NationStates Jolt Archive

[OOC: Please do not post in this thread unless you're a Woodstock Pact member. Thank you.]

Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer Mark Lorber spent the last three weeks going through various reports and notes and noticed a few key absences. Besides the recent memberships of The Moepoeian Republic, Ollieland and Novikov, there wasn't much information coming from the Woodstock Pact after the dedication ceremony (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=407547) for the headquarters.

We haven't even named the damn thing yet, he mused, looking across the street at the beautiful building as it glistened in the morning sun. Such a beautiful building. We need to make it worth our taxpayers' while. The Woodstock Pact had spent quite a bit of time getting its house in order and setting forth the basic tenets under which it would operate. The Pact also spent a considerable amount of time setting up its membership ranks. But now was the time to come out from behind the camera and take the stage.

"Hey Grant," Lorber said as he saw his Deputy, Grant Haffner, walk through the halls on his way back from lunch at the cafeteria. "Can you do me a favour and contact the delegates of the Woodstock Pact countries for a conference? You should also CC Newman about it since I think a military exercise would be in order."

"Got it Lorb," Haffner said. "I'll send you a copy of the invite when it's ready."

"Good show," Lorber said. "Maybe this will be what the Pact needs to garner the attention it needs."

[OOC: Similar to the dedication ceremony, we can just RP your already getting here and get started with the conference. We can discuss things like finalising our mission, charter amendments, officer positions, etc. and plan a military exercise. This RP is closed to Woodstock Pact members ONLY. If you're interested in reading about the Pact, click here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=382228) or read the Wiki (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Woodstock_Pact).]

The Prime Minister of UKIN, Geoffrey Middleton, was meeting with two of his most senior cabinet ministers - Sir Horace Laederbeck, the minister for Defence, and Sir George Fredericks, the minister for Foreign Affairs and International Development - when word arrived from Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer Lorber regarding a new conference and possible armed forces exercise.

"Well, Sir Horace, I think this might be precisely what you desired," Middleton declared. "A chance for the chiefs of staff to test new techniques and technologies."

Sir Horace merely grumbled as he was wont. He was still bitter over the loss of the Europa a few years before, despite that the RINN now had a sister-ship in its service, although he cherished the pictures he received from time to time from its new captain. He was also perplexed by the recent manoeuvres of Automagfreek and allowed himself to gradually warm to the idea of military exercises. "That would be pleasant," he eventually admitted, adding a bit more port to his glass.

Sir George, unlike his counterpart, had smiled immediately. "Shall I draught our response, Prime Minister?"

"It has been done all ready, Sir George."

The jet glistened beneath the beams of light that lay across the private runway. All Voltaru celebrated this time of year - the sun returning after its long winter slumber, and he was included. The country always seemed to slow down from April to August, he thought. But then again, in a few hours that darkness would be long forgotten.

Looking down from the control tower, he saw a dark limosuine pulling up to the jet. An entourage of security poured out, followed by several men dressed in Voltaru naval garb. At the end of the clown-car parade emerged the two people he had been waiting for: a rather large, built man, older, yet seemingly fit enough to strike fear in most men; and a smaller, blond haired woman, middle aged, but with a grace about her that drew men, and women alike, to her. At least the trip there won't be as tiresome as others...

Lord Xerco Longbottom, Premier of the Voltarum and High Chancellor of the Order, decended in the elevator and eventually met his two compatriots as they were nearing the jet. He approached the woman first, as both gave him a slight bow.

"Lieta! It is good to see you again." Xerco and Ambassador Lieta Waterhouse embraced. "Its been too long, my young friend."

"Young? I guess compared to you." Her eyes glistened and they both shared a chuckle. "But you are right. Ever since the dedication in Woodstock, we haven't seen much of each other."

"Yes, we both have lifestyles that are way too busy for our own good." Xerco turned and shook hands with the man standing to Lieta's side. "Admiral Kathon, it's good to see you as well. I apologize for taking you away from the fleet - I hope you can forgive me."

Admiral Ja'rod Kathon, Viceroy of the Navy, smiled back. "I brought pictures of my command ship, to stare at before I go to bed at night... But seriously, my Premier, I am very excited about this proposal of a military exercise. It is always good to see another miltiary in action, especially given our recent inaction. Also, given our recent purchases from the Sarzonian Shipyards, it will be a thrilling experience to see the country itself."

"Woodstock is simply an amazing city, Admiral," Lieta chimed in. "Our stay there for the dedication was all too brief. I hope this visit affords us opportunity to see more of the country."

The jet's engine hummed, and the three took it as a cue to board the premier's plane.

Hours later, flanked by two Voltaru V-06 fighters, the plane raced north away from the Antarctic coastline.

Tag for later post.

Tag for later post - arrival of diplomats

700km west of Woodstock

Soft, saffron beams of light danced gracefully over the wings of the Aeronexus executive jet as the plane soared like a ballerina over the warm waters of the ocean between Pacitalia and Sarzonia. The texture of the sky and the colours in it were markedly different from that back in Pacitalia an hour ago, where rose, violet and azure blended with the gold-tipped clouds and bright red sun to form one of the most beautiful sunsets of the late summer days.

Kemal Bezir Araz, Pacitalia's handsome, bachelor, fortysomething Agustinate of International Relations, gazed longingly out of his window at the inviting, yellow warmth of the sky. Sure would have liked to go hang-gliding tonight, he thought. But, of course, there just so happens to be a war. Not that I mind, really, he added. At least it makes work less boring, not having hyped-up, overeager twenty-five-year-old interns all over me like cheese on a cracker. Kemal shuddered at what he'd left behind on his way to the inspiring, crisp, modern Sarzonian capital.

"Signore?" came the voice from the cockpit. It was the co-pilot. "We'll be at Woodstock in about an hour."

Kemal flicked on a red switch beside him and spoke into the mic next to it. "Thank you, Carmine."

One hour later
The plane landed smoothly on the runway and the braking mechanisms kicked in as the jet reached the third-point on the large strip of pavement. Slowing to a comfortable taxi speed of 34kph, the private jet headed not for the busy confines of the passenger section of Woodstock's good-sized international airport, but instead for the private and charter jet terminal to the south.

The plane stopped right outside the hangar, the door opened and Kemal Bezir Araz and his three senior aides stepped out into the setting sun of Woodstock.

The cool air blasted his face and nearly took him clean off his feet. Araz remembered that Sarzonia tended to hit autumn-like conditions a little early for its latitude, and that the crisp, October-like air was a good reminder of that. But, just to make sure, he checked the enormous weather tower to his left, whose large red LCD displays informed pilots of need-to-know weather conditions. Right now it was telling all who watched it of the current windspeed and percentage of cloud cover. It was 38*C when we left Timiocato, and now it's cool and windy, he mused. What a nice change. He looked up at the board again and the temperature appeared.

"Sixty-three," Kemal said aloud, mostly to himself. However, his aides turned to look in confusion. "Degrees fahrenheit," he added, pointing up at the tower, and their baffled looks were slain, revealing their understanding. Kemal continued, "What's that in centigrade?" Sarzonians tended to prefer imperial measurements and fahrenheit temperatures while Pacitalians were strict believers in the metric and centigrade system.

None of them had a calculator but a familiar, gruff voice to their right said, "It's about seventeen degrees centigrade." The four turned to look, but only Kemal smiled, a broad grin crossing his face while his three aides sat once again confused. Standing to his right with an equal grin on his face was Jason Brandel, one of Sarzonian Senior Vice President of External Affairs Mark Lorber's junior aides, and a friend of Kemal's from university in Praetonia.

"Jason, you little scammer!" Kemal said joyfully, "How are you?" He moved to Jason, shook his hand, then embraced him. Kemal noticed Jason's once-youthful visage was creased with age lines, his eyes and hair spiked with shades of gray.

"Oh, I'm all right," Jason said. "This war's got us all shook up, as you know. Christ, it's battle stations if I ever saw it. Sarzo's got the entire External Affairs Department with a pitchfork up the ass, and Lorber can't do anything about it because he can't risk pissing Sarzo off right now. I mean, you'd think we were fighting Automagfreek or something," he added, winking. "Anyway, how are things at the Pacitalian end?" Jason looked at the three aides, who didn't have time to hide their looks of disgust and horror before Kemal turned.

"Oh, I'll explain later," Kemal said. He scowled at his aides and they dropped their expressions. "To the car, then?"

"Right you are, signore," Jason said, grinning once again. "My Pacitalian's a lot better now, you know."

"Ha, you know one word now instead of none at all?" Kemal said jokingly, elbowing him in the side. It was like they had seen each other yesterday, instead of the reality, five years ago, here in Woodstock.

The three aides split off into their own car with two bodyguards, while Kemal, Jason and two other bodyguards climbed into the sleek, black vehicle in the rear of the motorcade. "So, what was up with your aides?"

"I didn't think you would know this, but that's okay," Kemal said, and Jason looked a little confused. "In Pacitalian culture, swearing is not necessarily banned, but we like to, how shall I say this... keep it to a minimum? And you swore about six times in the course of twenty seconds, which led to the horrified looks on my aides' faces."

Jason moved to apologise, but Kemal cut him off. "It's okay, I know you didn't know. And frankly, many foreign visitors don't. I have to deal with a few violent incidents every so often back at home of a foreigner swearing and then being stoned or pushed into a fountain by a local. It's embarrassing."

"Chr-- I mean, yikes," Jason said. "See, I learn fast. I caught myself." He grinned. "It's great to see you, old buddy. How long's it been?"

"Five years, I guess," Kemal replied. "It seems like yesterday, though."

"Not for me," Jason said. "I was going to come out to see you in 2003, but my wife passed away from breast cancer."

"What?!" Kemal said, incredulously. "Not Andrea?" Andrea and Jason were the perfect definition of a couple, mutually loving and caring, and so ultimately happy together that one could not fathom them ever splitting apart. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have come to her funeral."

"I was very upset about the whole thing, and couldn't even lift myself up to give out invitations," Jason said, blushing slightly. "I wanted to get my friends to come, but I didn't want anyone but my family to see me so weak. I'm a lot better now, though. And I'm dating again." Jason smiled genuinely.

"Well, that's good. I'm so sorry, though, Jason."

"It's okay. I know she would have liked to see you one more time, too."

A tear threatened to fall from Kemal's eye, and down the light brown skin of his cheek, but he looked out the window at the trees, whose leaves were beginning to turn colour on these rainswept streets. Andrea dead. She was so full of life. It's impossible. The dim gray, mostly-clouded sky seemed to reflect this startling news.

They stopped at a red light and turned right onto Publius. As he saw the street sign, he remembered Vasiliou telling him of the time his predecessor came for the dedication ceremony. Traffic was backed up for blocks on both Publius and Isselmere on that day as thousands of Woodstock citizens drove by just to see the diplomats entering this magnificent building. Today was a little different, as it was 8.00pm local time and traffic was thusly light. The chauffeur drove the car the requisite six blocks east to the building, pulled over to the curb and unlocked the doors. The bodyguards exited, followed by Jason and Kemal. The media barrage was nearly blinding, but they just seemed to want the pictures of Kemal and Jason, as though for solidarity. No questions were thrown at the pair as they entered the Woodstock Pact headquarters together, and the glass doors shut behind them.

The droning click-shutter sounds of the cameras stopped immediately, and were replaced by the constant whirr of the state-of-the-art HVAC air conditioning system. The building was only slightly warmer than the high teens outside. Kemal shivered a little. The two walked down a series of hallways, took an elevator up a couple floors and continued down a long hallway to the only door on the right. They entered, into a large boardroom with sixty seats.

Mark Lorber looked up, and smiled. So did the other assembled delegates. The Sarzonian rose from his seat and ambled over to Kemal, shaking his hand. "It is an honour to have your presence in Sarzonia once again, Kemal."

"Thank you, Mark," Kemal replied, smiling. "I'm happy to be here." The other delegates were surprised by this first-name trend between the Pacitalians and Sarzonians, and obviously did not know that the leaders and higher-ups of the two countries commonly scrapped formality in favour of familiarity when conversing with each other.

"Please, sit down. The other delegates will be arriving shortly and then we can start our short introductory meeting. Then, you can go to the hotel and rest up."

"Sounds great," Kemal said, rubbing his hands together. "But first, I have a question."

"What's that?" Lorber replied, slightly confused by this immediate need by Kemal.

"Any way to turn the heat up in this place?" They both grinned.

ooc: short and sweet, had to get them to the building =)

"Seventeen degrees? You have to be kidding me. I knew I should have worn shorts..." Xerco scowled, but couldn't hold in his chuckle. "I hope their air conditioners are working."

Xerco, Lieta, and Ja'rod disembarked from the plane after their long trip, followed by another trio of bodyguards, and two aides. The warm air, promised by their pilot a few minutes earlier, rushed them as they descended down the exit ramp. After a short limo ride, and a deft maneuver passed the Sarzonain paparazzi, the Voltaru found themselves inside the Woodstock Pact HQ. As they turned toward the elevator, Xerco looked back out the door. He turned to Lieta and smirked, "Do you think they knew who I was?" She smiled back, and led the group on upstairs.

The board room was already filled with several delegates, and as Xerco, Leita, and Ja'rod entered, they saw Lorber visiting with what could only be the Pacitalian delegation. "Kemal Bezir Araz, Agustinate of International Relations," Lieta whispered in Xerco's ear, once again seemingly reading his mind. As Lieta and Ja'rod gave last minute instructions to their aides, Xerco filed around and found three empty seats. He slumped down in the plush chair, and felt, he thought, a little too releaved to be sitting down.

"This is Colonial Airlines flight 263 requesting clearance to land, Woodstock."

The Captain of the airship slowly lowered the it over the field just outside the airfield at Woodstock. That was the problem with foreign travel, thought Oliver Wanstead, not many other nations had facilities for airship travel.......

At 32 Wanstead was one of the youngest members of the diplomatic corps, and his appointment to this post had ruffled quite a few feathers amongst the traditionalists of the State Department. But it was all part of the "new broom" policies of the first socialist governor in Ollieland's history.

As they landed the heat hit the party. Wanstead was instantly taken back to his youth, growing up in the steaming mangroves of south Ollieland. He smirked to himself as he saw the aides from the State Department start to sweat and squirm uncomfortably. He nearly laughed when one of them had to run his finger round his collar.

As the door swung open he was greeted by a smiling Sarzonian. They exchanged pleasantries and the Ollish party was led to waiting cars.They arrived shorly at a very impressive lookinbg building, and were led inside.

It was there that Wanstead recognized the figure of Mark Lorber from press cuttings he had studied before the trip. Looking round he realised he knew no-one else. Well, he thought, this is what you get for several hundred years of isolation......

His aides had started to look worried, almost scared, but Wanstead was having none of that. He strode confidently over to where Lorber was chatting and greeting another delegate, determined to introduce himself and his nation.

tag for later post :)

Tag for post later.

"We're almost in Woodstock, Sir. We've got permission to land, and the weather is good. Should be an easy landing."

President Sergyn Torshan opened his eyes at the sound of the pilot's voice and looked out of the window. He had fallen asleep somewhere over the Pacific after getting bored of endless ocean, and although he had woken up five minutes ago he had been content to daydream. Now, instead of blue water stretching out as far as he could see, there was land beneath. He couldn't see Woodstock yet, but from pictures and descriptions he had heard that it was the real crowning jewel of Sarzonia.

"I really should have come here before now."

He said it more to himself than anyone else, and the pilot picked up on this and didn't answer. Sergyn was right, of course. This was his first visit to the Woodstock Pact HQ, his first visit to Sarzonia, even though Taldaan and Sarzonia had been allied through the Woodstock Pact since it had been founded. Perhaps this meeting would allow him to make up for lost time.

His revery was interrupted by the thud of the landing gear hitting tarmac. The plane bounced a little before coming to almost a stop. It taxied to the private aircraft terminal and halted. Sergyn unbelted himself and took his overnight bag down from the rack. He walked to the door and allowed the pilot to open it for him, then thanked him and walked down the ladder.

It was around twenty minutes later when he arrived at the Woodstock Pact HQ, and he took a few moments to marvel at it. It was a magnificent building, and it stood for something magnificent, something that was far too rare. He ran the comb in his pocket through his hair quickly, then stepped inside. After asking a member of staff where everyone was and how to get there, he entered the boardroom. Taking in his surroundings, he realised with an acidic rush of horror that the only person he recognised was Mark Lorber. Taldaan had really been out of the loop far too long.

The day was very warm as the two men watched into the sky. This was very much like what all of Harsimranster was feeling in terms of weather especially for this time of the year. The two men were laid back on the top of a private aircraft. Most people wouldn't have recognized them because they were meant to not be recognized. They were two senior pilots of the Space Union Air Force (SUAF) and commanded the Presidential SU1 Aircraft.

One of the pilots, named Tim, suddenly got up and stared at his co-pilot, Dom, before asking:

Tim: Why the hell are we hear again?

Dom: Because your stupid.

By this time, Dom had gotten up and was now just sitting cross-legged.

Tim: I aint stupid, I just never listen to the flight mission dude. He is really boring you know.

Dom: I know that but your still stupid.

Now Tim was mad. Dom always called him stupid because he was a little absent-minded. Okay really absent-minded. Made him wonder how he was still one of the best pilots out in the SUAF. But he got back to his point. He was infuriated and was sick and tired of Dom making fun of him, so he did what he thought would be most logical thing to do: he punched Dom in the stomach.

Dom immediately screamed as he doubled on himself. Tim was a big man and was much stronger than Dom, but that didn't stop him. Dom immediately got up and hit Tim right in the mouth. Tim studdered back as Dom let out a furious attack on Tim, doubling the man over on his back. Dom immediately punched Tim in the head again. By this time, Tim's head was bleeding with a big gash. But before Dom could punch Tim again, Tim head-butted Dom right in the forehead sending him back. Tim immediately got up and started punching Don, Don tried to block his punches but he was no match for the bigger Tim. He got a punch right to his jaw and then his nose making his face bleed. By this time the brilliant white paint of the aircraft was splattered with red blood from both men.

Nearby, a man saw the fight and immediately ran over to the aircraft. He was none other than the flight manager, named Uiop-Ye. As he came near the aircraft he saw in horror as the plane was covered with some spots of red. He knew what it was. He immediately saw the pilot, Tim, and copilot, Dom, duking it out on the top of the aircraft. An angered Uiop-Ye screamed at the top of his voice, startling the two and pausing the fight.

Uiop-Ye: What do you sons of b*tches think you are doing??!!!

Both looked startled as he asked the question. Tim, being the less bright one, answered:

Tim: Fighting. I was about to kill Dom, Sir!

Uiop-Ye: You idiot! The President is coming in less than 5 minutes and this is what you do!!!!

Uiop-Ye was so mad. He started climbing the rope to the top of the aircraft to kill the two, but as he climbed up he slipped on some of the spilled blood and went hurtling down to the pavement. Both pilots looked at each other before racing to the edge to see what happened.

On the ground, Uiop-Ye was dazzed, though not dead, and had a headache. He had a wound on the back of his head, but he would live long enough to kill the two pilots. As he got up, he shot a angry look of hate at both of them. Both pilots were scarred stiff now. But now Tim had the advantage. Taking advantage of the circumstances and Dom being off-guard, Tim pushed Dom off the top and Dom fell right next to Uiop-Ye and hit the pavement. He was lucky because he fell on his butt. Tim started laughing madly. He kept on laughing until he heard a horn go off. When all three men looked behind them a black limosine was pulling up. It was the president.

Out of the limosine came 5 bodyguards part of the Presidential Guard, equipped with the latest body armor to protect the president, then came the President's advisor, Sanu Kaur. She stepped out and looked at horror at the aircraft, it was blood red on the top and the logo had been scrapped off (no doubt from when Uiop-Ye fell off). Behind her, the President was talking with his other friend, Vickram Singh, and as both got out and then stared at the aircraft they looked at horror. They thought the exact same thing as Sanu Kaur, "What the f*cking hell happened here?"

All three men immediately shot up at incredible rate and bowed in shame to the President and his aids. It was a ackward sight. All three men were covered with blood and had injuries all over their body. 2 of them were on the ground while the other was on the top. Even the white, brilliant Presidential aircraft was no spotted with red from what looked like blood.

Vickhram by this time was infuriated. As the Secertary of Defense, he was incharge of the pilots and aircraft. He walked up to Uiop-Ye and asked him:

Vickhram: What for the same hell happened here??!!

Uiop-Ye: Sir, we had a problem. These two idiots were fighting on top of the aircraft and I tried to come over and stop the fight but I slipped and fell to the ground.

Vickhram looked at him. The site and story almost made him laugh but he kept it in. As he moved past Uiop-Ye he came over to Dom,

Vickhram: What the hell were you fighting over?

Dom: Sir, we were fighting because he punched me in the stomach for no reason...

Dom didn't get to finish in his statement as Tim yelled:

Tim: That's a lie, he ma....

He didn't finish as he lost his footing and fell from the top of the aircraft right into the pavement. He was dazed but he shot back up trying to ignore the intense pain. This was really making Vickhram and everyone else want to laugh but no one did. Vickhram immediately asked Tim:

Vickhram: I'm glad you joined us. Now tell me, what happened here, then ??!

Tim: Sir, he was making fun of me (as he pointed to Dom, who stared the other way), and he made me mad. He always does this to me.

Vickhram looked disappointed. He walked around before stopping and then talking again:

Vickhram: Very well, you three will be punished.

All three looked at him. They knew what was coming. They knew they were going to be fired and then decommissioned. This was the worst situation for any servicemen. As they prayed to god for not that they watched as Vickhram came near Uiop-Ye.

Vickhram: This is your punishment.

Vickhram immediately punched Uiop-Ye right in the stomach 2x before stopping.

Vickhram: Manager Uiop-Ye you are now cleared of charges.

Vickhram then walked over to Dom and then punched him 3x in the stomach.

Vickhram: Co-Pilot Dom you are now cleared of all charges.

Vickhram finally came over to Tim. Tim wasn't scared as he was bigger than Vickhram so the punches would hurt him.

Vickhram: Since I can't hurt you, I'll have one of the bodyguards do.

Tim was dumfound. Immediately a man bigger than Tim stepped foward and moved infront of Tim, who was now scared.

Vickhram: Punch him 4x in the gut.

The bodyguard preceded to punch him 4x in the stomach.

Vickhram: Pilot Tim you are now cleared of all charges.

As Vickhram moved away and walked over to the President, who had no expression on his face. But before he could stop next to the President, Tim yelled out:

Tim: heh, why did they get punched less than me?

Vickram turned around to address him:

Vickram: Because you got punched according to your charges. Uiop-Ye had one charge: not stopping the fight. Dom had two charges: fighting instead of reporting you and making fun of you. You had three: picking a fight, talking when your not suppose to, and overall ruining the President's day.

All three looked at each other before saying one more thing:

All Three: But we got one more punch than nessessary.

Vickram: That was because of being stupid and spilling blood on the President's aircraft.

All three were put to shame. As Vickhram walked away, he ordered one of the guards to clean the aircraft up.

Vickhram: Sorry, Mr. Mann for the problems but we have solved them. Unfortunently, the other aircraft we have is in maintaince so we will have to clean this up to our best ability, though we would have to repaint it to get the aircraft to look as great as it was before.

The President cursed inside his mind because he knew this was no way to make a first impression, yet he didn't feel it was right to have punched the three men. He always had a soft-heart, but the other punishment of decommisioning them would have been far worse then these meager punches.

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

It was 2:00 PM or 14:00 GMT, when the plane touched down at the runway. It had been a slow decent because of some landing clearance delays. Finally the aircraft slowed to a stop near a couple of other aircrafts that were privatly owned, from the size of their body. As the plane stopped, a climb down stairs were put next to the door for everyone to walk off the aircraft.

The first to come out was the bodyguards who were dressed in bright red with two stars to symbolize the national flag of Space Union. They walked patiently down before lining up on both sides of the stairs to do their traditional role.

Next came the advisors, Sanu and Vickhram who walked down the path and waited at the bottom for the President. Finally, President Harsimran Mann stepped outside into the brisk cold Sarzoniaian day. It was quite a sight. This was the first time he had visited Woodstock. He had heard many great remarks about it including myths that it was made from pure solid gold. Although that wasn't true, he knew that the general metaphor about the city was correct. It was constructed with much wealth, with buildings as tall as the Empire State Building. As the president walked down the stairs he came over to the advisors who calmly waited for him.

They breathed in the brisk air and immediately felt home. For some reason it felt so familiar, though, the President couldn't put his mind to it. He would figure it out later. Suddenly he heard a voice from behind him. He knew who it was. He turned briskly around to meet the eyes of a man. He was well built and was young in age. Telling from his suit he was an advisor for none other than a Sarzonian Senior Vice President of External Affairs Mark Lorber's junior aid. He walked over to Harsimran and they shook hands.

Aid: It is a pleasure to meet you President Mann.

Harsimran: I am very pleased to meet you too. I would like to introduce you to my two aids.

Harsimran pointed over to Sanu and Vickhram who stepped foward to meet the aid.

Sanu: It is a pleasure to meet you. We have heard much about your great country and the Woodstock Pact and wish to help in its goals.

Vickhram: I am pleased to meet you. I find your country a magnificent site for eyes that only belong to god's children.

As they exchange handshakes, the President could see that the aid was seeing something wrong in the aircraft. Before the aid could say anything, Vickhram said:

Vickhram: Oh we had some.. technical problem back home. We couldn't get the other plane because of its yearly service so we were stuck with this one.

Satisfied by the answer of a question he didn't ask, the aid proceded to walk the President and his aids over to a black limosine. They filed in single-file before the aid finally got into the car. As he closed the door, the limosine began moving to what Harsimran had been waiting for the entire day: Woodstock Headquarters Building.

OOC: Yeah I know it was mostly fluff. I just thought we would want some entertainment in the thread. :p

The large form of the Royal Jet sliced through the air above Sarzonia's capital, Woodstock. This was the King's first official engagement as a member of the Woodstock Pact and he was excited about meekting the representatives of the other nations. The telegram had suggested that a team of diplomats was sent to the meeting but King Charles I had decided that he wanted to get out of the country for a while anyway an dthis seemed like a perfect opportunity. So he had ordered his aides to pact some bags and fuel up the jet for the short trip across the region to Woodstock, Sarzonia.

Charles admired the beautiful scenery of Sarzonia below him as they made their way towards Woodstock International Airport. Fields and villages seemed so small from their height and Charles had demanded that the pilot flew over the Portland Ironworks facility as he admired it so much and wished to see the birthpace of his marvelous fleets.

Soon, they were on the outskirks of Woodstock and began descending ready to land. The landing was uneventful and Charles was awed by the size of the airport which was easily larger than any he had ever seen before in his life. They taxied to the designated point given by Air Traffic Control and soon the stairs were up against the isde of the plane, complete with red carpet, and a limosine was waiting below to take him to the Woodstock Pact HQ building. Charles rushed down the stairs, his aides trailing behind him, and clambered into the car, eager to make his way to the meeting. The limo moved off and he was on his way towards what was possibly the most importaant occasion in recent Lesser Ribenan history, thefirst meeting of their first major international alliance.

[North Point International Airport, Private Airfield]

Kara Maddox, a 5'8" woman with reddish-brown hair, she had a nice build, was slightly nervous as she walked up the steps into her private jet, she was followed by her assistant Lisa Watterson, and 5 bodyguards.

"Nervous Kara?" Asked Lisa.

"Well yeah I'm nervous, I've dealt with various diplomats, but that was all through letters or transmissions, this is the my first assignment outside the country, and the sheer size of it makes me very nervous, if I screw up I'm done for." Kara flopped down on her seat.

"Kara, stop worrying so much, you're the best diplomat and rep we have, you won't mess up."

Before Kara had time to respond the pilot's voice came over the intercom.

"All right ladies, we're ready for takeoff, it's now 7:00am, the fight should be a few hours, we'll have to midair re-fuel a few times, but thanks to these new engine we can get up too Mach 1.1 so the flight time drastically cut. And if you look out your side windows you can see 4 F-133 fighters, they'll be our escort."

Outside the airplane the roar of engines was deafing as the F-133s taxied down the runway, they gained speed very fast and lifted off the ground and into the sky.

"Ok, now that the fighters are off, it's our turn, you ladies better sit down and buckle up."

The plane taxied into position and the engines roared to life as it took off down the runway and then climbed into the sky.

"Ok ladies when we get to 30,000ft you can get up and move around, flight time should be around 4-5 hours depending on the weather." Said the pilot.

[Hours later; just outside Woodstock International Airport]

Kara was awoken by Lisa shaking her.
"We're hear, just need to land." Said Lisa
"Ah, ok, we better get ready the."

Outside the sky was a full blue as the sun was just starting to leave it's 12 o'clock position, the F-133s were still flying formation, but then as they neared Woodstock international the F-133s broke formation and headed back towards a tanker waiting just outside Sarzonian airspace.

"Come in tower, come in towerThis is Flight 120 from The Silver Sky, we're carrying diplomats for the Woodstock Conference, we're requesting permission to land on." Said the pilot over the radio.

After being confirmed the pilot came over intercom.

"Ok ladies, take your seats we're landing in a minute."

The private jet painted in standard multi-tone gray lowered from the sky and reflected the brilliant light from the sun. The wheel made a screeching sound as they touched down, the the braking mechanisms kicked in as the jet reached the third-point on the large strip of pavement. Slowing to a comfortable taxi speed of 34kph, the private jet headed for the private and charter jet terminal to the south.

The plane stopped right outside the hangar, the door opened and Kara stepped down the ladder to the pavement, she was followed by Lisa and 3 of their 5 bodyguards. As she stepped away from the ladder she was hit by a breeze making her realize how autumn-like it was. She regreted the decision to wear the standard Silver Sky Officers Dress Uniform (http://www.gundamofficial.com/worlds/ce/characters/images/icon_murrue.gif) (minus the stockings).
Lisa came up beside her, she too was wearing the uniform like Kara, they were both shivering slightly as their limo pulled up, they hurried and piled in.

The Limo drove around town for a few minutes, the driver almost got lost, but finally they arrived at Woodstock Headquarters Building.

After climbing out they entered the building, they stood in the grand entrance for a moment, partly because they were awed by it's beauty, but partly cause they didn't know where too go, so they decided to wait for this person called "Mark Lorber", who ever he was.

OOC: FINALLY Done!!!! YAY!!!!!

OOC: Yeah. I think Hamp's going to post soon. I'll do a post probably tomorrow. I've got all week off this week, so I should have time. :cool:

[OOC: Please delete that last OOC post TSS. Thank you.]

"Mr. Senior Vice President, the delegates have arrived."

"Already?"

"Yes, sir. They're in the conference room."

Lorber nodded. He was now responsible for running a country in the midst of war while his two senior officers, the President and the Lieutenant
President, were both on diplomatic missions.

Taking my job, Lorber thought with a grimace as he stood outside the door leading to the conference room. I've got to talk to Mike and Nicole about that. He was not happy with an arrangement that saw both the President and his immediate successor out of the country during a war, but Sarzo placed both his trip to Navarre and Lewis's journey aboard the Pacitalia to Halberdgardia in high enough priority. Besides, Lorber had to serve as a gracious host to the member nations of the Woodstock Pact.

"Here we go," he whispered. He drew in his breath and exhaled. He turned the doorknob and -- nothing. He turned it in the opposite direction. Still nothing. He started jiggling it and trying hard to pull the door open, but to no avail. Finally, a Praetonian staff member gave him a subtle look that suggested that she was thinking all kinds of negative thoughts about Lorber but was too nice to say them. She pushed a button to the immediate right of the door, turned to Lorber and with a deadpan calm, said, "now try it."

Lorber turned the door and it opened.

"That button activates DNA recognition software. It must be pushed to allow access to the door. Only Sarzonians, Praetonians and Isselmerian-Nielanders have access to the door," the Praetonian staffer said. Lorber nodded quickly, hoping he could mask his embarrassment as he realised he momentarily forgot about the new security feature built into the door. Doing his best to appear professional, he strode into the room.

"Greetings everyone, welcome to Woodstock," Lorber said. "I wish I could welcome all of you under better circumstances, but I'm glad to see everyone here."

Damn that was cheesy, he thought, trying hard to keep his smile from turning into a rueful grimace as he scanned the room.

"Greetings everyone, welcome to Woodstock," Lorber said. "I wish I could welcome all of you under better circumstances, but I'm glad to see everyone here."

Xerco grimaced, as he shifted in his chair. Not a good start. But then again, I am sure I sounded like that when I was that young...

He held in a yawn as best as he could as his mind raced through what would be discussed in the coming hours. Though in his early seventies, and well versed in playing the tired, old man, Xerco's mind was as sharp as ever, and was often cursed under the breath by many the politician. He stared at his thick, ceremonial robes as his thoughts drifted across the events shaping his being here.

Better circumstances bounced recklessly through his thought process, and his mind drifted toward a crucial vote in the Order earlier in the month that still brought physical sensations of anxiety... the High Order, in an 7-5 vote, denied a bill to expend military resources in the current 'situation' involving other Pact countries. The debate over whether this action was necessary raged back and forth between the 13 of the Order for hours, until the vote was forced by Xerco at around 2 am... and when the lights dimmed, and Xerco saw 7 red spheres rise toward the ceiling of the Hall's dome, his heart sank.

He wished things had turned out different that day. He wished he could lead his country to greater heights in the international community... He frowned inwardly - he wished a lot of things, and he couldn't help wonder whether these wishes had just kept piling up over the last few years... he was running out of time, he had little doubt of that... no Premier had served as long as he did, and his support was waning as his age ascended. What was the Voltaru curse?, he thought. "Time is the fire in which we burn"....and I am just about all ashes.

...Lorber's eyes briefly met Xerco's as he scanned the room after his brief introduction. The Premier stood and spoke:

"As am I, Mr. Senior Vice President. As always, I and all Voltaru are honored by this Pact, the partipation of our fellow member nations, and your gracious hospitality here in Woodstock... And I dare say that as long as the beliefs this Pact were founded on are alive and well throughout this membership, there could be no better circumstances to which to cling to."

Lord Rosecrans and Sir Issac Astor sped in their motorcade to the conference. Hamptonshire's eleventh hour admittance into the Woodstock Pact put the foreign policy establishment into disarray, most of the government's senior officials would now be spread out over a half dozen foreign nations. It took like convincing, though, by Lord Rosecrans to get the Regent to allow him to lead the delegation to Woodstock.

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

"You would think that for five trillion kroner a year the Royal Air Force wouldn't make senior government officials late to important international conferences." the Duke said lightheartedly to Sir Issac as both men were seated across from Rosecrans' military adjunct: a Royal Air Force Major.

"Well," Sir Issac interjected, "you can't expect too much from them."

"Oh yes, what was I thinking. We can put a man on the moon but we apparently cannot build a clock capable of operating in more than three time zones."

"It could have been worse, Phillip...they could have lost our luggage."

Lord Rosecrans laughed as he slapped Astor on the back, "I would like to have seen that. The sheer logistics of losing our luggage would be staggering, but I think that's a job right up the alley of the Royal Air Force."

"Yep, they can't get us to the capital of one of our closest allies on time, they accidently bombed a city dump and they can lose our luggage."

"Only if they try at it."

"Of course."


The car stopped and a very uncomfortable Royal Air Force Major lept out of the limousine. "Sirs," she addressed the two men, "here we are."



[OOC: Yeah, you don't need to tell me how much this royally sucks. Sorry. This post was pretty much just to get my people to the conference.]

David Farthing, the delegate from Manhattan Prime was also on route to the conference by car, having recently landed in Woodstock

The President would have liked to come himself to such an important meeting, but unfortunately he was in Schultaria at the moment, at a conference about Schultaria Prime’s food crisis <http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=437164>

Farthing, the Secretary of State, was happy to represent Manhattan Prime in his place. This was his first visit to Sarzonia, and already he was impressed. The country had several times Manhattan Prime’s 950 million population, and so Woodstock seemed massive to him as well as being very grand.

But of course he wasn’t here to play tourist, but to establish the final arrangements for the Woodstock Pact that had his country had recently joined. Since defense issues were going to be on the agenda, and the mild-mannered, diplomatic Farthing knew little of military matters, he was being accompanied on this trip by the Ranking Officer of the Imperial Armed Forces, General Andrew Marshall.

Upon arriving, they had little time to take in the beauty of the Pact HQ building as they were quickly rushed inside a building across the street, to meet with Mark Lorber, and their fellow Pact delegates.

"Well, I'd like to thank everyone who's here for coming to the conference," Lorber said. "We've got much to discuss with respect to this alliance." Lorber nodded to his secretary and she began handing out folders to each delegate.

"If you open your folders, you'll find the agenda is located in the left pocket. The first item we are here to discuss is the role our Pact will play in the international community. Secondly, we would like to establish formalised groundwork for how we operate.

"Thirdly, we would like to establish Secretary positions for various tasks to be accomplished by the Pact as a whole. For instance, I would like to ask us to vote upon and possibly establish a Secretary of Finance, a Secretary of Defence, and a Secretary of State. We can discuss the need for other positions as they arise.

"Fourthly, we should begin to formalise our approach to asking nations to join the Pact and how we handle applications by other countries." Some of the above may remain as it is and some of the above may change as a result of the work we accomplish here, but we should get these matters on the table."

Lorber scanned the room and noted that all the delegates had their folders open to the Agenda. He smiled slightly and waited for questions or comments.

Farthing spoke up first: “With your permission”, he nodded to Lorber, “I think a good issue to start with is that of how often we should meet. It should be frequent enough that we can make our new HQ worth the while, and also so that we can get regular updates on Pact matters. Once a month maybe… we also need a procedure for calling an emergence meeting, should we need to react to a sudden crisis for example”

"Great suggestion," Lorber said. "I think once a month is a good standard perimetre for holding meetings here at the Pact headquarters. And we definitely should have a procedure for holding emergency meetings and perhaps a means for more immediate decision-making.

"I'd like to hear some comments from the other delegates about Mr. Farthing's suggestion."

Harsimran listened to the other delegates talk about the meetings. Harsimran cleared his throat before talking after the Sarzonian host had finished.

Harsimran: I agree with our fellow brother, Manhattan Prime. I suggest that we have a meeting at the beginning of a month and then at the end of a month. The beginning of the month meeting would be for outlining the policies for that month. The end of the month meeting would be used to discuss what goals have been accomplished and what has to still. This way we have a outline of procedures for the Woodstock Pact to follow.

Harsimran drank some water to clear his dry throat before talking again:

Harsimran: On the matter of emergency meetings, I think it is wise to have these. When a major event occurs that effects the pact or its ideals directly or indirectly, I suggest that we hold a vote. If we get a 2/3 majority, we will schedule a emergency meeting shortly after. This way we can assure that we won't have to keep on opening meetings for minor "issues" on the already turbulent international stage.

Harsimran sat back down waiting to hear the reply from other delegates.

General Marshall spoke up, “I like that idea. How do you propose we hold this vote?” he asked. “Perhaps we could vote electronically, or via email or telegram whenever an emergency meeting is proposed.” the General suggested.

Harsimran heard the General and then replied:

Harsimran: I suggest we use electronical vote. We would get a notice when an incoming vote and a vote ballot. We will then send it to the main computer where it will be compiled to see what the outcome is.

OOC: We should just hold the vote on the Woodstock forum board. We can then tally it up. :)

Kemal sat with his head inclined over his hands, which were in that notorious Pacitalian tent formation just under his nose. Man, these guys are more experienced than I expected, he thought. I'm pretty impressed.

He spoke up once Signore Mann had completed his last sentence.

"Of course, that would all be well and good, but a little on the costly and inefficient side for my liking. I would suggest that either our nation's ambassadors to Sarzonia double as our ambassadors to the Woodstock Pact, or that we have new people to take on the latter task. That would help to minimise transportation time to vote - as in those nasty seven-hour flights each way from Pacitalia, for example - and would ensure that somebody is always here to hear any new developments from the headquarters."

David Farthing: "We'd be happy to let our Ambassador to Sarzonia take care of Pact matters, since he is already in Woodstock fulltime. Not all Pact members will have an embassy here of course, but for those that do not, now would be a great time to establish one, in the interests of strengthening Pact solidarity. We ourselves will be looking to open up full diplomatic relations with more of our fellow members in the near future"

Harsimran rose up as the Manhattan Prime delegate finished up:

Harsimran: My fellow delegate from Manhattan Prime is correct. This brings us to the next issue. I think we need to open up more diplomatic relations. I've seen many alliances fail for once reason: they say they will protect each other yet they don't even know each other. What we need to do is open up private delegations and become friendly and allies amongst us. Just joining a pact and not being allies with anyone is just a contradiction to the term alliance.

Harsimran cleared his throat as he felt a sharp pain for a second. It subdued in a second, too.

Harsimran: What we need to do is not just be friendly toward each other but be active allies of each other. I do realise there are ties amongst some of the members to others, yet not everyone is allied to the other nation. I remember a saying from one of Space Union's earliest presidents, Yarsh, he said "Being friendly or allied to a nation are two different things. You trust an ally while you don't a friendly nation when your in trouble." I think this statement speaks well for what I'm trying to get at. So I suggest in overall perspective, that we start out with relation building with other members and consider all of us allies. For these are people that will be having your back when you are in a desperate time.

Harsimran sat down while letting his words sink into the minds of the other delegates. He truely wished that this alliance wouldn't fail from the chronical problems that had plagued other alliances for so long ago.

It was then that Sergyn finally decided to speak.

"I would like to show my full support for..."

He mentally searched for a name for the Space Union delegate, and found nothing.

"My esteemed colleague," he said, without missing a beat. "While we have been allies for a very long time, it is clear to me that many of us do not even know everyone in this room. Thus I propose that we each tell each other who we are before the bloody business of politics really gets underway."

Kara Maddox eyes shifted around the room, she almost laughed at the Taldaan delegate, but found that what he said was true, they may have been allies, but most were clueless as to each others names.

She stood up. "The Taldaan Delegate is right, we may have been allies, but we still don't know each others on a personal level, I think we should, for the sake of the newer members, introduce ourselves to the others."

Kemal stood up. "I'll begin. Most of you do know me either from previous encounters, others from seeing my face on national television, but a few do not. My name is Kemal Bezir Araz, and I am the Agustinate of International Relations for the Federal Government of the Democratic Capitalist Republic of Pacitalia. I am married and 42 years old, and have been in this position since early spring." He sat down and motioned to Harsimran, who was sitting next to him, to continue.

Harsimran followed Kemal's quo and got up to speak:

Harsimran: Hello every and all delegates from all the outstanding members of the Woodstock Pact. I'm President Harsimran Singh Mann of the Federal Sikh Republic of Space Union. I'm head of the government and have been serving for 16 years (4 terms) as the President. I'm currently not married and I'm 43 years old. I'm happy to be here with my fellow delegates as this is my first visit to the lovely city of Woodstock and I wish for the best for this pact and all of its members.

Harsimran sat back down before nodding to Lord Rosecrans, the delegate of Hamptonshire who was sitting next to him, to continue.

Imperator Sarius Publius I arrived at the conference hall late and sopping wet. The HorseGuard who carried his ineffective black umbrella quickly closed it, coming in from the rain behind his Monarch.

"Why are we always late to these bloody things?" The King whispered to the Foreign Secretary, who accompanied him. Praetonian delegates had a knack for bursting in on conferences at the last minute. Even arriving late for a tour around a superdreadnaught on one occassion. The stress of it all, and most probably the water, was beginning to tell on the old Emperor.

"Shall we go in?" The Emperor asked sarcastically, gesturing for the Foreign Secretary to enter the hall first.

"Your Majesty," the Minister replied with a small bow, and the little party entered the conference hall to take their seats.

[OOC: Sorry for the crap post, I just wanted to get on with sutff sicne Ive been so slow.]

After carefully observing his fellow delegates, Lord Rosecrans felt that it was time to speak, "The Grand Duchy fully supports the proposals as put forth by Mister Lorber. It is essential that that Pact be properly organized and have a legitimate and defined administrative structure. While collegial and confederative authority and responsiblity are a must for the Woodstock Pact, we do need some form of, for lack of a better term, central governance."

Sir Issac took the opportunity to continue his superior's point, "We, furthermore, agree with our Pacitalian friends in their idea for separately accredited Ambassadors to the WP itself. While the prospect of having our Ambassadors to Sarzonia serve as our Pact Ambassador may be tempting, it does serve to simply things, it would not be the best action for our nation or any nation in this alliance. The appointment of Ambassadors, or Permanent Representatives, to the Woodstock Pact would allow for the swift, unencumbered, and professional interaction and intergration of all member-nations."

Sir Issac paused for a moment. He wanted to sit back down and stop talking but Lord Rosecrans kept on looking up at him. The Minister didn't want to introduce himself to the conference. It's all a bit too much like kindergarten, the thought to himself. With a sigh, and the continued stares from the Commander-General, he introduced himself.

"For the benefit of those that do not know me, I am Sir Issac Astor. I have served as the Governor-General of Greater McClellen and the Manium Colonial Collective for the past four years. I was recently appointed Minister of State for Allied Affairs, the office that I am now at the conference under. I served in the Hamptonian Royal Army and retired as a Field General. What is perhaps, my most notable 'claim to fame' as well most poignant, considering our present location, was my commander of Operation Acropolis the Hamptonian effort to restore President Mike Sarzo to power."

Sir Issac was about to sit down when a smile flashed across his face. "I believe my associate would like to introduce himself now", he said. As he quietly chuckled to himself the thought That'll teach him flashed in his mind.

"I," Lord Rosecrans struggled to say without betraying his feelings about the necessity of introductions, "am Lord Phillip Rosecrans, Duke of Eeasen. Three years ago I was appointed by the former Grand Duke Reginald Leopold I Commander-General of the Royal Armed Forces. Since that time I have also been appointed Co-Deputy Federal State Minister and Assistant Federal State Minister for Defense Affairs. Prior to my government service, I was the Royal Navy Chief of Staff for fifteen years. I don't know what else I should say since you all should either know it or your intelligence agencies should."

"Thank you," Lorber said with a slight smile toward the speakers. "I believe you know who I am, but just in case, my name is Mark Lorber and my title is Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer. To make matters easier for everyone, I am the equivalent of a secretary of state or foreign minister, although the Constitution gives me a little bit more to do around here."

Lorber studied the dripping wet Imperator and smiled.

"I'll take care of that umbrella for you if you don't mind," he said. reaching for the umbrella. His secretary looked slightly askance at Lorber offering to do a grunt's work for the Imperator but she chose not to say anything.

"As you can tell, Sarzonians aren't very much on putting on airs," the secretary said with a slight smirk. Lorber chuckled slightly and she continued. "I think that's something you'll find if you spend a lot of time here in Woodstock."

"I agree with the suggestions for Woodstock Pact delegations separate from those current embassy and consular staffs already in place here," he said.

Kara watched as the other delegates introduced each other, she was about to stand and speak before Praetonia Imperator Sarius Publius came in dripping wet and Mark Lorber started to talk.

She sat back down with a defeated look on her face, even though she had started the whole introduction thing, no one cared or even knew who she was, she hoped the whole confernce wouldn't be the same way.

OOC: No don't go pointing here out, I've modeled her after my best friend, I have plans. :p

OOC: Figures you start this when i'm gone for 2 days ;-) Quick post just to say Im here =)

"I agree with the suggestions for Woodstock Pact delegations separate from those current embassy and consular staffs already in place here," Lorber said.

Xerco stood up. "The Order of the Voltarum supports this motion as well. Indeed, we have already appointed our Ambassador to the Woodstock Pact..." He motions to Lieta, as the younger woman stands up and speaks. "I suppose I will start the introductions here. My name is Lieta Waterhouse. I am a former member of our senate and Governor of our North Sector Protectorate. As for my age, you know its not polite to ask..." She smiles, and then jestures to her side: "With us as well for this meeting is our Viceroy of the Navy, Admiral Ja'rod Kathon. He has been head of our immense Naval Operations for the last 14 years, and comes from one of the oldest and most honored Voltaru families." The Admiral stands and gives a slight bow in the direction of Lorber.

"Thank you Lieta," replied Xerco. "I guess that leaves me. My name is Xerco Longbottom, and I have served for the last 35 years as Premier of the High Order of the Voltarum."

He pauses and meets the gaze of several in the room.

"To add to the discussion of meetings, I fully concur a regular, monthly meeting should be on the agenda, but I do have concerns for this emergency plan, much along the lines as our friend from Pacitalia. If there is a true emergency, some situation that needs immediate action taken by this Pact, I must say that the lenghty process of voting to see if a meeting is necessary is contrary to its purpose. I think a more efficient way would be to grant the Sarzonians as founders, and the Secretaries who we would vote into power, the ability to call an emergency meeting."

The King thought he'd better say something, so once the Voltarum delegation had finished he stood up and introduced himself.

"Good day, I am King Charles I, King of Lesser Ribena. My diplomatic experience is small and this is one of my first conferences. I have only recently (OOC: 5 years ago) retaken my family's throne in a bloodless revolution after a long period of republican rule. I hope that my presence here will show my people that I am devoted to increasing Lesser Ribena's foreign reputation and also reinforce our ties to the Woodstock Pact.

Accompanying me are: the Minister for Foreign Affairs: Louise Simpson; Chancellor of the Exchequer: John Pimlott; Minister for Defence: Admiral Geoffrey Simnett; the rest of the delegation is are diplomatic staff members from the Foreign Office. The gentlemen that escorted me here as security personnel are members of the Royal Foot Guards,the most senior and honourable regiment of the army."


OOC: The King is around 30 years old, unused to ruling a country after almost 250 years of Republican rule and has very little prior experience in foreign affairs.

Following the delegation from Lesser Ribena was that from the United Kingdom of Isselmere-Nieland. The Minister for Foreign Affairs and International Development, Sir George Fredericks, was in his late forties and beginning to develop a slight paunch despite his almost daily exercise regimen. His once dark brown hair was going white from the stress of so many years in senior government office, but his face had only grown more difficult to read over the years. However, in the presence of such allies, his casual smile glistened once more.

"Good day, my lords, ladies, and gentlemen. It is a great honour and privilege to be with all of you here today. My apologies for the delay -- a recent military exercise had called my escort away temporarily." He gazed at the faces of the chiefs of state and fellow delegates and tried unsuccessfully to read the room. Long plane voyages always dull the senses, he reminded himself.

"I am George Fredericks," he noted, conveniently forgetting his knighthood, "and I am the Cabinet Minister for Foreign Affairs and International Development of the United Kingdom of Isselmere-Nieland. With the exception of a brief two year period, I have been serving in that capacity for over twelve years. With me is the Minister of State for Foreign Affairs, Sir Anthony Pritchard, and the Principal Permanent Undersecretary of State for the Ministry, Dame Anneliese Cheng." Both senior officials beside the minister rose and bowed their heads solemnly to the conference.

"We agree with the recommendations of Senior Vice President Lorber for a central authority and for promoting the Pact beyond its present condition."

Oliver Wanstead smiled at the representative from Isselmere and stood to make his own introduction.

"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. My name is Oliver Wanstead, and I am a senior representative from the Department of Foriegn Relations of the Colony of Ollieland, where I have seved sinece the age of 19, with, of course, a five year break for my national service with the Colonial Coast Guard. Many of you have had no relations with us before, with the exception of our great Sarzonian hosts, but let us hope that will soon change!"

He smiled at the assembled delegates, and recieved a few smiles back. Well its a start, he thought, and ploughed on.

"To the matters in hand, we would also concur with the idea of a monthly meeting of Pact members. For a permanent presence, we would suggest the creation of Pact committee or commission, to contain one member from each nation, with a rotating chair (OOC this could be built in the Woodstock forum). As to the matter of "promotion" of the pact, this needs much more thought and planning. We would suggest, once the current, er, hostilities are over, a joint military operation, perhaps training of special forces. This would also enhance each of our own military, as well as give insights into co-operation between members. We already have a military presence in The Voltarum, and see no problem with hosting units from them or from other nations of this great pact."

He sat down and flashed around his smile again, hoping it was enough........

Premier Robertson hurried to the doors of the conference hall. Being late wasn't something he hadn't counted on, but then he hadn't counted on his aircraft breaking down on the tarmac either. Thank goodness for the Aerospace Force, he thought sullenly as he made his way into the building, folding his umbrella as he entered. Pausing outside the room, he stopped and attempted to put on his best “friendly Izistani” look. Taking one last look around, he opened the door and stepped inside.

Once inside the room, he tried to be as quiet and unnoticeable as possible and made his way to a unoccupied seat.

*Bump* For Sarz and the others.

[OOC: Sorry, I've been busy enough to not get this out before, but I'll try to keep up with this from now on. Life's hectic, period.]

“Such is my luck,” thought one Stepan Psesk onboard a tiny Cessna jet as it ferried him over lengths of water immeasurable. “I’ll be late.”

Ambassador Stepan Pesek – such was his title, awarded to him just days ago – was a nervous man, and one who rejoiced in punctuality. His preoccupation with how others saw him had served him admirably while a member of Novikov’s Parliament – a fact even the Prime Minister, a man separated from Pesek by conventional party lines, attested to. Now, it was the hope of Prime Minister Borovic that those same skills, if they are indeed skills, would serve equally well in a newly created post, Ambassador to the Woodstock Pact.

Word had reached Poldi’sk of a scheduled conference between the Woodstock Pact’s member nations just a matter of days ago – doubtless caused by the wartime damage which still plagued most manners of communication within Novikov. He had been Ambassador for just two days then, and, with all eyes fixed internally on reconstruction, he had been left to organize his own transport to the Sarzonian capital where the Pact’s formal headquarters was held.

Pulling strings to organize transport is difficult enough for the common man to do. Wading through the bureaucratic morass of the current administration, it was well neigh impossible for Pesek, and made all the more difficult by the fact that his position was as unknown as the Pact he represented. All of this, tied in with the continual problems of a destroyed infrastructure, made for the current situation; an almost empty aircraft landing almost unannounced in Woodstock less than two hours before the conference was to begin.

“Sir,” the intercom sparked to life, “we’ll be entering Sarzonian airspace in two minutes; our escorts are pulling back now.” Pesek watched the two graceful Mirage 2000s turn tail to the right wing of the aircraft and dart into the horizon. It was strange; with all the difficulties in finding transport, the problem of procuring bodyguards and escorts had been tiny in comparison; a fact which attested, sadly he thought, to the old administration’s disposition towards foreigners.

-----

How long it was until the jet’s wheels touched tarmac, Pesek was not sure. He was only certain of the fact that he needed to hurry to the conference, and that was enough to motivate him to move quickly. A gracious pair of vehicles in the traditional government-black had been provided, and, wasting no time, Pesek made a dash towards the waiting door of the rear vehicle, followed by a lanky translator. The burly guard took the first vehicle.

He scarcely needed to inform the driver of his destination, but did so anyway, more out of habit than anything else. Halfway through, however, he realized that the driver in all likelihood spoke no Czech, and allowed his translator to make the actual request.

“Woodstock Pact Conference Hall, quickly.”

Farthing took his turn to introduce himself, and his delegation.

“I’m David Farthing, the Secretary of State for the Imperium Colony of Manhattan Prime. I’m 29 years old, and this is also my first visit to Woodstock.

With me is General Andrew Marshall, Ranking Officer of the Imperial Armed Forces.”

Sneaking in the front doors was not something Stepan was accustom to. Even as a young representative of the Northern Czechzen providences, he had a habit of punctuality, and now, sneaking in the front doors of the Pact headquarters, he felt as though he had already failed his country. A wave of guilt washed over him.

Passing security was surprisingly easy; the lanky Novikovian build and black mop of hair, tucked back with an equally dark ribbon, gave him the easily recognizable appearance of an 18th Century gentleman – certainly a distinct feature among the delegates. But as he passed through the heavy doors into the conference area, they groaned shut behind him. His face burned, a sudden flare of red in deep contrast to the black and white of his clothing, and he could feel the eyes of some men and women already seated turn to him, though delegates or orderlies he did not know. “Probably glaring,” he thought, “and with good reason to.” Damn Azazians had ruined everything else, now they were killing his reputation.

He fumbled forward, a slight scowl showing despite his best attempts to appear indifferent; he had a terrible poker face. He clutched a briefcase to his chest as he moved across the room, stopping before his seat and looking across the room once more. Eyes were still fixed on him, and, not knowing what to say, he began a simple introduction, but one largely incomprehensible to his English-speaking audience.

“Dobrý den vespolek. Jsem Stepan Pesek, Velvyslanec z Novikovie v Pakt od Wudstók.”

A voice behind him. “Might I introduce Ambassador Stepan Psesk, the Novikovian representative to this delegation?”

Save by the translator.

Bumpity, bump, bump, bump.

*bump*