NationStates Jolt Archive

President Ben Martin was accompanied by his yellow-faced aide, John Clark, as they walked (or rather, waddled) down the corridors of the Legoland Palace towards the press conference room. The corridor was bright red, with pictures attached to it all along its length of past Presidents and important figures, and a few lights hanging down from the high ceiling.

"What do you think?" Martin asked his aide.

"About what?" Clark responded.

"This press conference," Martin said.

"I think it's a stupid idea," Clark shook his head and sighed. "We're made of plastic. People will probably take advantage of us. And I have a feeling they won't like the colour of our skin. Bright yellow isn't normal for them! They have an illness like that!"

"One look at our realistic working cannons and they'll change their minds," Martin said confidently, trying his hardest to make a fist but failing miserably. "Besides, we're peaceful, our only natural resource is plastic, and our country is tiny. Nobody would want it!"

"I guess," Clark said. He stopped walking just as the door to the press conference room came into view.

"Well, come on then," Martin beckoned.

"I can't sir," Clark shook his head.

"Why not?"

"My foot is stuck to one of these studs, sir," Clark said, bending down awkwardly to look at the studded floor. Sure enough, one of his feet had fixed itself firmly to one of the raised studs. In what seemed like an ill-thought-out idea, the round studs on the floor were just the right size to fit perfectly into the holes in the bottom of their feet.

"Oh for Denmark's sake, John," Martin sighed. "I've told you before that you should walk on the edges of the studs; don't put your feet on the middle of them. Here, let me pull you up."

Martin took Clark's yellow hands and pulled with all his might. He seemed to have particularly tight holes on his feet - he wasn't budging. After one particularly hard tug, Clark's hand fell off and Martin toppled backwards.

"AGGGGHHH!" Clark screamed, looking at his hand-less arm.

"Relax! Doctors can work miracles these days, we'll get it fixed up!" Martin tried to reassure him. "Here, I'll take your arm - this won't come off in a hurry."

He grabbed the 'stump' and pulled again. He propped the back of his feet up against one of the studs on the floor and put all his weight into pulling Clark free. With a cry of success he fell backwards and landed on the floor with Clark on top of him.

"AGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!" Clark screamed even louder.

"Now what?"

"You've only pulled the top of my body free!" Clark yelled. "My legs are still stuck there!"

Martin pushed Clark's torso off him and looked for himself. Sure enough, a pair of legs stood wriggling around, with one foot still stuck to the floor.

"Um..." Martin looked around nervously. "I'll get help for you! I have to go!"

He sprinted off, tapping his plastic feet against the ground as he ran clumsily, leaving Clark lying in pieces and yelling for help.



He burst into the press conference room and shut the door behind him, immediately whispering something into the ear of a security guard about 'dismemberment' and 'doctors'. He then turned and looked at the press, smiling. Flashes blinded him as they took pictures of him with plastic cameras as he stepped up to a podium and tapped the microphone.

"Greetings and thank you for coming," Martin said into the microphone. "Today is a very special day for Legoland. Our country has remained isolated for many years, but today I, President Martin, your elected representative, am sending out this message to the non-plastics everywhere: We're here, we're yellow, and we're inviting diplomatic relations with you. We're announcing our presense to the world, and giving you the opportunity to establish ties with us. We have much to offer, and would like to see what else is out there. Our people will welcome you with open arms - well, we can't open our arms very wide but it's the thought that counts."

Copperian would like to establish diplomatic relations with Legoland.

Of course, Kremlings don't do press conferences, per se. They do, however, occasionally club underlings into submission, the slightly more intelligent ones of them occasionally getting what the Krusha clubbing them actually wants them to do (Not that the Krusha would understand it. It generally just does what one of the three Rool's wants).

Thump.

"Ow!"

Thump. Thump. Thump.

OW!"

THUMP!

Baron von Roolenstein sighed, cursing the incompetence of his underlings. It didn't matter, though. Kicking the near-lifeless body of the clubbed-down kritter aside, he eventually shouted incoherently through empty chambers and filled kitchens, the message making its way through the ranks of the horde until it eventually reached Klubba, essentially the most diplomatic Kremling in existence.

From: The Kremling Horde
To: The Banana-coloured Midgets
Subject: Ceasefire

"Yarr! The Horde wants no harm to you until we're bored again, little banana-midgets! We Kremlings do want to be with you! One of us wants to, anyway!

"Very Gnawty will visit ya, if yer' like, little banana-people!"

All hail, and plenty of booty,

Klubba

Really... It was pretty obvious that the horde wanted an embassy (At least, this was what Klubba thought. Foreigners would probably think differently. But nobody cared about foreigners).

Or something like that. Kinda. Well, as long as Gnawty didn't start gnawing the locals...

Elash Mîraglariel sat in the serene comfort of her office, watching the day’s latest reports. As the Adjutant of the Elenaran, she had many boring tasks. As the clandestine head of the ‘Office of the Elenaran’ a sort of intelligence agency without portfolio, she had a far more interesting job. The two of them dovetailed together in this little task amazingly.

Opposite her sat one of the Elenaran’s longest serving agents, known variously as Doctor E. E. Smith and Edwin Provost PhD. “I don’t,” he said, “See what’s all that interesting about the transmission,” as the holographic image of the press conference waned away to nothing, “Some interesting creatures certainly, very… blocky… You sure this isn’t a prank?”

“You’ve not seen the most interesting bit yet,” the necrontyr woman said, leaning forwards onto her elbows, “Computer, display transmission at actual size,” she said, brushing a little silver grey hair from her blue face. The hologram flickered into life again, this time the entire stage materialised on her live-wood desk, small enough for her to hold the entire affair in her hand if she wished.

“What?” she asked suddenly…

Staring at her, Edwin grinned, “This is simply some sort of corrupted file. It must be.”

“I don’t think… so…”

“Listen,” he said, “I know what you’re thinking, the answer is no, that’s clearly impossible.”

She shook her head, “Computer, display a random character of the ‘lego’ product line…’ Another lego-man, this one as inert as well, plastic, materialised in holographic form on her desk.

“It’s a prank then.”

“I have,” she said, “a suspicion that it might not be. Which is why I’m sending you off to investigate it…”

----

To: President Ben Martin of the Republic of Legoland,
From; Doctor Edwin Provost, Agent of the Elenaran of The Necrontyr Empire,

We have received your request, and would be delighted to open diplomatic channels with your nation. If you are willing, I should arrive there within a few hours.

Yours Sincerely,
E. E. Provost PhD.