Azazia
06-06-2006, 00:51
Royal Airport at Emperor’s Field
Outside Imperium, New Britain
With a quick tug, Emily Deveraux pulled her long black overcoat closer around her slender, petite frame. An unusual weather pattern had cooled the warm subtropical archipelago, at least the southeastern islands, and so Deveraux had been forced to dig through her winter clothing for an appropriate overcoat for the day’s function. Her brown eyes glanced upwards at the sky, a crisp blue pockmarked with white cumulus clouds that assumed familiar shapes and forms –Deveraux quickly shook it off, however, attributing it to her mind playing tricks upon her.
From the tarmac she could see little of the major metropolis off to the southwest. Emperor’s Field benefited from its status as property of the Crown, and thus considered as private property – the airfield run by the Royal Air Force thus operated without interference from individuals and often times, most importantly, the press. For the first meeting of the Zarustran Foreign Minister, the press would be kept offsite and would be only allowed access to the two at the Foreign Office, within the heart of Imperium.
An aide tapped Deveraux lightly on the shoulder, From the south, Madame Secretary.
Thank you, Deveraux responded quietly. As if on cue, a small speck of reflected light appeared from the southern sky, flanked by two smaller specks as the group approached the airfield. The Zarustran aircraft descended slowly while overhead the two RAF fighters that had been escorting the aircraft into the United Kingdom roared, their supersonic speed deafening the area a moment later. Flyboys, it figures, she muttered. It was well known that the RAF had a penchant for spooking government officials by breaking the sound barrier just ahead of any diplomatic rendezvous.
She wondered, as the aircraft began its final approach, how the foreign minister would take flying over the city. At one time renowned for its resemblance to the London of the 18th and 19th century, the old domes of cathedrals and masonry office towers had long been eclipsed by more modern testaments to the new gods of commerce and politics. The city centre had long since shifted northwards up the New Thames as glass and steel replaced marble and wrought iron. Nonetheless, the Foreign Secretary’s guests would be treated to a longer, more scenic drive through Imperium – allowing them to see the historical colonial-era buildings that once housed the government of the former British colony. Deveraux thought the common ancestry between the two peoples would serve as a common point of reference to frame the conversations of the coming hours and days.
As the aircraft landed, the Crown Guard – the elite bodyguard unit of the Crown – assembled upon the tarmac to greet the Foreign Minister with military honours usually accorded heads of state. However, given the nascent nature of the relationship the United Kingdom had decided to welcome the Zarustran delegation with all the pomp and circumstance that could be seen as bearable.
Outside Imperium, New Britain
With a quick tug, Emily Deveraux pulled her long black overcoat closer around her slender, petite frame. An unusual weather pattern had cooled the warm subtropical archipelago, at least the southeastern islands, and so Deveraux had been forced to dig through her winter clothing for an appropriate overcoat for the day’s function. Her brown eyes glanced upwards at the sky, a crisp blue pockmarked with white cumulus clouds that assumed familiar shapes and forms –Deveraux quickly shook it off, however, attributing it to her mind playing tricks upon her.
From the tarmac she could see little of the major metropolis off to the southwest. Emperor’s Field benefited from its status as property of the Crown, and thus considered as private property – the airfield run by the Royal Air Force thus operated without interference from individuals and often times, most importantly, the press. For the first meeting of the Zarustran Foreign Minister, the press would be kept offsite and would be only allowed access to the two at the Foreign Office, within the heart of Imperium.
An aide tapped Deveraux lightly on the shoulder, From the south, Madame Secretary.
Thank you, Deveraux responded quietly. As if on cue, a small speck of reflected light appeared from the southern sky, flanked by two smaller specks as the group approached the airfield. The Zarustran aircraft descended slowly while overhead the two RAF fighters that had been escorting the aircraft into the United Kingdom roared, their supersonic speed deafening the area a moment later. Flyboys, it figures, she muttered. It was well known that the RAF had a penchant for spooking government officials by breaking the sound barrier just ahead of any diplomatic rendezvous.
She wondered, as the aircraft began its final approach, how the foreign minister would take flying over the city. At one time renowned for its resemblance to the London of the 18th and 19th century, the old domes of cathedrals and masonry office towers had long been eclipsed by more modern testaments to the new gods of commerce and politics. The city centre had long since shifted northwards up the New Thames as glass and steel replaced marble and wrought iron. Nonetheless, the Foreign Secretary’s guests would be treated to a longer, more scenic drive through Imperium – allowing them to see the historical colonial-era buildings that once housed the government of the former British colony. Deveraux thought the common ancestry between the two peoples would serve as a common point of reference to frame the conversations of the coming hours and days.
As the aircraft landed, the Crown Guard – the elite bodyguard unit of the Crown – assembled upon the tarmac to greet the Foreign Minister with military honours usually accorded heads of state. However, given the nascent nature of the relationship the United Kingdom had decided to welcome the Zarustran delegation with all the pomp and circumstance that could be seen as bearable.