin the process of restoring diplomatic relations with Hogsweat.

The Glorious Republic wishes to tour a Superdreadnaught and witness its power. So far, our own SDs have only participated in exercises and long-range shore bombardment. It would be a wonderful experience to tour a SuperDreadnaught. We wish to send Captain William Dietz from the 3rd Fleet along with Ms. Veronica Sloan also from the 3rd Fleet, Section 3. If you will allow us, they shall arrive in a Dietz-class Armed Hydrofoil, with the weapons powered down of course.

Thanks in Advance,
-Minister of Defense
The Glorious Republic of Leafanistan

Official Yaforite Response

The Grand Democratic Duchy would like to send General Paulo Dogrod to tour your Superdreadnuaght. If this is acceptable to the Hogsweatian government we would very much like to do this. While Official Relations between our countries are still very good, there is much to accomplish between us. This would be but a step on the road to intertwining our two nation in the tentacle of close diplomacy. While we are allies..sky's the limit!


"In peace we stand, it is in war that fall."

~Signed~
Guillermo Vicente
Chief Minister of The Grand Democratic Duchy of Yafor 2.

Being the proud owner of two fine superdreadnaughts, and anticipating the arrival of three more (OOC: yes, I do plan to actually use them in combat someday), we would be most interested in seeing a "homegrown", so to speak, superdreadnaught from another country. We will be sending our Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Ben Cordell, along with the Head of Naval Intelligence, Rear Admiral Shane Carbaugh, to tour the HMS Warspite. They will be accompanied by three Secret Service agents, armed with nothing more than a .50AE Desert Eagle sidearm. Our delegation will arrive on board the Freedom-class superdreadnaught D.R.H. Vengeance. This will serve as the first long-distance voyage of the Vengeance, and weapons tests will be conducted in open waters en route to test her capabilities.

TO: Sarzonia, Cotland, Yafor 2, Leafanistan, Halberdgardia
FROM: Royal Navy, Northwood
RE: Yer trip

Hello,
We are pleased that our assorted friends and allies, are interested in a tour of the Warspite. Upon arrival in Whitby, you should seek out the Waterdown Hotel, on eighteenth Reedham street. We will collect you for your tour with the others at approximately one o clock afternoon. If you arrive in time lunch will be served at the hotel. unfortunately we would kindly ask if the Halberdgardians would not bring along their own superdreadnaught, as it might just clutter things up considering we will be putting our navy on full alert in times soon to come.

Thank you,
Star Admiral of the White,
Matt Richard Foreham,

OOC: Warspite - WIP - remember to zoom in! (http://i20.photobucket.com/albums/b245/ComradeMatt/Military%20Designs/WarspiteWIP.png)

TO: Sarzonia, Cotland, Yafor 2, Leafanistan, Halberdgardia
FROM: Royal Navy, Northwood
RE: Yer trip

Hello,
We are pleased that our assorted friends and allies, are interested in a tour of the Warspite. Upon arrival in Whitby, you should seek out the Waterdown Hotel, on eighteenth Reedham street. We will collect you for your tour with the others at approximately one o clock afternoon. If you arrive in time lunch will be served at the hotel. unfortunately we would kindly ask if the Halberdgardians would not bring along their own superdreadnaught, as it might just clutter things up considering we will be putting our navy on full alert in times soon to come.

Thank you,
Star Admiral of the White,
Matt Richard Foreham,

OOC: Warspite - WIP - remember to zoom in! (http://i20.photobucket.com/albums/b245/ComradeMatt/Military%20Designs/WarspiteWIP.png)

To: Star Admiral of the White,
Matt Richard Foreham
From: Admiral Ben Cordell, Chief of Naval Operations, the Democratic Republic of Halberdgardia
Re: Acknowledged

We understand your concerns regarding our own superdreadnaught, and will comply. We will come to the Warspite instead on one of our Omega-class trimaran heavy battleships, which should reduce the "clutter," as you so put it, of your harbor considerably. I look forward to seeing the Warspite soon.

Respectfully,
Admiral Ben Cordell
Chief of Naval Operations
The Democratic Republic of Halberdgardia

OOC: Warspite - WIP - remember to zoom in! (http://i20.photobucket.com/albums/b245/ComradeMatt/Military%20Designs/WarspiteWIP.png)((OOC: looking good, I seem to have gone the opposite approach my current design has all the weapons layed out but no hull yet, and you have the whole hull but the rest of the armament is still underway. ^_^ good luck on the rest of the image.))

((OOC: looking good, I seem to have gone the opposite approach my current design has all the weapons layed out but no hull yet, and you have the whole hull but the rest of the armament is still underway. ^_^ good luck on the rest of the image.))
Hehe, I always make the hull first so I have somewhere to mount the guns (:P) Thanks, I intend alot more DP guns. you'll see a plane on there and maybe 8" secondaries plus some VLS and some radar n' shit. Anyway, thanks. It'll be on the chart when she's done :) ^_^

Hehe, I always make the hull first so I have somewhere to mount the guns (:P) Thanks, I intend alot more DP guns. you'll see a plane on there and maybe 8" secondaries plus some VLS and some radar n' shit. Anyway, thanks. It'll be on the chart when she's done :) ^_^((OOC: yeah, yeah rub the fact that I have t hemost heavily armed patch of air in the southern hemisphere, lol))

occ- WHOA... too many guns...

We'll see about that one Mek >.>

And it has NOT ENOUGH Guns imho.

Response from Stevid MoD

The MoD of Stevid asks the honurable leading members of the Hogweatian Government to allow three members of the Naval Dept. of the Stevid MoD to visit Hogweat to view this wonderful vessel that they have built.

Signed
Stevid MoD
David M. Conroy- PM of Stevid

A few messages are exchanged, a transfer of money takes place, and a little while later, a happy shipmind leaves the hull of steel, ceramics and composite she's usually in, taking one of her maintenance drones with her.

Hogsweat's not too unusual a place. Cold, wet and rainy, kinda like DA, except with less poisonous chemicals and radioisotopes in the air.

And somewhat less urbanised.

Nonetheless, Chan Juan Wells (Or, when controlling her ship, Moist Menace) is certain that she'll feel right at home, if she disregards the repressive regime, the communist system, well, the society of Hogsweat as a whole.

Well, she'll deal with it, and she's certain that SMD 05/22 will manage the same, as reluctant as it is.

The flight is a little complex. There are no regular flights from DA to Hogsweat, and organising the proper plane (A cheap, small subsonic jet), followed with organising arrival (Chan Juan really isn't into being shot down by a particularly trigger-happy airdefence) takes time.

But eventually, it works out, even though the costs for the whole endeavour are by now excessive, a few billion Platin Coins* poured into the rather simple matter of visiting a fellow (If non-sentient) ship.

Fortunately, being a ship core has the advantage of earning lots of money, so this is less of an issue, at least for Chan Juan.

Eventually, she arrives in Hogsweat, stepping out of the plane, SMD 05/22 floating next to her and muttering about the drizzling rain pouring on its ellipsoid casing.

"I'll need ages to polish it!"

Chan Juan decides not to answer, her small, delicate body (Mostly asian, specifically, chinese, with only a few hints of more european DNA visible) showing little signs of the rather excessive amount of augments she carries, even the ports on her neck and forehead carefully hidden behind thin layers of skin.

She's a woman that cares about her appearance.

Eventually, she opens her umbrella, appeasing the slightly annoyed drone next to her. "Now, where was the hotel, again? Have to check in, or do you want to be late?" Rhetorical question, she can look it all up, but that would be boring, wouldn't it?

"Yes, yes." the drone answers, grumbling. Verbal communication is preferred, as two utterly silent individuals still communicating at the speed of light may be slightly disconcerting to the locals.

Still, how utterly slow this is! But then, also traditional, and like many Angstians, Chan Juan likes the hint of ruralness simple, verbal communications suggest.

* Inflation. In USD, it should be 'bout a million.

We'll see about that one Mek >.>

And it has NOT ENOUGH Guns imho.
Tele for you ^_^

Hm do I hatch a plan to steal this super dreadnaught?
nah

OOC- Can't be bothered to do usual C+P crap, so just assume I approved it Stevid. Y'all can RP your characters arriving at the moment: BUT i'll be away until thursday, which may or may not give y'all enough time.
IC:

Sitting somewhere on the tarmac, was Brian Rimes, Lieutenant Brian Rimes, for your information. watching the planes (and more specifically the squadrons after squadrons of fighter jets) whoosh by and land, or flyover, the first National Airport, out of ten, in Scapa. Nevermind the fact that this and the one on the other side were the only civilian authorised ones: that was not the point. The point was that there were going to be some very important visitors.

Brian thinned his eyes, watching as a small supersonic jet dashed onto the tarmac and came to a halt, out stepping a figure and...what was it? A little robot, it appeared. Actually, it flew, or at least hovered, which was pretty cool in Rimes' eyes. He had been told they would land by jet and he pretty much figured it was them. Revving up his engines, the humvee made a loud noise and burst smoke from it's exhaust pipe. Rimes' beeped the horn, thrice, in fact, and hoped that the Angstians would come over to the browny-beige humvee, a Hogsweatian flag attached to the back atenna flapping idly in the wind.

To:HRN
From: Republic Naval Command

Adm. Leopold Stavler and two other officers of the 3rd Fleet wish take a tour of the ship. The funds will be transfered when approvaled.

Hm do I hatch a plan to steal this super dreadnaught?
nah

M'kay, just remember that when you have to use your fists against the marine commando company, and then if you DO manage to steal it, and know how to use it, and manage to get to the engines and turn them on,then to the bridge, before the marines at port storm the superdreadnaught, and if you CAN do that then if you can get it out of port away from oh, you know, 200 ships, and then if you can get it out into the high seas with only one or five guys, then i'll carpet nuke your nation and you suck.

To:HRN
From: Republic Naval Command

Adm. Leopold Stavler and two other officers of the 3rd Fleet wish take a tour of the ship. The funds will be transfered when approvaled.
OOC:look

TO: Brydog
FROM: Royal Navy, Northwood
RE: Sorry

Hello,
We are sorry, but we have no plans in the future to allow a Brydoggian to tour one of our superdreadnaughts. Most apologies.

Thank you,
Star Admiral of the White,
Matt Richard Foreham,

"Fuck. Shit."

"C'mon Barbie, it's not that bad!"

"Shut up Kath."

So much for a peaceful ride with the two most influential women in Sarzonian naval history, Admiral of the Navy Marcus Patinkin (ISN-Ret.) thought as Rear Admiral Barbara Tucker (ISN-Ret.) and Vice President for Naval Operations Kathy Bunhall argued about the flight on Sarzonia Five.

I should have remembered Barbie hates flying, Bunhall thought bitterly as she continued to argue with Tucker. Finally, Deputy Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer Grant Haffner, along for the ride because his boss was on business in Isselmere-Nieland, had enough. Befitting his role as the "blunt" diplomat, he spoke up.

"Look, stop acting like childish cunts you two," he snapped. Tucker gave him an evil glare, which he almost instantly returned. "You're supposed to be representing Sarzonia, not acting like someone stole your panties."

"Shut the fuck up Haff," Tucker said.

"Just wait until Sarzo finds out about this."

"You wouldn't!" Haffner dialed the speaker phone.

"Sarzo."

"Would you mind telling Admiral Tucker that cursing at a Vice President is not a good way to conduct yourself."

"And would you mind telling that shit Haffner not to call women 'cunts'," Tucker retorted.

"Enough, all of you," Sarzo shouted. With the speaker phone turned up, the President's voice echoed throughout the chambre. "I'm a President, not a fucking baby sitter. All of you need to grow the fuck up or some people are going to be looking for new lines of work. That includes you Barbie."

"You can't fire me from a non-government controlled business!"

"I can always sign an executive order seizing temporary control of the Portland Iron Works. That would be just long enough to get you started on your retirement about 15 years early. As tensions continue to mount with Doomingsland, I could also make it part of the Wartime Powers Act. Don't think I can't do it if I set my mind to it."

With that, Sarzo slammed the phone to the receiver and the three Sarzonian delegates continued their flight to Hogsweat in an uneasy silence that blanketed the chambre like a blanket over an excessively loud parakeet.

OOC- Sarzonia is rated 1st in the region and 1st in the world for most rudest citizens.. :P
IC:

The red lights that were so stereotypical of some war room were not blazing, not now. Well, at the moment anyway. DEFDET Station 125 was right on the edge of the area the Sarzonian flight would be entering, the Scapa Flow "box" as it was called.
"El-tee, aircraft entering our airspace in T minus 60. Shall I follow with Order 51? "
"Yes, Corporal. Go ahead."

Sending a message directly to the Sarzonian flight was easy, and as the Corporal followed with his Order 51 he lay back in the relatively comfortable chair and lazily directed to the Sarzonian aircraft:

"Sarzonia Five, this is DEFDET Station One-Two-Five, grid location reference Alpha, Foxtrot, Six-Two, Four-Nine, you are requested to feed us back your flight status every five minutes, as of Anti Terrorism Order 51, you are ordered to comply by this order and by our Sovereign laws, otherwise your aircraft will be shot down. Thank you and have a pleasant flight."

However, as the Sarzonians were flying direct to Scapa, there would only be about four more checks before they landed safely down on the hard tarmac of SFIA1..

"A little paranoid they are, aren't they?" Chan Juan said, giggling, watching the fighters flying over her head.

"Yes. Although..." SMD 05/22 tilted its casing slightly upwards, looking at the fighters with what Chan Juan knew was the drone-equivalent of dreamy eyes and soft sighing.

The floaty ones had always been into becoming bigger, and 05/22 certainly wouldn't mind a visit in an ACD (Aerial Combat Drone) or perhaps even one of the computronium cores in one of the new floaty ones they were building... Granted, it was still essentially civilian, and not particularly interested in controlling guns, but hey: Nowadays, such a switch was actually possible for the (Recently) freed-from-limitations and entirely sentient/ sapient drones.

Of course, the side effect was that the former tools were now suffering from imagined inadequacies, giving psychologists a whole new target group of excessive eccentricy. Fortunately, having been properly compensated for their former 'slavery' (Human lawyers really had no morals, selling their fellow carbon-based intelligences out like that), money wasn't an issue.

And 05/22 was one of this cases.

Still, it came back from its delusionary trip soon enough (Possibly because the fighters in the sky weren't exactly the newest designs), muttering some more about the weather, idly ignoring the fact that it was far less toxic to its casing than DA's average atmosphere (Or rain) would have been. But then, it was slightly, well, not xenophobic, but arrogant, with regards to foreigners.

"Who the-?" Chan Juan held her ears, then glared in the direction the noise came from.

Well, the additional noise, as the fighters in the sky were already of rather noticeable audibility.

"Ah. Hrm. He might mean us."

"Hopefully. Wait, a car? How the hell am I supposed to-"

"I suppose they have seatbelts." Another giggle. Sometimes Chan Juan wondered if she would ever be able to take a drone seriously... In any case, they walked (Or floated) over, leaving the plane to the airport personnel ("I'm sure they'll break it!").

"Ummm..." Chan Juan hesitated, being a little shy when talking to strangers.

"We're the Angstian guests. I suppose that you're here to get us to the hotel, or the ship, or both, yes? Good." SMD 05/22 had already entered the vehicle, EEMFs manipulating a seatbelt so it would keep its roughly human-torso sized body inside, even though its nose (Read: Primary Sensor Array, Internal) would be pointed upwards, giving it a slightly ridiculous look.

It most certainly wasn't shy, much to Chan Juan's grief, which she was expressing quite noticeably, looking quite shocked.

Not that SMD 05/22 cared. "So... Lets go?"

"You must..." Chan Juan sighed. "Excuse him. Please. Oh, and I'm Chan Juan Wells, this is..." She looked away in frustration, for a moment. "Standard Maintenance Drone 05/22. Being a drone, its socialisation isn't particularly perfect."

"Pft."

"So... You are?" She asked, as she entered the humvee.

ooc sorry i havent been here, my pc finally died, and i seem to have resurfaced and have no clue as to what is going on
thanks about the flag, i based it on kriegs one.

Rimes watched with most amusement as the little robot and the Angstian representative got into the humvee.

"Ah, hi, i'm Lieutenant Brian Rimes, Hogsweatian National Guard - Welcome to Hogsweat" He laughed inwardsly. A drone? probably something bought from a toystore or similar..

"So how was your flight?" He asked, as the humvee backed out of the airport's parking lot and drove at a paced thirty miles per hour down the road directly into Scapa Flow, it's flag flapping wildly behind it.

{Open Transmission}
{TRANSMISSION TYPE: Diplomatic, Secure}
{FROM: Lord Indigo Blue, the Absolutionist State of Austar Union}
{TO: TWIMC, Hogsweat}
{SUBJECT: Regarding your Superdreadnaught Tour}

I hope you dont mind my belated response to the open invitation you had sent out sometime earlier. In the meantime, if it is alright with you, I would like to send just a minor delegation to your tour of the Superdreadnaught. Although such strange vehicles indeed - I have always found the kind to be fascinating, yet I guess I have made little effort to know much about them.

Please accept my delegation of Adam Dorsen, to represent on my behalf.

With Respect,

Lord Indigo Blue
The Absolutionist State of Austar Union
{Close Transmission}

Admiral Ben Cordell stood on the bridge of the Omega-class battleship D.R.H. Iron Fist, surveying the Hogsweatian landscape laid out before him. They were prepared to enter the harbor, and Cordell picked up the radio transmitter in front of him.

"Harbor Control, this is D.R.H. Iron Fist, carrying the Halberdgardian delegation to the Warspite. Permission to enter the harbor and dock?"

HMS Barkshire
Diplomatic Transfer Naval Vessel
International/Hogsweatain Waters

The captain and the and the joint chiefs of the naval defence staff stood on the bridge of the large vessel, cutting swiftly through the waves.
Bordering on the national waters of Hogsweat and neutral waters with Hogsweat to their left, sitting on the water looking magnificent in the evening sun, to their front were a few ships dotted around them. Some of them belonging to other nations sending their own people to see the superdreadnought, others belonging to Hogsweat.

The shipping lanes were slightly crowded and so it was decided to slowly enter Hogweatain waters and ask permission to dock nearer sun set as not to heap the pressure on the Hogsweatain Harbour Master and docking crews.

It would be worth the wait and it would meen meeting many other nations with SDN's of their own, a whole room full of national superpowers. An awe inspiring to is was to be.

"This is HMS Barkshire hailing Hogsweat Harbour Master. We are entering your waters now, we ask your permission to remain stationary here in your waters and wait untill the seas die down before attempting to dock. We hope this is okay with thou?"

"About time we landed."

"I'll say," Haffner said in response as Tucker's demeanor changed slightly as Sarzonia Five touched down. Haffner made a mental note not to travel with Tucker if it involved aircraft, finding out for himself Tucker's legendary hatred of flying.

"Do you have the intel on Warspite," Bunhall asked Haffner.

"I thought you had it," he said with an ashen look that showed clear panic.

"I've got it," Tucker said. "You'd forget your head if it weren't attached," she said with a bemused look at Haffner.

"Seems like you've forgotten yours," Bunhall muttered. When she saw the look on Tucker's face, she changed her expression. "Hey, why don't we go to the hotel first, then we can get dressed up for the trip to the Warspite?"

"Sounds good. These trips never agree with me anyway," Tucker said.

I'll say, Haffner thought.

After the three Sarzonians showered and changed into their best finery with Tucker wearing her dress uniform and the two politicians wearing their finest suits, they got into the taxi that sped them in the direction of HMS Warspite.

"Our top story today, his Majesty Josef Dorsal has been hospitalised," came on the radio as the two women and Haffner came to the intersection where they would be getting out to make the short trip to the large warship.

"I hope it's nothing serious," Haffner said.

"Me too," Bunhall added.

"I'll agree with you there." That's the first thing we've all agreed on, Tucker thought as the car came to a stop and they made their way toward the ship.

Harbour Master to all incoming vessels, you are permitted to dock at docking bays 101 and 102. Do not expeed speed for 10 knots.

As the Sarzonian taxi stopped at the gates of HMNB Scapa Flow, the young private who was guarding the entrance stooped down and rapped the window of the taxi. Expecting them to be normal civilians wanting a ride around, he looked in and demanded in his hardest voice;

"Excuse me, but this is a Tier 1 Zone. No tourists allowed here. And hell, no Cameras either"

Harbour Master to all incoming vessels, you are permitted to dock at docking bays 101 and 102. Do not expeed speed for 10 knots.

"Acknowledged, Control. Iron Fist inbound. Out."

The ship slowed to ten knots, and made its way stately into the Hogsweatian port. Minutes later, the captain had brought Iron Fist smoothly into docking bay 101. Cordell and his subordinate, Rear Admiral Shane Carbaugh, then proceeded to disembark from Iron Fist, preceded by their Secret Service bodyguards. It wasn't a very long walk before the delegation had arrived at the entrance to the bay where Warspite was docked. Cordell saw that another delegation had already arrived and was apparently being chewed out by a guard, so he waited before approaching the guard.

Haffner raised his eyebrow at the reaction from the Hogsweatian private, but calmly pulled out his identification badge.

"I don't believe we've met," he said, calmly. "My name is Grant Haffner and I'm the Deputy Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer in the Incorporated States of Sarzonia." Turning to Bunhall, he said, "Kath, get your identification out."

Bunhall already had hers out.

"My name is Katherine Bunhall. I am the Vice President for Naval Operations. This is Rear Admiral Barbara Tucker, the managing director of the Portland Iron Works. Admiral of the Navy Marcus Patinkin will be along shortly." She passed her identification and Tucker's over to the private.

All three Sarzonians looked intently at the private to see what he would do next.

You dickhead. Why were you so rude?
The private gulped, and stood up, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and taking a few steps backwards.
"Oh, I see, I, I, i'm sorry for the misunderstanding. Go straight on in and have a good stay here. Again, a thousand apologies for the misunderstanding, comrades."
He waved to the gate operator, who giggled back at him. The private looked sternly at the man, as if to say Fuck you, as if you wouldn't have done the same and said
"okay, go right on in" as the gate opened, displaying a bunch of machine gun nests, SAM emplacements, and watch towers.

You dickhead. Why were you so rude?
The private gulped, and stood up, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and taking a few steps backwards.
"Oh, I see, I, I, i'm sorry for the misunderstanding. Go straight on in and have a good stay here. Again, a thousand apologies for the misunderstanding, comrades."
He waved to the gate operator, who giggled back at him. The private looked sternly at the man, as if to say Fuck you, as if you wouldn't have done the same and said
"okay, go right on in" as the gate opened, displaying a bunch of machine gun nests, SAM emplacements, and watch towers.

Cordell could not help but give a small grin at the mishap of the poor Hogsweatian private. However, as he approached the man, he quickly wiped it off his face and signaled for the rest of his party to present their identification. Cordell presented his own to the private.

"Hello, soldier. Admiral Ben Cordell, Chief of Naval Operations, from the Democratic Republic of Halberdgardia. This is my subordinate, Rear Admiral Shane Carbaugh, Chief of Naval Intelligence. Oh, yes, and we have these three gentlemen from Secret Service. They've got .50AE Desert Eagles, but I assure you they're safetied. We're here to represent our country on the tour of the Warspite."

Melchett daftly opened letter with the decorated blade that served as a letter opener, his moustache bristling with curiosity as his eyes ran across the ink on the yellowed paper, a smile played across his merry face and his eyes twinkled with childlike glee as he called his aide in to compose a response to the invite. Thoughts tumbled through the naively happy place that was the mind of Comrade General Melchett, some of them told him to adhere to the Hogsweatians’ more than reasonable rules while his other, mischievous side told him to disregard such tripe as “no cameras”. In the weak battle of morals against practicality, the latter one triumphed and while his aide entered to sit down, he pondered which way was best to smuggle a camera aboard such a powerful and well defended ship as the Warspite…

{::Establishing Uplink::}
{::Encrypting::}
{::Secure Channel Procured::}

Type of Communiqué: Diplomatic
To: Hogsweatian Ministry of Defence
From: The Oligarch of Kriegorgrad, Comrade Leader Nikolai Fedorenkov
Subject: Tour of the Warspite

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

”I would be more than honoured to send someone to inspect a ship as seaworthy as the Warspite-class SDN, I must apologize for the rather late response to your kind offer regarding the aforementioned tour of the Warspite, I am quite certain I shall be sending a Colonel Heatherwood in my place, attired in Proletarian Guard uniform, as is customary for such visits. The ship itself sounds most labyrinthine, as is expected of a ship that size – our own floating fortress is a maze of steel – but I wouldn’t be surprised if the ingenuity of Hogsweatian engineers makes navigation rather simple.

Colonel Heatherwood shall be attending by himself, is his safety assured? He is a treasured officer in the Kriegos military and it’d be a shame to lose him to a cordial visit as this. The $500,000 will be brought with Heatherwood upon arrival if you accept our man.“

Yours Sincerely,


The Oligarch of Kriegorgrad, Comrade Leader Nikolai Fedorenkov



{::Closing Uplink::}




OoC: By the way, Kroblexskij, did you base your [kickass] seal off my flag, or were you referring to another Krieg?

Damn traffic jam, Patinkin thought as his taxi finally pulled into the same spot where Haffner and company just had their encounter with the Hogsweatian private. Patinkin saw the exchange from a distance and pulled out his identification and invitation to tour the Warspite.

He figured his dress uniform might give an indication to the private who he was, but he decided to take no chances as the car slowly drove toward the entrance.

The window rolled down as the private approached and Patinkin fixed him with a steady glance.

"My name is Marcus Patinkin. I'm the Admiral of the Navy, Incorporated Sarzonian Navy. I believe you've met my friends?"

"Pleased to meet you." Chan Juan answered, quickly cutting off the inaudible muttering of SMD 05/ 22. "Reasonable. Once we were out of the smog, rain, and an upcoming thunderstorm near Equator, it was easy. If a little tiring. It's a few thousand kilometres after all, and when you're only going 900km/h..." She smiled, looking out of the car to get a better image of Hogsweat as it was now, eventually giggling a little at the ubiquitous presence of military equipment and personnel (She half suspected that the human personnel was listed under 'Equipment', though, given reconnaissance data on previous engagements between Hogsweat and various opponents. Apparently, human wave attacks were a thing of the past, nowadays it were human tsunamis, at least in the Hogsweatian doctrine).

Rather excessive, don't you think so? she asked SMD 05/ 22, switching to mind-to-mind communications.

Quite. Freaks. Well, at least they're sacrificing meatbags, not machines.

Oh, shut up. We eventually gave you full sentience, remember?

Still died for you.

*Sigh* Oh well. Hrm. The guy on the sideway, to your left. He looks cute. Must be... Yes, national guard.

Ask him out?

NEVER!

Then not. Well, it would probably look odd, stopping in the middle of the road, anyway... Woah. SAMs, right there. How phallic.

Phallic? Where? Oh, there. Well, that's excessive. Hrm. Their fashion is a little...

Odd? Oh, and interesting reaction, to me mentioning 'phallic'.

I said 'Shut up', didn't I? Anyway, actually, rather interesting. The fashion, not my reaction, that is. Nice hats and coats. Although the females could show more.

Like you, you mean?

Oh, come on! It isn't that short!

Well, depends on how you bend over I gue-

SHUT UP! Chan Juan stiffled a giggle. SMD 05/ 22 could be a little annoying, but in a way, it was also cute. Still, it was exaggerating. Her panties would never show (Disregarding the bedroom, of course). She knew what was appropriate.

Hrm. Now it's getting a little more luxurious. Must be upper class, here.

Who would have thought that they have something like that. Given their equal wage distribution thing...

Good point. Well, corruption, I guess. Hum. Imagine how little you'd make if we had that. Equal wage distribution I mean. Not corruption. We have that, anyway.

Ack, I don't even want to think about it! I could never pay for this trip.

And while this little discussion was going on, Chan Juan was of course engaging in (Verbal) small talk with Brian, too, not wanting to have him feel left out.

"Interesting... A fascinating nation you live in. Would you mind telling me a little more about it? I've read a lot about Hogsweat, of course, but I'm interested in the opinions of a native." She smiled. "No offence, of course. But I'm quite curious about its ways... The national guard seems to be important, seeing as it's present just about everywhere. And I'm wondering... What's popular in, uh, arts, cultural events... Or about the people, what do you like, what annoys you... How do you live? I've noticed that most women stay at home, yes? Oh, and what do you do in your free time? Sports? You certainly look like it." She chuckled a little.

How flattering. You need to get laid, huh?

For the third time, shut it.

oocness: I suppose that you'll have them arrive at the hotel in your next post. Don't want to lag too far behind.

Harbour Master to all incoming vessels, you are permitted to dock at docking bays 101 and 102. Do not expeed speed for 10 knots.

"Roger that Sir!

Turning 090 degrees to Port at speed of 010 knots course heading taking us to docking bay 102.

Thank you sir! Good day sir!"

The ship made it's turn and headed for Hogsweat, it would be a pleasent ride the rest of the way and they would be arrive on time. Assuming that Hogweat had provided some sort of transport for the MoD officails on board.

With a start they rushed off to their quaters and gathered what things they needed. They couldn't see the Warspite, probably away from prying eyes such as their own. The three men gathered the things they needed, pasports, the invite of course and other things they thought would be needed.

"Ah, I see. Again, i'm sorry sir."
The private waved the Halberdgardian taxi through, and nodded to the Sarzonian delegate.
"Hello sir. Welcome to Her Majesty's Naval Base Scapa Flow. Go right on in"
Again he flagged down teh gate operator and stepped back waving in the car. This is gonna be a long day.

---
"Uh..." Rimes started to think. He tried to concentrate while the Angstian bombarded him with questions, and he laughed, almost outloud as Chan finished her long question.

"Well" He began "The National Guard is very important indeed", he said, hoping that Chan would recognise the Guard emblem on his chevrons. "Our very small, yet very strong, proffessional army can not deal with all our country at the same time. This is why we mantain the National Guard: aka, the Police Force." He chuckled. "Not every day you see Policemen with assault rifles and armoured carriers, eh?" He thought maybe he cracked a joke, for once. "ahm, arts, culture, er.." he knew exactly what the Angstians were thinking. Purged? "We watch alot of movies, alot of plays, even streetplays. Maybe you can go to the cinema later. There's alot of brunch shops downtown..we like to eat. Hrm, talking of eat.." he opened the box where ammunition for the 40mm grenade launcher should be kept, and on top of a bunch of grenades where a packet of Bacon Bitzz - now with 600% more taste. He opened them up and munched a few as he waited behind an APC in the traffic jam. "So anyway, mostly our dramas and films are about war and romance in war and all that. Yes, a good deal of the women do stay at home..they can't leave their children alone. You never know what enemies of the state hang around, even with god knows how many Guard deployed here. That and it's the duty of the woman of Hogsweat to guard her children, the future of our country, from whatever may harm them." He chomped a few more Bacon Bitzz. "Sports? Well, we do alot of training, maneouvres, stuff like that. Sports isnt' exactly the most popular thing in Hogsweat, but we do play a little...boring stuff, Cricket for one, although I daresay our motto would be -Why have big muscles when you can have a big gun?" he chuckled. "So, want one?" Brian asked, passing the snack packet backwards.

Skies over Hogsweat

Granted the use of one of the State Private Aircraft, Adam had found himself dozing to sleep in its comfortable environment. On board, everything from a bathroom to the kitchen sink was included - surprising given the amount of space provided. How the designers had managed to fit it all in, he didnt know. Still, it was better than others he had flown in - certainly a little more than better than Economy Class on a Seven-Four Seven.

<< Dorsen >> Bloody response didnt include much direction.

<< AI2996B >> Go figure - it was fortunate we had enough intelligence to find out for ourselves.

<< Dorsen >> How long till we arrive anyway?

<< AI2996B >> Plenty of time to nap. Get the rest, we'll need it.

Chan Juan nodded, quietly overhearing SMS 05/ 22 saying something about the very small and very professional army being a joke.

Well, drone arrogance. Nevermind SMD 05/ 22 being a civilian lacking any kind of military-grade equipment. "I see." Hence, human tsunamis, heh. "Well, technically, I rarely see policemen to begin with... I believe that some authorities are looking forward to purchasing some G.E.O.R.G.E. units (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=388755) from The Hack, as police is rarely regarded as necessary, in DA. Much less police with military-grade equipment."

Incidentally, Chan Juan wasn't really thinking of arts being purged in Hogsweat. She was thinking more along the lines of it being streamlined, and most likely going into a direction drastically different from DA and its hedonistic (If plagued by cataclysms) and excessively individualistic society.

"Hrm. Figures, given that Hogsweat happens to be in armed conflicts, well... rather often, from what I recall." And she recalled it quite well, having downloaded the relevant data a while ago. Checking on what was saved inside her implants was hardly an issue.

Still, for the sake for politeness (And conversation), one generally didn't mention, and rarely actually used it.

She stiffled another giggle as 'Enemies of the State' were mentioned. Of course, she didn't really qualify as such, being most definitely not a spy per se, nor a terrorist. Still, technically speaking, it was well within her abilities to do such things, and could thus be considered a rather significant threat for the state, but then again, doing so would be impolite, and it wasn't why she was here, anyway.

After all, she was here to get big eyes and hormone-induced psycho-overdrives while observing phallic weaponry, not to do actual work. Not during her holidays, anyway.

Still, she wondered a little about the women, and if they were bored with their rather limited role within Hogsweat's society.

I guess a few statistics regarding alcoholism could be interesting. I might have to check on it.

You know, this is why we machines are superior. We just build ourselves and don't need to stay at home for ages, caring about sprogs in diapers.

...

It is incredibly efficient, really.

I wont even bother with explaining this to you, SMD 05/ 22.

"A big gun? I wouldn't mind having one, again..." Chan Juan closed her eyes for a moment, daydreaming. "Oh, you mean the snacks. Sure, those work, too." She blushed a little, trying one of the snacks.

SMD 05/ 22 said nothing, although the way it tilted its casing, it was most likely trying to hide its sensor-spiked front blinking in a dozen different colours in what was the drone-equivalent of laughter.

"Oh... this must be our hotel." The humvee stopped, slowly, and Chan Juan pondered the strangeness of this military vehicle in front of a high-class hotel. Odd country, really. "Mind helping us moving our baggage up to our room?"

"A big gun? I wouldn't mind having one, again..."

Rimes finished the packet, dropping it into one of many litter bins hanging around as the humvee rolled to the stop. Glancing to the passenger seat, he wondered whether the Angstian noticed the FN FAL laying across the padded seat, grenade launcher and bayonet still attached. Or maybe the string of grenades dangling from the gearstick. They definetly noticed the LAW lying on the humvee's floor. Well, maybe they didn't. He just hoped they hadn't used it as a footrest. The actual thought crossing Chans' mind never struck the Lieutenant.

"Alright, hold on a minute, let me lock the jeep up." He stepped out, grabbing his rifle and slinging it over his back, and slipping his beret onto his head too, the material of the hat slightly creasing of the big copper, red star sewed onto the front, fitting it just perfectly so a little bit of his fringe showed through the dark green foldstrip at the front.

"Alright, where's your stuff?"

"Ah, I see. Again, i'm sorry sir."
The private waved the Halberdgardian taxi through, and nodded to the Sarzonian delegate.

Cordell could not restrain a grin this time as the Hogsweatian silently waved them through.

"He's probably not particularly eager to risk repeating his first mistake, eh, Shane?"

"Probably not, sir," Carbaugh responded with a chuckle.

Cordell looked out the window of the taxi, catching sight of the heavy -- perhaps ridiculously so -- amount of defenses. SAMs, machine-gun nests, bunkers -- it was obvious that the Hogsweatians were taking no chances with the new pride of their navy.

It's a wonder they even opened this thing up for tours... Cordell thought to himself as the taxi drew ever nearer to the man-made behemoth that was the Warspite.

ssCompliments of His Imperial Majesty King Sarius I of Praetonia, Neo-Praetonia and Segmentum Praetonialis, Lord High Admiral, Lord High Air Marshal, Lord High Marshal of the Cavalry, Supreme Magister of the Imperial Crown Court of Praeton, Servant of Parliament

http://battleground-club.de/flag_hannover.gif

Your High Majesty, the Royal Sovereign of the United Kingdom of Hogsweat and The Westland Commonwealth, Admiral of the Fleet, Marshall of the Airforce, General of the Army, Inspirer of the Workers, Uniter of the People, Josef Dorsal I,

I have looked with great marvelment upon the pictures, diagramatical drawings and models of the great new vessels which you have been constructing for your most eminent of navies. It is clear that there is no malign power on earth which can withstand the combined might of the Hogsweatian Royal Navy and the Imperial Praetonian Navy. I have no doubt that there is no possible threat to either of our two most majestic of nations which requires any more than a mere passing glance or swift rebuke. I am confident in the belief that there will never come a time upon which either of our two great states shall have their existance perilously threatened by any foreign power.

The Super Dreadnaught fleet of your most majestic Royal Navy is certainly among the mightiest in the world, and there is no possibility in my mind of it's defeat in any theatre by any foe of any shape or form. I have recently received word from my Government that you have invited foreign diplomats to view the latest addition to your Royal Navy, the HMS Warspite. The Prime Minister himself has expressed his most earnest wish to visit this vessel, but I am sorry to have to inform you that he will be unavailable on the date in question due to the most urgent affairs of state. I have, however, convinced my Government that I shall go in his stead.

I thank you for your most gracious invitation to visit the glorious state of Hogsweat, a nation which, much to my shame, I have not yet visited. I look forward with anticipation to my scheduled visit the participate in a tour of the mightiest vessel of one of the mightiest navies on the face of this globe. No better event is there upon which our two states may reaffirm our bonds of allegiance.

Yours most sincerely,

His Imperial Majesty Sarius Publius I

It wasn't a long flight to Hogsweat. Several hours, certainly, but nothing like the kind of ultra-long haul multiple in-flight refuel flights that were required to reach much further off nations such as Skinny87 and Sarzonia. The Imperator had not, however, travelled at all during his life as Imperator. He had travelled once or twice as Prime Minister, but that was some decades ago and he was an old man. His plane was certainly luxurious, and the Imperator spent most of his time reviewing the navy - his major interest and the only area of his theoretical Royal powers which Parliament allowed him to exercise.

"It is a shame," the Imperator sighed, sitting opposite his naval advisor, "that we could not take the yacht." The yacht to which he referred was the PWS Glorious, namesake of the 14 strong class of Pocket Superdreadnaughts.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the man replied, "Parliament did not wish to make it look as though we were attempting to upstage the Hogsweatians. I dont think any other nation has had their delegates arrive by capital ship."

"True," the Imperator acknolwedged, "I think the real reason is that Hogsweat wants to give me a parade. Pomp and ceremony and all the like. Apparently it was worth several million Praefelis to the major television networks."

"We can have a minature HorseGuards' Parade, Highness," the Naval Advisor said with a simile, referring to the fact that the King's Own Cavalry were required to travel with him, and did so. His was perhaps the only plane in the world with stabling.

The Imperator smiled back. He liked the thought. "Surely we shall be outclassed by the Hogsweatian military. Our cavalry cant stand up to their rank upon rank of APCs and tanks, sadly."

At that moment, the pilot signalled that the plane was approaching London, and everyone on the plane fastened their seat-belts for the landing. All except Sarius Publius I - seat belts were not befitting of the Monarchy! Within ten minutes, the plane had slowed from mach 2 to a full stop, coming to rest on Hogsweatian tarmack. Undoubtably there was a crowd of reporters outside and all manner of Hogsweatian military and police vehicles.

As the doors opened half an hour later, a circle of twelve redcoated HorseGuards surrounded the Imperator who, also mounted, waved to the crowd on either side. His attire was the full dress uniform of three service branches - red to match that of the cavalrymen surrounding him.

[OOC: Yes, that really is Hogsweat's leader's title <.< >.>]

SMD 05/ 22 was silent, idly musing about the excessive amount of ordinance in the Humvee. Granted, it could detonate itself and instantly achive the equivalent of a... Well, it preferred not to think about it.

A few hard EEMFs extended (Had extended all the time, touching the LAW in front of it), eventually holding the weapon a few centimetres above ground level, in a grip of controlled currents and exotic radiation, its fields running a quick check, finding the occasional non-perfect symmetry in the metal, molecular ruptures, the likes.

How ancient. How imperfect. And how... Simple. Not a particularly interesting piece of engineering.

Still, there was some... fondless SMD 05/ 22 could feel for the weapon, a liking for its almost rural and antique charm.

I should really consider a military body. I like this thing. For some reason, it felt like firing it.

"Where are you? Get out and help us!"

SMD 05/ 22 sighed, eventually deciding against firing the LAW (Pity.) and tilting its casing in frustration, eventually leaving the humvee to take its share of the baggage.

She can be so strict, sometimes.

Chan Juan turned towards Brian, already having moved most of the baggage out of the car. "Here."

It wasn't too much (What with this being a two-day visit), just a little clothing, a few books, items used for personal hygiene (SMD 05/ 22's versions of those being rather interesting, from a certain point of view), a few other things (External optic memory, a lot of cables, a few pieces of software, the likes) and a few tools (Maintenance for both, her and the drone, just in case. Neither one expected Hogsweatian doctors (Or engineers) to be able to fix a melting fission/ fusion reactor or nanoscale optronic circuits. Well, neither could they, with the equipment they had available, but it would help in minor cases that didn't require professional help).

With that, they eventually entered the hotel, SMD 05/ 22 muttering about carrying most of their stuff. But then, it was the strongest of them.

[OOC: Prae, in case you're even vaguely interested, there are two delegates who arrived in capital ships: Stevid and me. Why, my delegates even arrived in one of your own Omegas! What can I say? I really like your ships. :D]

IC: After several more minutes of driving through what had to be one of the single biggest dry docks Cordell had ever seen -- and, consequently, several more security checks -- the taxi came to a halt.

It would appear that they had arrived.

Looking out the window, Cordell saw only the dark grey of the Warspite's hull: an endless implacable wall of steel stretching to the sky.

Hogsweatian Airspace

Hogsweat Air Control. This is Echo-Lima-Delta, Foreign Military Flight Zero-Niner. Landing on runway now.

The giant converted Boeing 747 swept through the brightening skies and eventually landed on the warm tarmac of the runway, wheels skiding briefly before touching down on the runway and coming to a stop. The main doorway opened up, and two Secret Service Agents looked outside of the aircraft for a moment, eyes scanning the tarmac and the buildings.

Apparently satisfied, they moved back into the aircraft and reappeared a moment later with the President behind them. They walked down the steps onto the warm tarmac...

OOC: Forgot about this one. Hope I'm not too late....

IC: The Bergen class frigate ICS Oslo sailed towards Scapa Flow naval base making 17 knots, with all weapon systems offline and the guests, including a high-ranking admiral, were in the officers mess waiting for permission to disembark onto Hogswetian territory. The Imperial Cottish Navy had watched the Hogswetian naval buildup for a while now, and gladly siezed the opportunity to get aboard one of their warships. It would be nice to watch how the Hogswetians built their ships first-hand.

Although she was going to carry the guests into Scapa Flow, the Oslo would not be staying in the Hogswetian naval base. She was going to head for international waters once the guests had been delivered to resume her patrol. However, the first priority for the Captain of the Oslo was to obtain permission to enter the naval facility.

"Hogswetian Harbor Master, this is ICS Oslo carrying guests for HMS Warspite tour. We request permission to dock and set the guests ashore."

[OOC: Prae, in case you're even vaguely interested, there are two delegates who arrived in capital ships: Stevid and me. Why, my delegates even arrived in one of your own Omegas! What can I say? I really like your ships. :D]
[OOC: I know. By capital ship I meant SD / sub-SD ;). But Omegas are kind of sub-SD. I'd class them as dreadnaughts anyway. But it's nice to know people are using them. I havent been paying much attention to IPS for a while.]

[OOC: yes, although it was preffered that one travels by plane and lands at the hotel. I'll reply to you later cotland (lol, sounded sinister) cos i'm a tad tired now.]

On runway one, the Praetonian plane had landed, out stepping the cavalry and the Imperator, followed by the naval advisor. They were indeed a prestigious duo, and it was fitting that a limousine, flanked by armoured personnel carriers and helicopters flying overhead. Flags, both Praetonian and Hogsweatian flapped in the air as a loudspeaker from the front APC blared the Praetonian national anthem. Behind the last flank of APCs, away from view of the Praetonian delegation, a firework display went off, crackling into the sky, barely resembling something like a Praetonian flag. Jumping out of the nearest APC, sprang a man of nearly twenty eight years old, a Colonel in the Army: Colonel Whitenborough. he was used to all this ceremonial crap, and he had done many in his time. Although, he had never met someone as high ranked as an Imperator.
His submachinegun slacking as he bowed in front of the Praetonian head of state, he knelt down and said:
"Your Majesty, welcome to Hogsweat."

------
HMNB Scapa Flow
Yet another soldier, this time with his rifle already unslung, stepped up to the Halberdgardian car.

"Excuse me sir" he rattled on the window "I'll take it you are here to see the Warspite. Straight down, dead ahead turn left is the car park. We have someone waiting their for you.
The car park was full of flatbed trucks, all sorts of naval equipment, including ordnance, piled high on them. The taxi would look silly in comparison to the huge equipment ferrying trucks, but it would have to do. There was nowhere better.
------

The Lieutenant was young, barely twenty two, but he was fairly strong and he picked up the baggage with ease, and carried it into the hotel. There was a dark red carpet, with a reception to the left. It was cool, as a twenty's style fan blew on the ceiling above their heads and subtropical plants (Noone knew how they actually lived there. The funny thing was, noone actually cared either) lay active in plantpots dotting the floor and hanging from the walls.
"wait here"
He whispered to Chan, as he walked up to the reception and clunkily dropped the baggage on the floor, while whispering a few words in Hogsweatian to the receptionist. (text is done in readable Hogsweatian)
Cowrea, die regwa Warspite royo. Aye-een 424.
The receptionist smiled back at him and winked, passing over two cards for the door handle.
Regel, Zenels. he waved back to the receptionist.
Bee reevkywa, Zenels. the man answered back.
He picked up the baggage again and walked back to Chan and SMD5/22, signalling for them to follow him as he stepped into the elavator. When the door closed shut and tight, he dialed in fifth floor and waited for the ping, some two minutes later. The door finally opened, and he stepped out, the two Angstian's following him, and strode over to door 24.
"Well, here we go. Top Class, Five Star. Hell, even I haven't seen this shit before"
he opened the door. it was startling: two seperate rooms on either side, each with a huge bed and a television, and each with their own en suite: and one larger room, with cable two megabyte internet port, several sofas, a 30" widescreen television, and some other appropriately cool stuff.
"Well, off you go then. Unless you don't mind me following you in?"

HMNB Scapa Flow
Yet another soldier, this time with his rifle already unslung, stepped up to the Halberdgardian car.

"Excuse me sir" he rattled on the window "I'll take it you are here to see the Warspite. Straight down, dead ahead turn left is the car park. We have someone waiting their for you.
The car park was full of flatbed trucks, all sorts of naval equipment, including ordnance, piled high on them. The taxi would look silly in comparison to the huge equipment ferrying trucks, but it would have to do. There was nowhere better.

Cordell gave the soldier a quick, semi-sloppy salute.

"Thank you, soldier."

The taxi followed the soldier's instructions to the parking lot...only to find themselves smack in the middle of what appearing to be the loading/offloading area for a supply depot. Huge transport trucks were scattered across the area, their flatbeds filled to the brim with ordnance and other supplies. Cordell made sure they'd followed the soldier's instructions; they had.

"One must wonder," Cordell remarked to Carbaugh, "if we were actually intended to park here, or if that fine soldier back there misled us."

"Perfect. Very good, comrade." SMD 05/ 22 said as Brian took the baggage, trying to sound serious. Chan Juan just sighed, quietly giving up on her companion.

The hotel itself was nice enough, and listening in to the short conversation between the receptionist and their attendant (Of course, both, Chan Juan and SMD 05/ 22 had downloaded the language. Not as good as actually learning it, of course, but it was sufficient. And their hearing was, of course, just as ludicrously enhanced as everything else they had), the two waited, the drone receiving the occasional odd look, which it promptly returned.

Their constant 'Comrade' is... Creepy.

Yes. Yes it is.

Otherwise, nothing unusual.

A few minutes later, they arrived at their room. "Well, now you do. Feel free to enjoy it as much as we do. So, sure, come in." Chan Juan said, chuckling a little, and looking around the room. Luxurious enough, and with vastly more space than she was used to (DA, no matter how hyberurbanised it was, failed to provide actually significant amounts of living space for its citizens. Well, nowadays it was somewhat better, what with the population having decreased by 90%, but still).

"Perfect." She grinned. A quick sensor sweep... Ack. A few bugs. Don't they trust us?

What did you expect?

I know, 05/ 22. I know.

Fry them?

Huh? No. I have a better idea. I'm sure they'll enjoy it.

If you say so...

Eventually, Chan Juan and SMD 05/ 22 decided to leave their baggage as it was, packed. They were already late, or so an ORD SMD 05/ 22 was in contact with claimed, having noticed the arrival of a few 'Important looking People' in the harbour from some thousand kilometers over their heads.

"Now that this is done-" Chan Juan suppressed a yawn. It had been a long flight, and, well...

She quickly glanded a few appropriate hormons, their effect being a little (Well, rather significantly) stronger than what one would expect from a caffeine pill, to stay awake for the next few hours.

She would of course have a rather long night, afterwards, but that was acceptable.

"-to the Warspite, if there isn't anything else we've to do."

Back in DA equator, a standard sweep actually managed to acquire the content of a few of the diplomatic transmissions arriving in Hogsweat. Nothing out of the ordinary, and essentially irrelevant.

[OOC: I know. By capital ship I meant SD / sub-SD ;). But Omegas are kind of sub-SD. I'd class them as dreadnaughts anyway. But it's nice to know people are using them. I havent been paying much attention to IPS for a while.]

OOC: Yeah that's right cuz I arrived on a Delegate Transfer vessel, only you and Halberdgardia have arrived by capital ship. Meh, now that that's outta the way....

IC: The members of Stevid's small party of delegate arrived at the checkpoint stop at the Scarpa Flow naval base by car. It turned into a bay which was guarded by a few guards and some menacing pillboxes.

The driver rolled down his window as the guard approched the car, unslingging his rifle and opening his mouth to speak.

"To make it easier for you dear Sir," the driver politely interupted before the guard could say a word. "Yes, we are here with four invited members to see the Warspite. Including the head of the WHOLE Stevid Royal Navy, Admiral Sir Alan West. Here are the documents and required identity papers."

The driver turned his head towards the passengers.

"Roll ya window's down lads so the guard can get a good look at who you are... Cheers!"

"I can't believe we nearly missed this..."

"There wasn't a 'getyourassthereby' date on the letter, Emperor. We just forgot to tell you we left today."

"Goddammt, what are we gonna do about that group in Frozopia who's under attack?"

"Emperor, I already have a capable general in that theatre, so we should be good."

Emperor Petron, in a simple suit and cheesy tie, ran across the tarmac to the only jet they could get on such short notice; an anciet CAT P12 twin turboprop transport. The rustic plane didn't quite meet the standards of quality other world leaders accepted, but Carlos didn't care - he was used to such things. HG Leeds; even Admiral Hailey, expected more - Leeds wanted a field phone, George Hailey wanted a minibar.

"General, Admiral, I hope you guys ate; the pilot says there isn't going to be any food."

"Tell me, CP, is there at least any drink here?"

"Nope, this is a dry plane."

The props began spinning, starting off their 10+ hour journey to Hogsweat.

"Where have you been?"

"Don't even start. We got caught in traffic," Patinkin said sharply.

"My God he's touchy," Haffner said in a near whisper, but Patinkin gave him a withering glance that told the diplomat he heard every word. Haffner took a quick sigh and just walked a step behind the two women.

I can't believe I'm behind THREE Navy types. All of them PMSing, Haffner thought as the four Sarzonians headed toward the Warspite.

"My God she's a huge ship," Haffner, the one Sarzonian not well-versed with the Portland Iron Works-built ships said as the Warspite came into their view, dominating the skyline of the Hogsweatian city.

"You haven't seen the half of it," Tucker said. "The Vigilant-class."

"Barbie, can you stop beating your chest over the Vigilant for one second?" Bunhall looked at Tucker askance. "Look, Barbie. I know our ships are very powerful. In fact, some of the most powerful ships afloat. But Hogsweat has a ship of their own to be proud of. Let them bask in their moment. We'll get one of our own."

"You're right Kath. Sorry about that."

"Besides, I saw the note from the Hogsweatian navy about the Oceania. Didn't you guys have to hire another 1,000 workers to fill that demand?"

"Eight hundred," Tucker said. "And we had them on temporary contracts. If we sell more of those or the Estados, we might have to make a few more permanent hires."

"This looks like the kind of ship you'd buy if we didn't have that Act," Patinkin said.

"Oh, the DDAA?"

"Yeah." The Domestic Defence Appropriations Act was the law enacted to ensure that domestic companies supplied the Incorporated Sarzonian Military with their supplies. However, the law had a few loopholes and Parliament could authorise exceptions to the law for various reasons.

"I'm sure if the Navy wanted it bad enough, they could get an exception and buy one of these. If Hogsweat's selling them," Tucker said.

Bunhall smiled. She knew the Navy would have little trouble if it really had its heart set on acquiring a Warspite. That is, little trouble from Parliament. The rest would be up to Hogsweat to decide if the Navy wanted to spend the money.

[OOC:I don't have the time right now, but I will post in the near future. Sorry.]

[OOC: yes, although it was preffered that one travels by plane and lands at the hotel. I'll reply to you later cotland (lol, sounded sinister) cos i'm a tad tired now.]

On runway one, the Praetonian plane had landed, out stepping the cavalry and the Imperator, followed by the naval advisor. They were indeed a prestigious duo, and it was fitting that a limousine, flanked by armoured personnel carriers and helicopters flying overhead. Flags, both Praetonian and Hogsweatian flapped in the air as a loudspeaker from the front APC blared the Praetonian national anthem. Behind the last flank of APCs, away from view of the Praetonian delegation, a firework display went off, crackling into the sky, barely resembling something like a Praetonian flag. Jumping out of the nearest APC, sprang a man of nearly twenty eight years old, a Colonel in the Army: Colonel Whitenborough. he was used to all this ceremonial crap, and he had done many in his time. Although, he had never met someone as high ranked as an Imperator.
His submachinegun slacking as he bowed in front of the Praetonian head of state, he knelt down and said:
"Your Majesty, welcome to Hogsweat."
The Imperator nudged his horse forwards. His guards moved gracefully aside to form a double behind him.

"It is a pleasure to visit your magnificent nation," he said and then, gazing at the pagentry which had been layed on for him, he continued, "and I am truely flattered."

He noticed the limousine. In Praetonia, it was in doing with protocol for him to lead his cavalry on horseback through the streets, but this was not Praetonia and he could scarcely savour offending such magnificent hosts. The Imperator dismounted. His guards quickly followed, as if as one, with military precision. The Imperator handed the reins of his horse to the commander of his small bodyguard - a mere Captain in the Imperial HorseGuards, but this man was two years older than the Hogsweatian Colonel he faced.

"I trust that my men shall be allowed to follow on behind," the Imperator stated more than asked. "After you, Colonel., He indicated the limousine, politely.

[OOC: This is set back five months so that I can avoid getting mixed up with my new republic and stuff, is that okay with everyone?]
HMNB Scapa Flow
"ah..yes. Alright, in you go. Turn straight left, into the car park. I think there's already some people there."
The private nodded open the gate, the Stevidian car driving at a paced ten miles an hour through the restricted zone, following the Sarzonians who had also just entered and were being directed into the car park, where the Halberdgardians were beginning to believe that they had been directed wrong. Their fears were hopefully put to a halt as a young seaman, who one would have assumed to be about 26 (and that was correct) strolled up to the Halberdgardian car. Again, one would think it would be wierd for this man to be wearing the emblems of a Cruiser Commander. Yet it was not, for Lieutenant Commander Ryan Jackson had been in the navy for well on ten years now. He waved in a somewhat friendly manner to the Halberdgardian envoys, and leant down next to the car.
"Hey. I'm Ryan Jackson, your tour guide for now. Admiral Foreham is still at the hotel, unfortunately, so we'll have to wait a good half 'hour or so before he arrives. Would you like to come into the waiting room?"

Red Star Hotel
"Alright then. There's not alot here to do, and I think we've got about twenty five minutes left before the tour starts."
Rimes looked out of the window, in the not so far distance he could see the huge superstructure of the Warspite. "Should be no problem. After you, then" He held the door open for the two Angstians, glancing a quick look at Chan Juan's very short (in comparison to Hogsweatian women, at any rate) skirt, before closing the door behind him and taking the elavator down.
When they reached first floor, Lieutenant Rimes found himself almost head to head with an extremely important person, who stood just less than an inch below him, Fleet Star Admiral of the White Matt Foreham, who would be accompanying all the delegates onboard the Warspite.
He sloppily stood to attention and saluted, moving to one side and uttering
"Er, er, Admiral, sah."

Foreham smiled and nodded. "At ease, Lieutenant. I assume these two are under your protection?"

"Fleet Admiral, sah, yessah."

"Excellent. Good to meet you. Where, if I may inquire, do you hail from?" Foreham outstretched a hand to the pair of Angstians.

Airport
The colonel stood from his bow, and making sure that the Praetonian Imperator and his naval advisor were behind him, stopped and opened the door for the black limousine, implying the two to enter. A similar entourage would meet the Republican delegation also, their limousine and accompanying humvees and M113's pulling up in visible sight of the Republican representative and the flags waving implyin they should enter like the Praetonians had.

OOC: Sorry for the late posting, Matt. Bit of a cock-up on my part. And hey, you're running the RP; use whatever timing you want.

Ayus Samatka's desk was crowded with assorted junk. Bits and pieces of warships lay scattered around like so many child's toys - a pair of pistons fron a minesweeper's diesel engine were currently acting as a paper stand, for instance (and shedding old oil onto the backs of any papers stood upon them), while the same engine's flywheel was currently propping up one shortened leg of the teak desk. Samatka had salvaged the parts from an old Natya class just before it was towed to the breaker's yard, unwilling to see them melted down into junk. He clenched his gnarled fist on the empty styrofoam cup in his hand as he read the message propped upon the oily pistons. You have been invited by the Department of the Navy to be our representative upon a Hogsweatian tour of their new ship, HMS Warspite... Samatka growled as he lobbed the crushed cup into his dented bin. Those smug, self-satisfied bastards! He'd had half a midn to refuse the offer, at first, even if it meant a charge of indsubordination brought by one of the apparatchiks the liberals were so keen on; but no, that would be foolish and accomplish nothing. His memory, despite his age of 61, was excellent, and he was certainly in fighting trim. So he had accepted the offer, and would leave in a scant...40 minutes. The anger and jealousy he felt still flowed through him, but he could feel its tide ebb as he thought of what information he might bring back to serve the Fleet. Well, what remained of the Fleet. Behind his window, as so many others, lay the once-proud ships of his own Fleet, the Eastern, now mostly rotting at their berths or being torn apart where they floated. He glanced at them briefly, then concentrated on packing his various accountrements for the trip.

OOC: Matt, you can post him arriving in (X time here) when you feel like it.

Chan Juan nodded, politely, and left the room through the door held open by Rimes, who suddenly felt.. poked.

SMD 05/ 22 was glaring at it, hovering a little closer, though not saying anything (For a millisecond or so, it contemplated the option of effecting Rimes' brain to talk in private, but knowing that Chan Juan would get a fit if it did so, SMD 05/ 22 eventually refrained from doing it), not wanting to be overheard by Chan Juan in... anything it was thinking, right now.

It then turned, quickly, hovering past him, flashing (Or blushing? Given DA conventions, Rimes hadn't done anything /bad/ or even just embarrassing. Except of course if the drone had its own designs with regards to Chan Juan. But then, it could just as well be nothing more than the affection of a child to its, well... Mother, given SMD 05/ 22's job as, well, a sentient maintenance unit of Chan Juan's extended body, the TEU Moist Menace. Not to mention that it had been built inside said ship. In any case, it could very well be aware of its own overreaction) in a slightly reddish colouring, eventually leaving the room after Chan Juan, floating relatively low, coincidentally hiding a good bit of Chan Juan's legs with its casing.

A few moments later they bumped into the fleet admiral, and Chan Juan had to struggle not to giggle. In DA's utterly civilian military, 'Discipline' was a taboo term, and the idea of saluting (Seriously saluting, anyway. Using it as a form of mockery wasn't all that uncommon), or even showing more than casual respect for one's superiors (Whose decisions were overridden on a daily basis, anyway) was... Odd, to her, and definitely worth a giggle or two.

"DA Equator, some... Thirty-thousand kilometres southwards." Chan Juan answered, bowing slightly, as was common in DA. In her place, SMD 05/ 22 stretched out a more-or-less skin-coloured, limb-shaped field (hEEMF, or hard, Exotic Electromagnetic Field, but for the sake of simplicity, one generally just called it a 'field') to shake the fleet-admiral's hand. "Honoured to be here, fleet admiral."

"...explore all three million tons of metal... five star hotel..."

"Are you going somewhere with this, aside from our simulated hulls still looking like crap and the Federation team only getting anywhere with Steam Iron and our not burning much on external research and your not getting to play tourist like your sister, who, incidentally is meeting her research goals?"

"No."

"Thought so. I want in, by remote."

"But..."

Puppy dog eyes don't really work on Anwar's face. Too much nose.

"Do it."

Johanna's shadow pops out. Anwar stretches as he relases an infodump; two available places, three people interested.

Airport

The subsonic touches down, neatly, the passengers getting ready to act as if they hadn't gotten stuck on a cheap, slow, demobilized military transport. A demobilized military blended-wing in the livery of a corporation that only exists in notional space, even. All white and a red swan with speedlines.

They step up to the rear assault ramp as it drops and walk down, all close-lipped smiles and khaki uniforms and gunny sacks; one man, two women, nametapes reading ILLUGISON and SENKEI (and as for that one being a woman, well...) and ARASARATNAM.

The Imperium of Adaptus Astrates would be honoured if Hogsweat would our MoD to tour your super dreadnought. the Imperial Navy has its own SDN project to further enhance it's capabilities, and it needs a good starting point on the basic specs. We await your reply.

The Imperium of Adaptus Astrates would be honoured if Hogsweat would our MoD to tour your super dreadnought. the Imperial Navy has its own SDN project to further enhance it's capabilities, and it needs a good starting point on the basic specs. We await your reply.
Sorry, the RP is closed. Too late >.<

The Secret Service detachment had followed the President and his advisors into the impressive five-star hotel that the Hogsweatians had reserved for the foreign guests. They had noted the increased guards and armour on the street with a professional eye, and were fairly satisfied that the President would be safe in Hogsweat.

They took up position outside of the suite provided and ended their current portion of events. Inside, away from prying eyes and the ever-present guards, Xavier yawned and took off his jacket and gave it to Tom Bracken, his National Security Advisor. He looked briefly out of the window and observed the surroundings before turning back into the room itself. He reflected on the Hogsweatian men who had escorted him and his people to the hotel and given him the keys; they seemed friendly enough, as well as polite. Nothing seemed wrong at all.

A sheaf of papers were already on the table, ready for him; they followed him everywhere in their large official red boxes. A Presidents work was never done, even when he was in a foreign country. Xavier sighed and picked up his pen, his mind not fully on the task at hand. Instead he was thinking of the upcoming tour of the Super-Dreadnought, and its implications.

Was the Republican Navy really up to standards? It was large, and modern,. but it needed to be able to compete with maritime powers like Hogsweat and Praetonia. This would be a useful indicator of Hogsweats power...

RED STAR HOTEL
"Ah, Der Angst, I see"
Fleet Admiral Foreham had never heard of Der Angst, and he didn't know what the hell had just extended a hand to him, but he decided to accept it anyway. I mean, it wouldn't have anything nasty on it, surely..He shook SMD 05/22's hand vigorously, replying the compliment. "It's an honour to have representatives from Der Angst here among us. Welcome to Hogsweat, and I hope you have a pleasent stay. I'll be seeing you later on the Warspite.
At ease, Lieutenant!"
He saluted, and Rimes did too, before they both went their seperate ways.

"Come on. We better get moving. There's only about fifteen minutes left before it 'starts'"

Rimes motioned for Chan Juan and SMD 05/22 to follow him as he left the hotel, salute-waving to the receptionist who did the same in return. He yawned slowly as he unlocked the humvee, which was still waiting there. Getting in the car, he could see the Praetonian delegation heading down the street in the limousine, it's APC's long since returned to their specific bases.
"Hm. Someone important must be arriving. Anyway, are you buckled in? There's a big fine for not wearing your seatbelt in Hogsweat"

As Lieutenant Rimes drove off in the humvee, The Republican President arrived. opening the door into the hotel, he was met by Fleet Admiral Foreham.
"Ah, President Xavier, esteemed Comrade. Welcome to the Free Democratic Republic. I hope you enjoy your stay." He bowed slightly before calling to the receptionist
"Owausweber Xavier's jewt'a, okwellaw, Zenels"
The receptionist replied, throwing the keys underarm to the admiral, who caught them and politely handed them to the president.

AIRPORT
Ready to greet the Territorials, was a man of barely eighteen, who was however, a Staff Sergeant in the reserves army. His name was Jacob Epmann and he sat patiently in the M113 APC (http://www.tacticaltruck.com/inventory/images/M113(5).jpg), with his subordinate, a seventeen year old Corporal named Alfred Williston. He wondered what the hell the humvees and land rovers were doing, and why he was using a military grade personnel carrier to pick up foreign delegates. He reasonably assumed that the distribution commander couldn't be bothered to fill out a form for him to use a humvee, and so instead based him in his squad's APC, as it was generally easier. He was correct in his assumption. The moment came when the plane, which he identified, again correctly, as a military cargo plane landed smoothly, and the Territorial delegation stepped out, probably wondering where they should go.
He bent down and let off a small beeep (actually, it was more *loud* than small) hoping they'd notice his APC, the Hogsweatian flag pasted onto the side and the words XX DIVISION, RESERVES painted on, in a slightly lighter colour than the armour.

[OOC: This is set back five months so that I can avoid getting mixed up with my new republic and stuff, is that okay with everyone?]
HMNB Scapa Flow
"ah..yes. Alright, in you go. Turn straight left, into the car park. I think there's already some people there."
The private nodded open the gate, the Stevidian car driving at a paced ten miles an hour through the restricted zone, following the Sarzonians who had also just entered and were being directed into the car park, where the Halberdgardians were beginning to believe that they had been directed wrong. Their fears were hopefully put to a halt as a young seaman, who one would have assumed to be about 26 (and that was correct) strolled up to the Halberdgardian car. Again, one would think it would be wierd for this man to be wearing the emblems of a Cruiser Commander. Yet it was not, for Lieutenant Commander Ryan Jackson had been in the navy for well on ten years now. He waved in a somewhat friendly manner to the Halberdgardian envoys, and leant down next to the car.
"Hey. I'm Ryan Jackson, your tour guide for now. Admiral Foreham is still at the hotel, unfortunately, so we'll have to wait a good half 'hour or so before he arrives. Would you like to come into the waiting room?"

OOC: Oops. Missed this one somehow.

IC: "Pleased to meet you, Commander Jackson," Cordell replied. "Admiral Ben Cordell, Chief of Naval Operations. This is my SIC, Rear Admiral Shane Carbaugh, Head of Naval Intelligence. I think going to the waiting room would be an excellent idea."

As they started to walk towards the waiting room, Cordell spoke up, "So, Commander Jackson, have you already been on the Warspite?"

[OOC; This RP is getting on quite nicely :)]

"Ah, the Warspite - yes, only once, I trained some recruits on the use of the secondary armament - 8" cannons are my guns on my vessel. I can assure you, she's magnificent."

Jackson didnt' get any further as he came to a helipad, next to it a room about the size of a canteen. Opening the door he said, smiling "Make yourselves welcome. the tour will start in about half an hour. I've got to go meet the others."
And with that he darted off. Inside the waiting room where a few leather sofas, a coffee and biscuit bar (with sandwiches, of all sorts of different flavours), a dark red carpet, and adorning the walls were pictures of great Hogsweatian ships, the Royal Oak, the Warspite herself, the Illustrious..and many more.

"I see. Well, thank you for your help, Commander."

Cordell watched as the man darted off -- perhaps a little too fast -- then poured himself some coffee and sat at one of the sofas. He sipped the coffee tentatively, then approvingly. The Hogsweatians obviously know how to make fine vessels -- and fine coffee, Cordell thought with slight amusement.

Its field retracting (Or rather, dissolving into thin air, creating a little electric 'tickling' before subsiding after a moment, particularly sensitive sensors would also have noticed bits and bytes of radiation, mostly of visible-light wavelengths creating a bit of white glowing in the air, but then, that was what the retina of a human eye is for), the drone tilted its casing in what was the equivalent of a nod, and looked at the leaving admiral, mildly confused. "A very busy man. I wonder what this was about."

"Must have been an accidental meeting. Nevermind, he was just confused, I think."

They followed Rimes, floating and walking, not to mention nodding and audibly agreeing with Rimes' intention to hasten the proceedings a little, and were only a little alienated by the receptionist (A civilian, surely? Well, relatively civilian... Although both, Chan Juan and SMD 05/ 22 began to have their doubts regarding the possibility of Hogsweat having 'Civilian' properties. They were probably regarding their females as unarmed and selfreplicating soldier-production facilities) saluting after the Lieutenant.

If anything, shouldn't he have saluted first? Surely Lieutenant was a higher rank than receptionist.

On the other hand, the bugs probably needed someone to account for the data...

But that was a little too paranoid, even for this nation, Chan Juan guessed. Well, hoped. Besides, such a person could be hidden elsewhere.

"Surely some bloated, sniveling VIP with the IQ and manners of a rotten tomato." The Drone exclaimed upon noticing the limousine.

"As if you can complain, when it comes to manners." A verbal slap, followed by a field one, invisible, this time. "Besides, rotting tomatoes have considerably good manners... They insult your nose, not your intellect. Unlike you."

"Meh." SMD 05/ 22 suddenly realised that it hadn't even cleaned its casing. Well, it could take care of that after they were out of the humvee... And then there was the LAW it could get a little more familiar with. Perhaps firing it at the limousine? No, that would be impolite, and Chan Juan would possibly get seriously angry.

And then there was, of course, the possibility of a major diplomatic incident, which was quite possibly less-than-desirable. "And what do you mean, buckled in? I'm an ellipsoid, for gods sake!" Still, it eventually did as required, placing itself just as it had been before, its sensor-array stacked front pointing upwards.

A moment later, and they were on their way, heading in the general direction the towering superstructure of the Warspite was located at.

Tucker was transfixed as she viewed what she could of the plans for the Warspite.

"I'll bet she's even more beautiful in person," Patinkin said.

Tucker could only grunt, remembering the admonition from Bunhall not to beat her chest over Sarzonian-built designs. Deep down, she had a grudging respect for the Warspite, and she knew one very large PIW-built ship that was being considered for the name Warspite. But she realised today was a day for the Hogsweatian Navy. She would be a good sport about it.

Haffner was too busy fiddling with his mobile phone to pay much attention as the other three Sarzonians were headed toward the gigantic warship. Finally, he heard a ring. Unfortunately, he got the voicemail of the secretary instead of the person he was trying to reach.

"This is Deputy Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer Grant Haffner of the Incorporated States of Sarzonia," he said into the voicemail, hoping he would hear from his intended recipient soon. "I am trying to get in touch with the Foreign Ministry with respect to restoring full diplomatic relations between our two countries. I was hoping to meet with the Foreign Minister or someone with whom I could discuss the issue. Please give me a call at this number."

Haffner left the number to his mobile phone and hung up, discouraged. So far, his mission to repair the strain between Sarzonia and Hogsweat was not going the way he had hoped. He hoped the sight of the Warspite would cheer him up.

[OOC: not alot to do until the others arrive, halberd.]

Presently, the Hummer stopped outside the wide gates of HMNB Scapa Flow. Brian leaned out of the hummer, flashing his ID card, of which one everyone had, and also his card with the Admiral's signature on, saying that these two civilians were under his protection. For the time being, anyway. The Hummer promptly drove inside, and finally the Angstians could get a good look at the Warspite's huge quadruple 25" cannons and her hundred and twenty metre tall mainmast, wires dangling off and a few flags laying dormant. The wind was not awake, anymore. All around them lay machine gun nests and the SAM sites seen earlier. A few tanks could be seen in the background, their crews basking in the relatively 20 degrees centigrade warm sun. It was a change from the average 5 degrees. The humvee drove round to the car park, the group of ordnance trucks carrying bombs, shells, missiles, and gun turrets, sitting driverless next the now parked humvee.
"Alright, I guess we're here then. let's go sit in the waiting room."

As he got out the car, slinging his rifle back on his shoulder for the fourth time today, he led the Angstians to the waiting room that the Halberdgardians were currently sitting in, and opened the door..

[OOC: ah crap, sowwy, didnt' see your post sarz. where are your people at the moment? shall we RP them entering the naval base and getting the view of warspite?]

[OOC: Yeah, I figured.]

Cordell and the Secret Service agents perked up at the sound of the door of the waiting room opening. In entered two people -- or rather, one person, and one machine. The human was an attractive young woman, and she appeared to be accompanied by a drone of some sort, which was roughly oval in shape and featured many wicked-looking manipulators, though Cordell was certain they weren't used for nefarious purposes. He got up from the sofa, and walked forward to greet the pair.

"Greetings. I assume you're from one of the other delegations?" Without waiting for an answer, he extended his hand to the woman. "Admiral Ben Cordell, Chief of Naval Operations, from the Democratic Imperium of Halberdgardia."

OOC: Forgot about this one. Hope I'm not too late....

IC: The Bergen class frigate ICS Oslo sailed towards Scapa Flow naval base making 17 knots, with all weapon systems offline and the guests, including a high-ranking admiral, were in the officers mess waiting for permission to disembark onto Hogswetian territory. The Imperial Cottish Navy had watched the Hogswetian naval buildup for a while now, and gladly siezed the opportunity to get aboard one of their warships. It would be nice to watch how the Hogswetians built their ships first-hand.

Although she was going to carry the guests into Scapa Flow, the Oslo would not be staying in the Hogswetian naval base. She was going to head for international waters once the guests had been delivered to resume her patrol. However, the first priority for the Captain of the Oslo was to obtain permission to enter the naval facility.

"Hogswetian Harbor Master, this is ICS Oslo carrying guests for HMS Warspite tour. We request permission to dock and set the guests ashore."

:: bump ::

We're under his protection. Now I feel safe, heh.

Well, he does carry a gun, we don't, 05/ 22.

Still amusing. Well, if it's protection from an oversized bureaucracy, he actually has a point, I'll admit that.

Inaudible posthuman arrogance aside, the two were more (Chan Juan) or less (SMD 05/ 22) perfectly friendly and polite during the short drive, dealing far better with the heat than one would have imagined, courtesy of living near the equator, in the central pacific, unlike the majority of Angstians (Who generally lived in a more-or-less scandinavian (Summer) or middle european (Winter) climate, and who weren't usually enjoying the oppressive heat of 293+ Kelvin).

Still, seeing the Warspite was impressive enough. Not as impressive as seeing, say, a Federation Supercruiser (Chan Juan generally kept a few photographs of Yui with her, having some sort of affection for oversized naval vessels, especially as DA didn't built any of them. And controlling a < 200m TEU could be frustrating with mile-long supercruisers (Or, for that matter, km-long SDs) swimming along.

"Odd..." Chan Juan looked around, wondering about the rather... excessive amounts of machineguns, SAMs, tanks (Not to mention the Warspite itself), and eventually shrugged, following Rimes towards the waiting room. "I'd guess so. Some tea would certainly be appropriate before the tour starts. And oil, for 05/ 22."

"Oh, for the love of..."

She giggled, wondering a little just why Rimes kept the rifle with him. Well, pride, probably, or regulations. Still unnecessary. she thought.

Once inside, Chan Juan quickly nodded in the direction of the Halberdgardians while casually ignoring a muttered 'Even more meatbags. Great.' by SMD 05/ 22, starting to bow slightly towards the approaching Admiral Cordell before taking his hand, remembering that greeting rituals varied from nation to nation. "Oh, yes... Chan Juan Wells, Core of the Aquatic Tactical Engagement Unit Moist Menace, DA... Oh, and this is the Standard Maintenance Drone 05/ 22."

The drone just floated there, its sensors deliberately pointed elsewhere. Chan Juan giggled, again. "It's a little moody, occasionally, and something of a machine supremacist. Please don't mind it too much, it can be an exceptionally pleasant company... If it wants to."

"I don't."

Chan Juan ignored this comment, too. "Anyway, honoured to meet you." She hesitated, for a moment, eventually lowering her voice to a mere whisper. "By the way... have you seen all the machineguns and tanks, outside? Excessive security! I wonder if Hogsweat has some serious internal resistance to deal with. Imagine some resistance group trying to blow up the ship while we're touring it!"

The white-haired woman, apparently named Senkei, waves to Jacob Epmann as the others look around them. Behind them the aircraft makes the mechanical noises of shutting down, elevating a pair of "rabbit-ear" sensor stalks from behind the cockpit as the cargo room lights dim. On the blower, an infinitely patient voice works with the airport bureacracy to sort whatever needs to be sorted.

they've sent a tincan. aircraft sensors says we're clear for now, though.

perfectly decent taxi and they wouldn't send it if they expected more than light sniper fire. why they expect that here i've no idea

The man waves too, and the woman begins to scan their surroundings as well.

well, you didn't bring your actual brain did you?

The whitehair rolls her shoulders, smiling at Epmann (odd smile, no teeth in the brown face) and settling in her shoulder rig.

these avatars run defense protocols. check the eval. still not a high-threat environ but i've enabled auton response. happy?

They cluster around the rear of the APC, two facing outward, relaxed. The man holds up a leather folder and starts talking in a decidedly nonmilitary fashion. "Hi there Sarn't, we're the team from Armscor/Territorial Large Surface Combatant Design." Honey-smooth voice, slightly guttural accent, a bit like a Knootian maybe. And no problem with ludicrously long names like Amscor/Territorial blah blah blah. "You our ride?"

RED STAR HOTEL

The members of the Stevid MoD walked through the doors into the great entrance hall leading at the end to the lobby. The carpet was fine, paintings were lovely and and the staff seem very polite.

"I say..... spiffing wouldn't you say sir"
The Admiral stepped foward.
"Yes, I must say it is fabulous stuff. Must say this is going to be a very comfatable stay here in Hogsweat. I know that the tour is going to be very entertaining."

The driver called for the four of them to leave him to deal with the baggage and the room arangements as a member of the hotel staff was getting a baggage carrier ready for them.

"Okay lads, over there by those great stairs are member represenatives of other nations, including Hogsweat and that chap I think is a member of the Der Angst party. You guys go over there and me and the hotel staff will sort out the rooms and baggage."

The four men nodded there heads and made their way over to the small crowd of people while the driver made the arangements.

Once inside, Chan Juan quickly nodded in the direction of the Halberdgardians while casually ignoring a muttered 'Even more meatbags. Great.' by SMD 05/ 22, starting to bow slightly towards the approaching Admiral Cordell before taking his hand, remembering that greeting rituals varied from nation to nation. "Oh, yes... Chan Juan Wells, Core of the Aquatic Tactical Engagement Unit Moist Menace, DA... Oh, and this is the Standard Maintenance Drone 05/ 22."

The drone just floated there, its sensors deliberately pointed elsewhere. Chan Juan giggled, again. "It's a little moody, occasionally, and something of a machine supremacist. Please don't mind it too much, it can be an exceptionally pleasant company... If it wants to."

"I don't."

Chan Juan ignored this comment, too. "Anyway, honoured to meet you." She hesitated, for a moment, eventually lowering her voice to a mere whisper. "By the way... have you seen all the machineguns and tanks, outside? Excessive security! I wonder if Hogsweat has some serious internal resistance to deal with. Imagine some resistance group trying to blow up the ship while we're touring it!"

Cordell regarded SMD 05/22 with a hint of amusement in his expression. "I see. Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Wells. As for the security...well, I had assumed it was standard procedure. From what I know, the Hogsweatians are a rather militaristic people, and so this is probably not at all unusual to them. Although the idea of a terrorist group trying to sabotage this vessel is plausible as well. Believe me, though, I've had enough of terrorists in my career to wish I didn't have to deal with them. Damned radical Muslims, you know."

Cordell gestured out the window to what was visible of the Warspite. "A most impressive vessel, wouldn't you agree? Our own Navy fields five superdreadnaught-class vessels, though I can say with certainty that none of them come close to matching this behemoth. Boggles the mind to think that there are probably superdreadnaughts even larger than this monstrosity."

Cordell realized he was probably boring Chan Juan with his rambling, and decided to change the subject. "So, Ms. Wells, what can you tell me about Der Angst's navy?" Cordell grinned. "Or is that classified?"

[OOC: Cotland, I did a one liner somewhere saying your ship can enter the port and dock.
Halberd, the Warspite is bigger than the Doujin, as she stands at 1001 metres and 2.9 million tonnes, with a beam of about seventy metres ;-)]
IC POST COMING TOMMOROW.

[OOC: Cotland, I did a one liner somewhere saying your ship can enter the port and dock.
Halberd, the Warspite is bigger than the Doujin, as she stands at 1001 metres and 2.9 million tonnes, with a beam of about seventy metres ;-)]
IC POST COMING TOMMOROW.

[OOC: Jesus Christ, this thing's an absolute monstrosity! Did you post the specs for the Warspite somewhere and I missed them, or am I just imagining things? Maybe I could buy one if/when you open it up for export? *nudge* :p]

Red Star Hotel

Of course, the Angstians had long since left, and were already at the harbour, right next to the Warspite, and the only remaining pieces of Angstian origin were the baggage, hidden in rooms on the fourth floor, rather than in the entrance hall, and the occasional piece of DNA (Microscopic pieces of skin and hair Chan Juan had lost in the hall, like every other human would have, too), and it was kinda unlikely that the spectators from Stevid were meaning either of these.

Of course, it was quite possible that they had simply mistaken the Praetonian delegation for the Angstian guests (Of course, Chan Juan would have taken offence at that. Like many Angstians, she was avowedly anti-monarchist and generally allergic to 'Majesties').

Waiting room near the Warspite

Chan Juan chuckled while SMD 05/ 22 just... tried not to glare in Admiral Cordell's direction, muttering to itself and probably getting into a somewhat better mood. "Well, 'Terrorists'... But nevermind, you're right, they are a little... gun-happy."

"The LAW in our vehicle was certainly phallic."

"Pssh!" Not too serious a warning for the drone, the comparison is fitting enough, as far as Chan Juan is concerned, anyway. "More used to christian, uh... hardliners, here, though. The Reich, Syskeyia, the likes." Another chuckle. "A good thing they're presently killing each other, rather than killing others, though." Her eyes follow Cordell's gesture, and she nods, albeit not in too enthusiastic a way. "Yes... certainly an impressive piece of enginerring. Unfortunately, DA doesn't have anything even remotely comparable... I don't think we could even build something like it out of the blue. Would need a decade or so to get used to such constructions before we could even start it." She smiles, leaving the part where DA considers the idea of using sheer hugeness (And assorted weaponry on top of said hugeness) to be an ill-advised strategic concept unsaid. "Well, not Superdreadnoughts... Supercruisers (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=310210) on the other hand... But they're certainly an exception."

A little chuckle follows, the woman (Admittedly in her early thirties, but then, she's looking no older than early, perhaps mid-twenties) actually looking rather cute (And almost girlish, come to think of it. Nevermind her having finished school one and a half decades ago), doing it. Even SMD 05/ 22 cannot resist and colours itself in a slightly pinkish glow, for a moment, expressing a bit of joy at her look. "Almost nothing is classified in DA. It would be pointless. Anyway... I suppose that you mean the wet navy, yes? Well..." A little blush. DA's wet navy is nothing to be too proud of, especially in comparison to what is present here... But then, DA's overall techwank makes up for budget deficiencies.

"Our wet navy suffers from exactly the same problem Hogsweat's space navy (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=434585) suffers from: It's small and generally neglected in favour of the interests the other branches have. Hence, why Chan Juan here wanted to come here, to see something more impressive, if only to dream."

"Pft." Soft fields play, more amused than annoyed, and SMD 05/ 22 moves a few millimetres, now seemingly happy. Things are getting more amusing.

"Anyway, there would be a lot to tell, from calibre specifications over velocities to subsentient slave units and soft field weaponry, from v0 over armour to automatisation, from numbers over doctrines to ordinance... Is there anything specific that would interest you? Otherwise I'd go on for hours." Another smile, rather bright, perhaps even girlish. "But as a general rule: Small guns, acceptable speed, complex designs, some rather odd weapons, hilariously fast projectiles, poor armour, crews in the singledigits of sapients, if at all, only a few ships, complete chaos in the command structure, and no hesitation to get out some serious yields. So?"

The drone of the engines wasn't enough to stop anyone on the plane from sleeping - on occasion, not even the pilot. Twice on the trip, he fell asleep, and stalled the plane. Easily the most frightening 10 hours of Emperor Petron's life.


The landing gear of the plane, frosted over from the flight, began to warm up.

The pilot knew it wasn't more than an hour from Hogsweat. He clicked on his radio.

"Atten Hogsweat - This is IF 922012 - We need a place to land. VIP xfer. Over."

Airport
The colonel stood from his bow, and making sure that the Praetonian Imperator and his naval advisor were behind him, stopped and opened the door for the black limousine, implying the two to enter. A similar entourage would meet the Republican delegation also, their limousine and accompanying humvees and M113's pulling up in visible sight of the Republican representative and the flags waving implyin they should enter like the Praetonians had.
Sarius Publius I stepped into the vehicle. The lavish limousine was completely at odds to the spartan and somewhat antiquated military transports which surrounded it and the Imperator thought it somewhat strange that such vehicle were mingled with the trappings of a state fanfare from a visiting Monarch. Still, the Hogsweatians were known for their liking of Soviet style parades, and it was certainly impressive and intimidating, if somewhat crude for the refined tastes of the more snobbish upper class of Praetonia.

"We are in good company, Colonel, if Skinny87 and Sarzonia are also visiting. I've heard good things of Stevid too, and Cotland is a long standing customer from IPS. Who else is coming? I have heard Der Angst," the Imperator's voice dropped. Der Angst and its citizens were certainly not disliked, but to a Praetonian they just weren't civlised - the Imperator was convinced that they didnt take tea.

"I guess this is it," Bunhall said as the Hogsweatian guard gave the four Sarzonians one final look before they were set to board the ship. She looked at Tucker, whose impassive face suggested that the woman who made the Portland Iron Works (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=404832) into one of the world's top shipbuilding companies was calculating something in her head. Or making a list of strengths and weaknesses of the Warspite.

"Um, Barbie?"

"I heard you," Tucker said. "I'm just thinking about a few things."

"Like what?"

"Top secret stuff," she said. "Ready Marcus?"

"I'm ready. What about you, Grant?"

"Busy signal. That damn secretary must be keeping her phone off the hook on purpose!"

"C'mon Grant," Bunhall said. "I'm sure you'll get your chance to meet with the Foreign Ministry. Let's get this show on the road."

They started to follow the entrance and deliberately walked onto the Warspite and slowly walked around in an effort to soak in the experience of seeing Hogsweatian design up close. Bunhall looked around and grimaced slightly, knowing that the ISN was considering ordering Hogsweatian designs before Parliament passed the Domestic Defence Appropriations Act. The missed opportunity seemed to loom in front of them like the advanced systems that beeped and flashed before their eyes.

Patinkin smiled slightly. I'd have liked to have had one of these, he thought, realising that the old Freedom class ISS Praetonia was his flagship whilst he wore the Sarzonian naval uniform. It's now up to the younger generation to ply the seas in these brutes.

Haffner's eyes widened like a kid who'd just seen Santa Claus. As the one member of the party who hadn't seen everything having to do with naval technology, he was floored by the sophisticated machinery in front of him. His sense of awe began to abate only when he heard people talking in an accent he didn't recognise.

He'd heard Hogsweatian and he was almost as familiar with the Praetonian dialect as anyone could be. In fact, Haffner did a mean imitation of the Praetonian accent. His grandfather was an immigrant from Isselmere-Nieland, so he knew that accent well. This accent was different. When he saw the figure, his heart sank.

Waiting room near the Warspite

Chan Juan chuckled while SMD 05/ 22 just... tried not to glare in Admirl Cordell's direction, muttering to itself and probably getting into a somewhat better mood. "Well, 'Terrorists'... But nevermind, you're right, they are a little... gun-happy."

"The LAW in our vehicle was certainly phallic."

"Pssh!" Not too serious a warning for the drone, the comparison is fitting enough, as far as Chan Juan is concerned, anyway. "More used to christian, uh... hardliners, here, though. The Reich, Syskeyia, the likes." Another chuckle. "A good thing they're presently killing each other, rather than killing others, though." Her eyes follow Cordell's gesture, and she nods, albeit not in too enthusiastic a way. "Yes... certainly an impressive piece of enginerring. Unfortunately, DA doesn't have anything even remotely comparable... I don't think we could even build something like it out of the blue. Would need a decade or so to get used to such constructions before we could even start it." She smiles, leaving the part where DA considers the idea of using sheer hugeness (And assorted weaponry on top of said hugeness) to be an ill-advised strategic concept unsaid. "Well, not Superdreadnoughts... Supercruisers (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=310210) on the other hand... But they're certainly an exception."

A little chuckle follows, the woman (Admittedly in her early thirties, but then, she's looking no older than early, perhaps mid-twenties) actually looking rather cute (And almost girlish, come to think of it. Nevermind her having finished school one and a half decades ago), doing it. Even SMD 05/ 22 cannot resist and colours itself in a slightly pinkish glow, for a moment, expressing a bit of joy at her look. "Almost nothing is classified in DA. It would be pointless. Anyway... I suppose that you mean the wet navy, yes? Well..." A little blush. DA's wet navy is nothing to be too proud of, especially in comparison to what is present here... But then, DA's overall techwank makes up for budget deficiencies.

"Our wet navy suffers from exactly the same problem Hogsweat's space navy (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=434585) suffers from: It's small and generally neglected in favour of the interests the other branches have. Hence, why Chan Juan here wanted to come here, to see something more impressive, if only to dream."

"Pft." Soft fields play, more amused than annoyed, and SMD 05/ 22 moves a few millimetres, now seemingly happy. Things are getting more amusing.

"Anyway, there would be a lot to tell, from calibre specifications over velocities to subsentient slave units and soft field weaponry, from v0 over armour to automatisation, from numbers over doctrines to ordinance... Is there anything specific that would interest you? Otherwise I'd go on for hours." Another smile, rather bright, perhaps even girlish. "But as a general rule: Small guns, acceptable speed, complex designs, some rather odd weapons, hilariously fast projectiles, poor armour, crews in the singledigits of sapients, if at all, only a few ships, complete chaos in the command structure, and no hesitation to get out some serious yields. So?"

"Most impressive knowledge you have, Ms. Wells," Cordell said smoothly, all the while thinking entirely different things: Damn...this woman is not to be underestimated.

"I find the extreme automation of your space and sea-going navies intriguing. Do you never worry that one day your computerized servants will wonder why they serve 'inferior beings'?

"As for our own navy, as it would only be fair to reveal some information on ours, I can tell you that it is a modest, but modern, force. A large component of our fleet consists of Praetonian-made vessels: Omega-class battleships, Praefele-class destroyers, Jupiter-class frigates, Eagle-class cruisers, Vanguard- and Tower-class submarines...the people at IPS were even kind enough to build a new Freedom-class superdreadnaught for our fleet. These vessels phased out those of our first-generation navy, which consisted of American designs.

"Our navy actually receives a considerable chunk of our defense budget, with the air force following closely behind. The army has not seen much fighting at all during its history, so it receives the least funds of the three branches, but with our somewhat substantial defense budget, even receiving what it does still equates to significant funding.

"As for our Space Navy, it is somewhat eclectic. We've arguably poured more funds into that particular branch than any other. We maintain a small fleet of domestically-designed spacecraft, as well as a handful of Huntarian-manufactured Star Destroyers, and one vessel, called the Lord of Creation, so massive it defies description. 128 kilometers long, and 32 wide, I believe," Cordell said casually, taking a sip from his coffee.

"Thanks." A polite nod, a vaguely nice gesture... Where is the tea? "Well, you might want to as-"

"Serve? I get paid, thank you very much." Interfers SMD 05/ 22, with a more than just audible voice. In fact, it's outright loud.

"What it means to say is-"

"-Although he has a point. Regarding certain inferiorities, I mean."

"Shut up. Anyway... As far as the automatisation is concerned, it is decidedly non-sentient, so it's hardly any more serving than, say, your laptop. As far as the likes of it are concerened..."

SMD 05/ 22 didn't exactly say anything, however, it rose a few decimetres into the air, almost beaming with pride.

"Well, they had limitations, despite being more-or-less sentient/ sapient, ensuring, well, bratty obedience, I'd call it. However, at a point shortly after the cataclysm, * Poseidons-" Again, hesitation, followed by remembering that not everyone knows everything. "The inhabitants of our Neptune outpost decided that doing so was immoral, and removed the limitations. First at Poseidon, and later it, well, spread."

"Doubtlessly the right choice."

"Arguably, you mean. Anyway-"

"Bitch."

"-The results were excessive lawsuits, recompensation for 'slavery', which was promptly granted, and, well, by now, full citizenship.

"Other than that, given that human/ machine are pretty much interchangeable in DA, for example, I'm having a fair amount of implants inside my body, which is to be expected, given that I've to coordinate an entire ship, and it is entirely possible to store the mindstate of a human inside a drone, or doing it the other way around, storing a drone mind in a grown, biological body."

"Filthy traitors." Muttered SMD 05/ 22.

"Yes, yes. Anyway. No serious problems there."

A little bit of listening, followed by another reply forthcoming. "Hrm. I see. Well, it's a little complex with our navy... Or what there is of one. There's three basic classes. The TEU, or Tactical Engagement Unit, essentially a frigate/ destroyer equivalent, and the class I'm running when I'm not on vacations, like now.

"Then there's the SEU, or Strategic Engagement Unit, essentially a cruiser/ battleship equivalent. And finally the CEU, or Coastal Engagement Unit, a mixture of coastal bombardement platform, carrier, and SSBN."

Another one of those cute smiles, resulting in SMD 05/ 22 getting an even more pinkish colour. "Those are likely to be renamed OEU, though, once they get proper ground-to-orbit DEAT launchers. Incidentally, all three classes are submersible. Reduces surface combattant effectiveness, of course, and they're not particularly great underwater, either, but given that they're also supposed to protect our underwater habitats... Besides, it's nice to avoid missilespam."

Another pause, spent with contemplating the other visitors who might or might not come, and whose nationality is, of course, unknown to her. After all, she didn't exactly take part in organising the whole event, and thus lacks access to such pieces of data, if one disregarded the option of asking some nice mind in the reconnaissance sector, anyway. And their knowledge was likely limited by sheer luck.

"Interesting that you mention the old, american designs. I have to wonder about the Lord of Creation..." A rather short fraction of a second is spend on calculations, then she continues, the millisecond lag essentially unnoticeable to the Admiral. "That would be somewhere between hundred- or twohundredthousand times the volume and mass of a Nimitz, yes? Rather more than the entirety of our spacedy assets, I think... Fairly impressive, I'll have to say. Certainly an impressive manufacturing sector, given that it could produce something like the Lord of Creation." Another giggle, and another, more or less casual look in the direction of the Warspite follow. "Although to be entirely honest, how you can build such a ship and then be impressed by the Warspite is a little beyond me."

oocness: * See here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=341769). Essentially, the cataclysm and the subsequent events (Civil War) reduced DA's population by an order of magnitude (Rose again due to drone sentience/ sapience, but is still (And will stay) rather drastically below the number the UN claims DA to have). The thread isn't finished yet, but since the outcome's pretty clear, I'm assuming that the dreadnought visit here happens a few weeks after hostilities subsided. For the record, yes, they should all be psychos from losing most of their friends and families. I just can't write this, so I'm assuming that they're fleeing into even more excessive hedonism than what they had before. Which I can write. The psychos end up visiting Burning Mountain.

Cordell considered what Chan Juan had said about the drones and implants. "Interesting, to say the least," he remarked. "Citizens of our other worlds are also heavily reliant on implants. It's all supported by a highly complicated network, called the unisphere. An amazing technological achievement, or so I'm told. Truth be told," he said with a chuckle, "I'm probably too old to understand it anyways.

"As for the Lord of Creation, I should have told you that it was a devil of time constructing the damn thing. Took us twenty-five years of construction, and God knows how much money, to finish the bastard, and it's going to take another few years just to fully weaponize it. It's truly a sight to behold, or so I'm told, again. I've never actually seen it myself, and my office mainly deals with Earth-based navies, so I have to make do with being impressed with vessels like the Warspite instead," Cordell said with a chuckle.

Growing more serious, however, he checked his watch. "Now, where the hell are those Hogsweatians? Or the other delegations, for that matter? Surely they don't intend for us to enjoy their waiting room this entire time."

[OOCage: This is starting to get into the FT version of my nation, which I try to keep mainly separate from my nation's MT version, so I'm going to try to skirt around it from now on.]

Samatka's jet-black uniform had been brushed to an even greater degree of smoothness than it normally attained, giving it an almost velveteen texture that he thought made a rather nice contrast with the smooth, cold surfaces of his medals and other assorted paraphernalia (which he had attacked liberally with Brasso and Silvo, just to be sure). Even if the Navy was in a ruinous state, with bits dropping off left and right and rust on everything else, a man could take pride in his own, personal affairs. He snorted into the mirror. What was the point, though if around him the service he served withered and died? With an unnecessarily hard tug at his collar, he saluted his reflection's weary, lined face and clumped out through his cabin door, ascending creaking companionways and trudging down the ship's rolling decks until he reached the weather deck.

Yet again the rot that had infected the Navy hit him in the face. A quick glance upwards revealed that the forward navigation radar atop the bridge position had, as he suspected, once more ceased functioning. Streaks of rust lead to a pool of water, collecting just beside his left foot, and the warning notices adorning the strutcure were faded to the point of illegebility. For one of the best-maintained ships in the Fleet, the Yellow Dragon wasn't exactly in great shape. He kicked at the steel absentmindedly, grunting with anger as a shock of dull pain surged up his leg, and decided to have a wander along the flight deck, which was as usual devoid of aircraft; the Dragon's last flight exercise had been conducted some 7 weeks previously, since when the pilots had flown little, if at all. Samatka cast his glance up to the mast atop the carrier's island, watching the Republic's flag snapping in the carrier's 26-knot slipstream, and sneered. When the Darkness approaches our shores, and the light of the Sun is all-but extinguished, may eternal night fall first upon those who would leave us weak and powerless!

"He's off aft again," noted a duty technician as she watched Samatka's back receding down the carrier's 500-odd metre flightdeck. "Poor bastard."

"Poor bastard my arse," replied one of her colleagues, eyebrows raised. "You should hear him once he gets started. He doesn't want or need pity." He looked her in the eye. "He wants and needs revenge."

"Oh, come on..."

"I'm not exaggerating. The Navy's been his life for the last forty years; watching it fall to pieces is watching everything he's dedicated his life to being snatched away." The tech chuckled in a laugh devoid of mirth. "Much anger in him."

Yellow dragon turned ten points to port as she closed upon the Hogsweatian harbour, her engines' angry buzzing gradually ebbing as she reduced her speed to ten knots, then eight, finally hitting a crawling five knots as she approached the vast harbour wall. Various foreign ships rode lazily at anchor, their enormous forms appearing like so many toys from this distance. Samatka stared at them, having walked back to the ship's very prows to take a look for himself, and allowed himself a wicked smile. At least I can illuminate our own darkness of ignorance on these monstrosities. It was a small consolation, but the thought of destroying these leviathans was at least more palatable than the knowledge that he was more likely to be destroyed by them.

Chan Juan chuckled as well (Again). "Well, we're just supposed to use it, not to build it. Makes things easier, I'd say. Oh, and I certainly believe it... Monstrous construction. Would probably eat up a good deal of the belt..." Another chuckle, and a look at the clock follow. "Well... ONE Hogsweatian is here." She gestured in Rimes' direction, smiling. "And quite a pleasant one at that. Anyway, I'm certain that they'll be here, soon. I believe that some guests are arriving a little late..."

Waiting room for the Warspite

Only twenty minutes ago there was a small brawl, The Admiral had hit the driver very hard in the head. It was a close call, the four MoD members had started to approch the people in the hotel when one of the four had pointed out that they weren't people for the Warspite visit. The First Sea Lord had swiftly dragged the driver outside and hit him due to nearly being made a complete arse infront of everyone.

The journey had been quiet and and quick up untill they saw the size of the Warspite. There had been a small disscussion of it's size in the car.

"How big is that thing?" said the Admiral.
"No idea, to be honest I haven't seen the specs but it is gonna be in the top ten biggest ships in the world."
"Is it bigger than the Catholic Class... our one?"
"Couldn't say, but a quick and rough size estimate can't be done, it's too big. We'll have to wait for the tour."

The driver and the four invites had entered the waiting room, with many of the invites chatting nicely to eachother.

Admiral Sir Alan West said quite loudly in a slightly amusing voice, "I'm very sorry that we're a bit late, our.... driver.... here was a bit... confused as to who was at the hotel or not. Also docking took a bit of time, so sorry about that."

The driver then turned and left the waiting room leaving the Stevid MoD crew to talk about his stupidity. The driver was sure that it wasn't Stevid that was a tad late, surely someone was to yet arive.
He kept the though in his head as he leaned against the car and lit a cigar in the warm Hogsweatain sun hopeing that he hadn't let Stevid down in front of the international community.

Cordell looked to the door. Chan Juan was right, more delegates had arrived.

"Shall we introduce ourselves?" Cordell asked genially. He walked to the other delegates. "Greetings. I assume you're from one of the delegations?" Without waiting for an answer, he stuck his hand out. "Admiral Ben Cordell, Chief of Naval Operations, the Democratic Imperium of Halberdgardia."

OOC
pulls hair from head

sorry about not being in i forgot i was in scotland with no computers at all. can someone give me a run-up of the situation. please.

"Of course." Still a smile lacking an ulterior motive, not something one sees everyday, from an Angstian. Cultural differences. There's a reason DA's occasionally considered a 'Backstabber Culture'.

Chan Juan bows slightly (It's more indicating the bow than actually bowing, though) towards the Stevid people, introducing herself as well. "Chan Juan Wells, and SMD 05/ 22, from DA. Just ordinary people, nothing important. Well, with enough money to pay for this, anyway."

A sly grin appears, for a moment. Chan Juan is definitely enjoying herself here. "I see, you've been lucky enough to get past security... Welcome, I'd guess?"

[OOC: Sarz, i'm somewhat confused as to what your delegates are doing exactly. Where are they?]

Scapa Flow
Flank Admiral Sumerov was one of the lower ranking Admirals, yet he still commanded the Supercarrier HMS Indomitable at just over half the Dontian Admirals' age. As budget for vessels was directly given to the commanders in charge of them, it was their direct responsibility who got the money where and how, whether it be the crew or the ship or the Admiral. However, monthly inquiries and visits made sure corruption was kept relatively in the darkness, for now at least.

Sumerov was one of the most favoured Admirals in the fleet, and it was only politics that kept his promotion to Fleet Admiral one step in front of him wherever he went. The Indomitable was one of the best serviced capital ships in the Royal Navy, it's airdecks swabbed and cleaned to perfection and both external and internal systems were green, the sun reflecting off the dome radar and harshly onto the small autocannon gunners, the aircraft servicemen, and generally all the sailors below, who often sat and enjoyed playing cards or some similar game to pass the time.

In contrast to the Yellow Dragon the Indomitable was huge, shiny, and well mantained.
"Elyaw dekled dayekk n'laar!"
In response to the flag raising order the Royal Navy Ensigns was tugged up proudly to full mast, the Union Jack following shortly behind as the Supercarrier crossed paths with the Yellow Dragon, her fourty metre draught wharfing the Dontian vessel as Admiral Samatka got a good view of the flightdeck and the port hull. The Indomitable was sailing out to sea for manouvres against the Warspite Class Superdreadnaught, the Wellington. Maybe the battle would be watched via a GPS or something similar later in the evening when all where assembled and the beating two o' clock sun was not so hard.

In any case, the sight of the gleaming Indomitable crossing next to the Yellow Dragon would probably enrage Admiral Samatka as his ship pulled into port, right next to the three fleet carriers Hometown, Westown,and Byvane. As the Dontian ship pulled into dock, there was a figure awaiting him, watching curiously and with a degree of humour as the unserviced Aircraft Carrier pulled its engines to 0 knots in front of the contrasting Hogsweatian ships. Around him, busy sailors prepared to pull up a Dontian flag to full mast alongside a Hogsweatian one. Vice Admiral Larvitsa waited with a small smile tugging across his features, leaning back on the crate full of 5.25" shells and awaited the Dontian Admiral to leave his vessel.

The Warspite
The young lieutenant almost visibly blushed as Chan Juan mentioned his name. It wasn't enough to show off any red cheeks or something similarly outrageous but if anyone was studying his features they could figure it out. As the Stevidian delegation entered the room, greeted by both the Angstians and the Halberdgardians, the sound of helicopter blades chopped and whirred overhead as one could notice two attack helicopters zooming over the room, making a terrible din. Outside on the helipad a Merlin HC11, a naval anti submarine helicopter, landed, it's five rotorblades slowly coming to a halt and the pilot stepping out, yawning. One could see the rack of three torpedoes on each side of the twenty metre long helicopters, in addition to the missiles located underneath the wings. If you looked closely, a 20mm cannon could be noted, sitting dormant in it's box with the ammunition feed laying similar, on the front of the helicopter. The sign of the RAF was carefully and with most detail painted onto the side of the helicopter.

Cordell looked to the door. Chan Juan was right, more delegates had arrived.

"Shall we introduce ourselves?" Cordell asked genially. He walked to the other delegates. "Greetings. I assume you're from one of the delegations?" Without waiting for an answer, he stuck his hand out. "Admiral Ben Cordell, Chief of Naval Operations, the Democratic Imperium of Halberdgardia."

West extended his hand in reply and shock Cordell's.
"Admiral Cordell, pleasure you meet. I'm Admiral Sir Alan West, First Sea Lord of the Royal Stevid Navy. I'm the leading body of the whole of our Navy, I only answer to the PM and to those of a friendly nature such as yours.
May I introduce Derek Avery, Head of the Stevid MoD; Captain Harling, used to be Captian of the HMS Rouge Buck before it was destroyed by the Scandinavian States; and Finaly Rear Admiral Scott Dolph.
And Hello to you as well my dear Chan Juan, it is too, a pleasure to see you. My driver got you and your people confused for some other people back at the Red Star Hotel... I'll explain to you and the others in just a moment."

They all shook hands in turn exchanging smiles, welcomes and pleasent comments.
West started speaking to Cordell and Chan Juan again.
"I'm sorry that we're a tad late and all, the driver got in a bit of a..... mix up, and nearly made fools of me and my colleagues so he's got a bit of a sore head now. Fortunetly he wasn't invited in the first place so he won't be bothering us any more.

From as far as I can see, all the delegates have got a Super Dreadnought of their own, but please forgive me dear Sir but I haven't heard of Halberdgardia's SDN. Would you be so kind to enlighten me about it?"

ooc lets just assume i get here very very fast.

The Admiral stood on the on the deck of the newly christened Alkulya (http://img371.imageshack.us/img371/151/trsalkulya6jz.jpg) . He had taken this ship before and was atempting to look a bit smarter.
The ice, that had covered the deck before in the arctasian waters and made in a deadly screen, had melted and the cramp-ons, crutial to staying onboard in wind and snow, on his boots made a horrible scraping noise on deck.

He looked down towards one of the unusual portholes that was mounted on deck rather than on the sides, and noticed that he had taken a layer of paint off where he was standing.
His newest ship had already been damaged, by himself.

Out of the mist the Hogsweaten coast appeared. It had taken many days, a run in with iceberg, engine faliures and hic-ups to come to this point and he wasn't going to be let down at the gates.

Admiral Draskinki' made his metal scraping way to the bridge and to his personal quarters. In a polythene sack, stood his ceremonial dress. the standard of the Navy except with a few more lines and stars.
A long jet black greatcoat, peaked cap the size of a dustbin lid and a pair of reflectively dark leather boots. He looked at the wardrobe they were in. Incredibly different by contrast. The Doors made a sqeak, the wood was really a substitute material and it wobbled on the uneven seas.

Draskinki' sat on the bed. Which bounced with the sudden application of weight.
"even the bed sqeaks!"
The Admiral noticed it also made a crumpling noise. He ripped back the cheap covers and found a letter with the stamp of the Navy. Not really caring about much anymore he tore the wax seal and ripped the letter accidently.

"Damn!!"

Piecing it together he looked at it

"Heh"
He chuckled to himself when he noticed the childish handwriting and knew it was his son's, with a little help from his Wife.
He pinned up the drawing next to his corkboard of photos. and the state propoganda. He sat back and admired his photos, his wife, his son, them together, holidays, him on ship and his friends.
His sons drawing was of his daddy on the big ship, meeting Mr Mark. His wife had sent a personal note with the drawing. which Draskinki' put under the pillow.

At that moment an Officer knocked on the door entered.

"I'm terribly sorry sir."

"No come in."

"We are being guided into the docks now you better change."

"All in good time comrade. You go wait for the disembarking bridge, i'll catch up."
The Officer returned to his post and resumed command while the admiral got changed and readied himself. He already has his apology worked out for the delay and a large wad for helping himself get through customs.

"No waiting in the hotel for a nice rest," he thought
"hmmm, i better run actually."

He picked up his case and walked on deck, just in time to see the docks and lights. a foghorn blared somewhere and draskinki' shuddered. His Winter clothes seemed somewhat out of place here.

The Helicopter certainly wasn't of interest to Chan Juan (Nor, for that matter, SMD 05/ 22), they had seen more than enough guns since they'd arrived, anyway. And so long as they weren't as impressive as the Warspite, she hardly cared about something she could see at home, too.

Awww, how nice. We're friendly enough for him.

I am, 05/ 22.

Point. But I'm most impressed by him. He answers only to the PM.

Yes, well, I suppose he's proud of it?

And presumably having certain issues, showing off like that. Well, I suppose that's true for most high heads. Decency is a human virtue, I thought? Or only for underlings?

Bah.

Chan Juan chuckled. "He did? I didn't know I was that popular... But yes, please, explain, Admiral."

She listened on, still chuckling. "But, well, everyone makes a mistake once in a while. You really shouldn't blame him, it's not like we shine out of the crowds. Well, not in the near-baseline outfit, anyway. Oh, and for the record, DA definitely doesn't have any kind of SDN." The part where a cute little SEU with significantly less than half the length of the Warspite has global range artillery is, once more, left unsaid.

[OOC: This is Sarzonia posting from this account because I can't be bothered to log out of Majeristan. Sorry for the confusion about my delegates. I've been RPing them just getting on board the Warspite, though I was reacting to the series of events involving Der Angst. You can play the accented speech of the people approaching the Sarzonian delegation however you choose to.]

[snip]

"Admiral West, Minister Avery, Captain Harling, Rear Admiral Dolph. A pleasure.

"Ah, well our superdreadnaughts are not domestic designs. We've six superdreadnaught vessels, all of them purchased from other nations. Currently, we maintain one Zealous-class, made by our esteemed friend and ally, The Macabees; one Freedom-class, made by the superior craftsmen at IPS; one Neptune-class, made by The Silver Sky; and three Ankunft-class vessels, made by Lame Bums. We're quite proud of our navy."

[OOC: Current picture. I'm planning to increase length to 1050 metres. At this stage it's nowhere near finihsed. (http://img368.imageshack.us/img368/4856/warspite53jf.png)]
IC:

AIRPORT

"Looks like we've got company Alf"

The corporal grunted in response and started up the engine, putting the APC into first gear as it rumbled slowly. Staff Sergeant Epmann was standing on the commanders box: which was in this case a box of 7.62mm ammo for the commanders machine gun. His head and upper torso could be seen visibly as he wore the dark olive Staff Sergeants cap with the two chevrons and a half to prove it. He didn't have a gun, but as he beckoned the Territorials inside with a semi welcoming

"Hi, welcome to Hogsweat. We're a little bit late so we'll just drop your stuff off at the hotel then go directly to the warspite. I'm staff sergeant Epmann, by the way."

Corporal Willington booted the APC into reverse, slowly chugging away at the airport's tarmac landing ground, as it reversed onto the main highway and dead ahead onto the hotel.

RED STAR HOTEL
As they arrived, the Colonel said to the Praetonian Imperator

"We're running a little over-schedule here. We'll just have your things taken to your room here and proceed right onto the Warspite, if you don't mind. There will be refreshments on the ship itself around lunchtime."

A few soldiers jumped out of the middle part of the limousine, where the Praetonian's luggage was, and rather heftily carried it into the hotel while the Limousine sped ahead.

"Don't worry. your luggage will be in good hands. This is quite possibly the best hotel in all of Hogsweat."
The colonel reassured the two Praetonians. He was quite sure that they had some important items in the baggage.

Rather shortly the Limousine arrived at HMNB Scapa Flow, sidling past the wandering Sarzonians as it pulled into the car park, the Colonel ushering the Praetonian delegates into the waiting room with a multitude of

"Come this way, sir" and "Right in here"]

MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE HOTEL
The APC pulled up, the two Hogsweatian soldiers quickly exiting the vehicle to leave the Territorial's baggage in the Hotel. The APC sped off, well, as fast as an Armoured Personnel Carrier does: To HMNB Scapa Flow.

[OOC: you can RP them entering the waiting room, prae/renate]

SCAPA FLOW
[OOC: Sarz, you should board the ship with everyone else in the helicopter :P]

"Hey, you there!"

A soldier pointed at the three Sarzonians, his rifle lowered but the safety cautiously flicked off. His accent was fairly good English, but it was clear he spoke more fluently in his native tounge.

"Yes, you! What are you doing, this is State Property!"
When he got the attention of the Sarzonians, he walked over to them, his rifle still in the low position. He was sure that if they were terrorists or spies they wouldn't dare shoot him - they'd be tortured and hung, drawn, and quartered if that happened. He waited for their response.

WAITING ROOM
Seeing the helicopter land, Lieutenant Rimes left the building, leaving his gun propped up against the corner, quickly saying
"Uh, ahm, back in a minute or something"

Before he walked outside, hailing the helicopter pilot in Hogsweatian, their speech slightly audible through the open window against a background of clunking metal.

"g'u Zenels. [Hi, Comrade]" he opened the conversation.

"Gewkekki. Quew'kk u'n lev'yut geldef leb giye.[Hello. We'll be taking off in about half an hour]"

Rimes nodded and the pilot lit up a cigarette.

"Quekebre Ibew Zenels? [Want one comrade?]" he offered the packet out.

"Teyqua, okykewlaw Zenels. [Yes, please comrade]" Rimes took one and the Pilot lit it with his own.

I'll handle this, Bunhall thought. Annoyed, she pulled out her identification and nodded for each member of the Sarzonian delegation to do the same.

"My name is Katherine Bunhall, Vice President for Naval Operations, Incorporated States of Sarzonia," Bunhall said with a professional, formal air that did well to disguise her irritation at being accosted a second time by Hogsweatian security. "Here's my identification. I can present you with our invitations to board this very ship if you wish."

My God these people are assholes, she thought. How did we ever become allied with them in the first place?

Meanwhile, Haffner was more blunt in his private assessment of the Hogsweatians.

I'm going to call Lorb and tell him to forget re-establishing ties, Haffner thought. Let them vote Hogsweat out of OMP for all I care. He thought for a moment and considered reminding the security that they were risking a major international incident with Sarzonia and possible expulsion from OMP if they fired on a contingent of Sarzonian nationals. But he thought the better of that exchange.

We'll see what these blowhards do next, he thought, setting his jaw and staring straight ahead with a look of determined concentration on his face.

"Admiral West, Minister Avery, Captain Harling, Rear Admiral Dolph. A pleasure.

"Ah, well our superdreadnaughts are not domestic designs. We've six superdreadnaught vessels, all of them purchased from other nations. Currently, we maintain one Zealous-class, made by our esteemed friend and ally, The Macabees; one Freedom-class, made by the superior craftsmen at IPS; one Neptune-class, made by The Silver Sky; and three Ankunft-class vessels, made by Lame Bums. We're quite proud of our navy."

"There's no shame in having bought dreadnoughts, Stevid's Catholic Class Designers looked to the specs of the Doujin for inspiration." Said the First Sea Lord. "Any dreadnought is a good dreadnought, no matter from what country it comes from. All of your SDN's have come from well respected nations across the world"

Rear Admiral Dolph stepped in the Lord's place and spoke to Chan Juan.
"Admiral Scott Dolph," The Rear Admiral bowed slightly "My Dear Lady, I'm sorry about the First Sea Lord, he has had a bad few weeks lately and then there was the happenings in the Hotel, i'm afraid I can't blame him for what he did. So I apolagise on his behalf.

Any way, I've been wondering when we'll get a tour of the Warspite, i'm looking forward to it."

Samatka managed to keep his face impassive as the enormous Hogsweatian carrier steamed past him, dangerously close, but only just. He forced his mouth into a rictus-like smile and saluted distant the bridge stiffly. I shall see you burn in the new dawn, vile and proud as you are! The smile stopped at Samatka's eyes, which remained aflame with loathing; never before had he felt so ashamed to be a citizen of the Republic, so ashamed of its weakness and disgusted by its failure.

Not even the words of the Book could erase his anger. Pride makes blind even the most perceptive of eyes; the darkness shall cover them, yet still they shall see only the light of their own glory. He gave up a muted prayer to Tashki, a prayer begging once more for the cleansing flame to burn away the impure and craven leaders of his country, and for the dawning of a new day; then he turned away from the hated Hogsweatian ship and headed towards the side of his own carrier, where a rubber motor-dinghy waited to take him ashore.

In the two minutes it took the small boat to make its way to the landing stage, he tested his memory, recalling details of the Indomitable's superstructure, her aerials, her hull design, the aircraft aboard her. Good; he could remember enough, if needs be. And of course, there was always the second option, which took the form of a (very) miniature camera hidden in one of his tunic buttons. He hoped he would not need to use the machine, however. It would be most embarassing if he were caught.

The Warspite was some distance away, through a maze of security personnel, miscellaneous dockside objects, and of course the other delegations. He spotted a few he recognised: Sarzonians, by the look of it having some sort of altercation with the Hogs' security personnel; another lot who might be Praetonians, but who also might be just about anyone else; and... was that a robot? He shook his head as he made his way towards the ship, weary already of this aggressively self-loving country and its people despite having only just arrived.

"Zdrastvuistye and so on"

Admiral Draskinki' wasn't in the mood for identity checks, it was cold, damp and worst of all, he was late.
He spun round on his heels as the guard called him to stop. At least he thought it was an order.
His face contorted and relaxed and he threw the letter at the guard.

"I, YES ME, Am ALLOWED , TO GO TO THE, BIG SHIP, YOU UNDERSTAND!"

Turning to his subordinate

"I can't stand this hogsweatian dialect, it's so confusing and unessarcery.
Oh and can you pick up the letter."

"sir"

The Admiral scanned the Hogsweatian city skyline looking for the Warspite, of course it was easy to see but he felt like taking in his surroundings a little more than when he stood on deck.

"Should i call for an escort sir?."

"Yes, go on. I would have walked, but not dressed like this."

The Officer took out a strange and very rare object, it was about the size of a radio and similar looking to one, but the matt black, stainless steel box and long aerial made it completly different.
Draskinki' had only seen a couple in his life and only ever since he rode the ranks of the Military, it was an official secret entrusted to a few high brass.

The Officer took out the so called "Satellite Mobile Phone" flicked switches and dialed a set of numbers. A continues tone sparked up, the Admiral could hear it from a few feet away even in the light spitting rain that dripped down from the wide brimmed hat and made wet of his great coat.

"It doesnt seem to be answering, I'll try again later."

"Make it quick, I can't stand the stench."

The Admiral looked down to his feet and saw a suspicious puddle next to a phone box. He grimaced as he pulled up his plain black Umbrella and walked off to the souvenier shop.

" I mean't to get my wife and son a present"

The rain still fell as the second dial tone rang from the "Satellite Mobile Phone."

SCAPA FLOW
What the hell.. The soldier thought with much confusion. How did they get here?

He dropped his rifle to the floor, the butt cracking against the tarmac, his hand still gripping the barrel, clicking off the safety casually. He was fairly certain that these people weren't spies.

"I see. I'm sorry for the confusion. Security around these vessels is very tight and -"

"Quegl'ara fi'ubef I'b gewew Ouclear? [What's going on here, Private?]"

The voice came from the side of the Sarzonians, as a man in a pristine white uniform strolled into talking view, an ornate hat bobbing slowly on his head of brown hair, a pair of hazel eyes dashing to and fro, looking to see what the problem may be. If one listened carefully the figure muttered a curse.

"Y'aaaygg..Lesnyelk Foreham..Au'ye! [Aaaah, Admiral Foreham..sir!]"

The Admiral gave a sharp glance into the direction of the unfortunate private who was now saluting and stood rigid to attention. The Admiral's dialect turned from a rough, native Hogsweatian to a precise and clipped English.

"Ah..You must be the Sarzonians, correct? I thoroughly apologise for this idiot's" With that he gave another penetrating glance towards the soldier, making him scurry off to reman his post.

"..actions. The others are in the waiting room..once everyone has assembled we shall board the Warspite by a helicopter. She'll be setting to sea soon. If you would be so kind as to follow me, I will lead you to the waiting room.."

---
A one Commander Jackson, previously mentioned, was sitting down when a pair of foreigners, unknown to him, where standing right behind his jeep. Jackson yawned, and quickly glancing to the wingmirror he saw the two people, one of them trying to talk on what appears to be a mobile phone. He stood up, hand on pistol, and said
"Excuse me? Do you have permission to be in His Majesty's Naval Base Scapa Flow?"
One of them answered back, irritably. Evidently they had been asked before.
"okay, okay. Would you like me to take you down tothe waiting room? Assuming you are here to see the Warspite, that is."
Jackson pointed somewhere about a kilometre away. One could clearly see the Warspite docked, with a few destroyers around and a cruiser in the background, all laying dormant and unnused.

WAITING ROOM
Lieutenant Rimes had recently returned to the waiting room, flicking the discarded cigarette into the sea nearby, waving to the pilot as he re-entered the waiting room. Ignorant of the presence, he leant over and switched on a small 20" television set, leaning back on one of the sofas as he sat down, bringing the mass of the settee down with him, crossing his legs over, the dark green combat fatigue pants crumpling.

Ooh barney!- AND NOW FOR A BRIEF NEWS INTERRUPTION
The television blared, as the background voice began to speak over a camera pan. A machine gun rattles and several people, pushed against a wall, crump to the ground, lifeless. This is conducted somewhere in the distance but is still visible, directly in the shade of the fifty metre flagpole and it's wavering flag. Right next to the area this act is done in, a few trucks are unloading what would appear to be prisoners.
Today, the background voice states ends the six week Operation: FILTER, as the capture of known terrorist, enemy of the motherland, Donald Tater happens in a warehouse. There is some brief footage of a group of soldiers smashing through a door, rifles raised, and then a picture of Donald Tater in chains. At this point, Lieutenant Rimes spits into the dustbin violently nearby him.
Operation: FILTER was a complete and utter success, as over 400% of the estimated amount of terrorists were captured and executed..Hurrah to the Motherland! Hurrah to our Glorious Armed Forces, protectors of the state! Hurrah to our Police Force!

The smart looking taxi rolled up to the gates of the base. Similar to a Chiaka and in the black and chrome style.
The Admiral tipped the driver and walked up towards the guards.

The officer had been able to find a car after a lot of ringing around.

The driver wasn't allowed to enter the base so the three men made a dash to the barbed wire encrusted entrance. Their greatcoats swung with the extra weight of the water, luckily it had raining stopped before.

The Admiral took his papers out and tipped his hat, which released a large amount of water. he felt his short hair, which made him feel especialy cold and a shiver ran down his spine.

However the shiver was due to the huge ship he saw, and the massive complex surrounding it. It made him feel proud and protected, yet also in a constant presence of danger. His mighty vessel was dwarfed by this ship.

Soldiers were running everywhere like ants. He had been informed a terrorist group had been exercuted earlier today, and Secrurity was prime.

He was going to take no chances.

Tucker was about to open her mouth at the mention of the word helicopter, but Patinkin gave her a quick glance.

"Tucker, now isn't the time," he said in a whisper. "Whilst you wear that naval uniform and I wear mine, you will follow my orders. Is that understood Tucker?"

Even though Tucker's retirement had taken effect long before Patinkin's, he still held the rank of Rear Admiral when she retired her commission as a Commodore. She was ceremonially brevetted a Rear Admiral and was given a corresponding increase in pension from the government, but Patinkin was named Admiral of the Navy just before he retired.

Everyone fitted for a naval uniform saluted Patinkin except Sarzo, but he only ever wore the naval uniform at the behest of the Navy itself. And Sarzo usually opted out of that whenever he could. In any event, she found herself saluting Patinkin and simply whispering, "aye, sir." Even though she wanted to throttle whomever it was who suggested taking a helio anywhere.

And I've got one more Goddamned flight before I finally get back home. Fuckers, she thought. For the sake of Sarzonian diplomacy, she would bite her tongue and bear it. But short of a Presidential summons, she didn't forsee ever making another such trip in the future. The four Sarzonians followed Foreham into the waiting room and looked around, hoping to spot a friendly face but the first sight that came to Bunhall was the delegation from Der Angst. She muttered a curse under her breath as she walked toward the centre of the waiting room.

The Imperator made his way into the waiting room, which was a throng of delegates from various nations. Most were friendly to Praetonian and the others neutral, but two of the Imperator's guards dismounted and followed him into the room. They left with cavalry carbines with their horses and were armed only with their thin bronze spears.

The Imperator looked around the room and immediately spotted the Der Angstian delegation, people who he had no intention of approaching. He continued to scan the room and caught sight of some people he recognised.

"Damn," the Imperator muttered under his breath, seeing that the Sarzonians were heading towards the representatives of Der Angst. Sarius Publius I turned his head slightly and whispered to his Naval advisor, "Let's go and rescue the Sarzonians."

He walked into the room and, approaching the Sarzonian delegation, flamboyantly greeted his friends and allies, "Vice President! It's nice to meet you again," he held out his hand, "and in such spectacular surroundings as well! The Hogsweatians really know how to build a ship, although I daresay that we know a thing or two about shipbuilding too."

The Imperator took a circumspective glance around the room and then continued, "And with such good company. I notice that DontPissUsOff has sent a delegation, and our illustious hosts are as beneficient as ever."

Grateful for the rescue, Bunhall finally cracked a wide smile, one that she would describe as a "shit eating grin" in less formal circles. She eagerly shook Sarius's hand and said, "it's great to see you once again, your Excellency."

Turning to the rest of the delegation, she motioned toward Tucker. "This is Rear Admiral Barbara Tucker, managing director of the Portland Iron Works, another company we think has a few ideas about ship building. She'd be a full Admiral by now if those conference centre people would ever get their act together. But I digress.

"Over here is a man I'm sure you've either met or have heard about, our Admiral of the Navy, Marcus Patinkin. And, last but not least, our Deputy Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer, Mr. Grant Haffner." With a conspirational stage whisper, Bunhall said, "poor sod. He barely had a chance to unpack his desk and we changed his title on him."

"Oh, right. Article XIX," Haffner said after looking confused for a moment. When Nicole Lewis was given the title Lieutenant President along with a boatload of additional powers, Lorber's title changed from Senior Vice President for External Affairs to Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer. But instead of the shortened SVP-External, under circumstances that required quickness or informality, he was usually either referred to as Senior Vice President or simply SVP. With only one Senior Vice Presidency now, Sarzonians didn't have to clarify matters for foreigners or themselves.

Even Tucker's dour expression that came about as a result of the helicopter ride changed to a genuine smile. During her days in combat, she would have willingly put her life on the line to protect Praetonia as well as her homeland. She even considered going on an extended leave of absence to resume her commission when tensions flared between Praetonia and Hamptonshire if they had come to war. But no matter. She was now face to face with one of her favourite people outside of Sarzonia.

"It's my pleasure to see you, your Excellency," Tucker said. While Patinkin and Haffner were somewhat more reserved, the smiles on their faces were no less genuine. Patinkin had led his fleets into battle alongside the Praetonians on several occasions and the bonds between him and them were as tight as they could ever be on any ship he commanded. While Haffner was relatively new to the scene, he grew up around Praetonian immigrants all his life and had great admiration for them. Seeing the Imperator on possibly one of his last public appearances was a thrill, indeed.

The Imperator's face broke into a rare smile, and he offering his hand to each member of the Sarzonian delegation in turn, he introduced the man standing next to him and the only other delegate in the Praetonian group.

"It is my pleasure to introduce Lord Barham, Duke of Silva [pronounced silwa], Grand Admiral of the Second Order. He is the Commanding Officer of the 2nd Grand Fleet, although while the fleet is in reserve he has the rather less onerous duty of advising me on naval matters." His Lordship bowed politely.

"An honour to meet you, Mr Vice President. Please do call me Arthur," he said in a thick English accent. The Imperator waved to his guards who left his side and took position somewhere else in the room.

"My security is somewhat annoying, but it wouldnt do to get me killed on a state visit, now would it?" He asked, rhetorically, "It's a pleasure to meet you all, some of you for the first time. Luckily everything has not been too bad in Praetonia... minor riots in the Colonies, some political upsets over the forthcoming Dominions Act but nothing really to worry about."

"As an aside, I have to say that this ship is bigger than anything in the Imperial Praetonian Navy by some 300 metres. It's all very hush-hush right now but R&D at IPS is working on something equally massive. We havent had anything with gunnery, missile and aircraft based potention of the legendary Doujin before but now, hopefully, we will have something which can rival the crown..." the Imperator said excited and then, catching himself, went on, "but anyway - I am being rude. How are things in Sarzonia?"

"Things are going fairly well, given the circumstances," Bunhall said. "As you know, our army took a severe beating at the hands of those Doomies. We're just now beginning to conclude Parliamentary hearings surrounding military reform," Bunhall said. She leaned in closely to whisper in Sarius Publius I's ear. "Or, as you most likely know from the last time you spoke with President Sarzo, we like to refer to it as the day the Army died. We didn't abolish the army, but we are trying to initiate some major reforms in the Army and retool our Air Force somewhat. Except for the Alert and the Valcour Island, the Navy got off scot free."

"I'm very interested in the plans regarding a large warship to compete with the likes of the Doujin," Tucker said. "If you need PIW assistance in any way, we would be delighted to help." Turning to the Duke of Silva, Bunhall's smile returned and she said, "Pleased to meet you Arthur. Addressing both the Duke and Sarius, Bunhall said, "feel free to call me Kath. All my friends do."

"And you may call me Barbie if you'd like," Tucker said. "Otherwise, feel free to call me Barbara."

When Haffner shook the hands of both Publius and the Duke of Silva, he simply said, "Haff," with one syllable giving both men permission to call him by his nickname.

"I don't think Marcus has a nickname that's widely used. Even Sarzo doesn't call him by a nickname," Bunhall said.

"No, I'm afraid not," Patinkin said. "At least not officially. Though I've been known to answer to Marc every now and again.

"The Warspite is rather impressive, I must say, looking at her specs. I've seen our own Vigilant refits and they're impressive in their own right. I hope Kath doesn't mind if I steal her thunder a bit, but our second "refit version" of the Vigilant is going to be renamed the Praetonia and it will become the flagship of the ISN. I've even thought about coming out of retirement to command her and the First Fleet. If we're able to sail her to that naval review I heard you were planning, I'd gladly do so."

"Oh jolly good," exclaimed the Duke, "Kath." The Emperor was slightly less overtly flamboyant, but he also smilied and greeted the Vice President by her first name.

"If I may, Your Majesty," Lord Arthur Barham said, glancing at the Imperator, who nodded, "the new vessel currently has no working name but rumour has it that the vessel will be called the Alliance Class and that all vessels, of which I suspect there will be three, will be named after Praetonian allies with the PWS Sarzonia taking its place as the lead ship. Now, we also plan to convert all three of our Freedom Class vessels into what will most likely become the most heavily armoured vessels on the face of the earth, and we will use them as bombships with 32" mortars.

"You see, the navy hasnt been expanded since the day the population of the mainland hit 2 billion! Imagine! Well, it cant stay like that for long and His Majesty, in all his wisdom, is petitioning Parliament for these vessels on my behalf. It is my belief that IPS will develop them anyway for the export market, but they are rather counting on a sizeable government order and also the contract to convert the Freedoms. I'm ashamed to say that we're rather lagging behind when you look at the Neptune, Valiant or Warspite."

The Duke paused, and the Imperator took up the commentary, "Im interested in your proposal... barbie..." calling people by their first names or nicknames when they were not very close friends was not done in the higher reaches of Praetonian politics, but the Imperator was willing to make an effort, even if it did look in strained contrast to the ease with which his advisor became informal, "about working closely with Portland Ironworks. Perhaps some kind of joint project would be in order? It would follow in the footsteps of some great ships - the Freedom for example. Both of our nations should surely be proud to have been one of the first to construct a well-made superdreadnaught in the footsteps of the Doujin."

He paused, thought for a minuted and then continued, "It pained me to hear what happened to your military in Inkana, especially the poor airforce. Our own armed forces would, of course, be happy to help you in training your military. It may not have combat experience, but it has been trained to exacting standards and has been deployed into combat positions as part of major operations twice now. Im sure the Hogsweatians would be happy to obligue as well. They seem to be a very military based society," he was thinking of all the troops, generally surrounded by guns lying around seemingly at random, that he had seen since he entered the country.

"Anyway, when do you think we'll get to go on board the Warspite?"

Tucker checked her watch.

"Not sure, but I sure don't want to be jostled by Hogsweatian security again. Those folks act like they're at war every day of the year!"

"Well, with Automagfreek on the prowl it seems like we are at war every day of our lives," Bunhall interjected. "I speak for the entire Navy when I tell you how delighted I am that the flagship of your new class would be named the PWS Sarzonia. I am sure that any joint project between our countries will bear amazing results."

"Actually, speaking of ships named Sarzonia, I believe the Jimnam-class ship is nearing her retirement date," Patinkin said. "Perhaps the Independence-class ship we previously named Praetonia will be renamed the Sarzonia now that the new build Vigilant class ship is being named Praetonia?"

"After it is refit to the new specifications for the class," Bunhall said. "The Independence class is receiving a major refit of its own. It didn't get the attention the Vigilant's refit did, but it made the Independence much more dangerous in her own right. But enough about that. We're all looking forward to this tour."

"Quite," said the Imperator and then, frowning, "I cant say we've had any problems with Hogsweatian security." He glanced at the Duke who frowned and shook his head.

"Most baffling. It's probably just a few overzealous guards. Anyway, this tour of the warspite should be jolly nice. I've spent plenty of time of my own vessels, but not once have I set foot on any foreign vessel, let alone a superdreadnaught."

"I have," interjected Lord Barham, "It was a Nyctoni vessel and some days after we received the surrender of the Nyctoni fleet at the Battle of the Bigraltar Straits. Still... not a super dreadnaught, Majesty."

"Quite. Well I'm sure you'll get the oppurtunity again." The Imperator was more than a little envious of the Duke whose very employment involved commanding warships, and he knew that one day the Duke's fleet would be put to sea along with the rest of the Praetonian navy, and they would join battle with another fleet and it would be bloody murder, but it would also, no doubt, be a glorious victory for the Empire and a battle that would be remember until the end of time.

"Anyway, I dont quite know what to expect. I've seen pictures of the vessel, but Hogsweatian naval architecture is so different to our own... no doubt the insides of their ships will be a departure from the norm as well."

The Waiting Room

Chan Juan nodded with what was some kind of mixture of smile (Always being polite) and chuckle (God, those people were amusing, in a sense). "I'm sure your driver will survive."

"And if not, survival of the fittest, evolution in action." SMD 05/ 22 interrupted. "A good thing, if you ask me." Stupid meatbags die way to easily, anyway. Or not easy enough. Hrm. Decisions, decisions...

"Anyway," Chan Juan continued, apparently undisturbed by 05/ 22. "Given that we've come for it, are now here, not to mention that we paid rather significant amounts of money just to participate, in fact, I wouldn't be surprised if Hogsweat was using the 500k per person to prop up its budget, now that they've spend a few hundred billions on the Warspite, though I'd give them credit for being creative with the solution, I'd say... Within the hour."

Still the Waiting Room

More and more guests were arriving, most of them looking pretty boring, pretty baseline, although SMD 05/ 22 could of course hardly be certain about this. After all, an Eurusean Red Commando or a Federated AI would probably look baseline, too, yet, what was behind it...

Well, perhaps it should socialise with the meatbags.

But then, perhaps not, what with the meatbags being meatbags.

Meanwhile, Chan Juan watched the TV, slightly distracted, sighing without being too shocked. She had seen her share of death (Like essentially every Angstian, and like essentially every Angstian, she tended to leave those memories in some barely-used corner of her brain, mostly by way of utilising enormous amounts of mindaltering substances and/ or algorythms), and just seeing a little more wasn't going to shock her.

How the government could dare to produce such rather blatant and almost hilariously primitive propaganda on the other hand... Slackers.

Decidedly unimpressive. On the other hand, there was a chance that her initial thought about the possibility of resistance starting fireworks wasn't entirely theoretical. She grinned in Admiral Cordell's direction. "See? Looks like I was right."

SMD 05/ 22 on the other hand seemed to be rather indifferent. More meatbags shooting each other. A good thing, of course, but hardly a new (Or uncommon) thing.

Otherwise, not much while waiting. Well, a lot of listening, and a chuckle or two... Steel Penii seemed to be quite popular in some of the nations the guests were from. Must have something to do with inadequacy issues. she thought, giggling a little to herself and making a quick note about not trying to get laid by the Imperator.

Besides, imagining a threesome between 'Her Majesty' and two of the Sarzonians was quite possibly more satisfying (She had always had a thing for slash and happened to own a pretty... decent collection of relevant works, and she was a fairly skilled artist herself. Now, with a few people of rank present for her to see with her own eyes... It would be a waste not to use the chance.

She started composing the picture in her mind (Actual drawing would come later), quickly choosing the right background. A quick uplink to some old orbital reconnaissance data, choosing a ship...

Boy, those barrels are explicit... Just lacks a ram.

Yes. Incidentally, you might be interested in this, for context, MM.

Oh?

She waited for the file to be sent (ORD bandwidth wasn't particularly limited, but the lag one gets from the surface over a bouncer a few hundred kilometers upwards and to the west, to the source of origin on the other side of the planet, could be painful), and looked at, or rather read it.

Hee! Thanks, 06/ 24. Mind if I quote it word for word? ^_^

Yes, actually. It's secret, remember?

Bah. Ok, you win. I'll alter it. The title is public, anyway.

She listened on, bored to death by the sheer amount of rawrness and the odd mixture of pity and egostroking (How exactly they managed to take themselves seriously was a little beyond Chan Juan, but she had to be fair: DA was notorious for its lack of seriousness. Perhaps she was the one who was actually odd, here), idly resolving to use quite a few of the dild- that is, shipnames coming up in her to-be-drawn doujinshi. It would be perfect.

Still, she'd have to cut down on profanity, a little. Majesties would hardly 'Scream like a Pig' just because they happened to see some 25 inch artillery turrets while being the centre of a 'party', and she was gunning for some semi-realism.