NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is the IC front for Team Awesome, a place where nations involved in, or wish to become involved with, the Team Awesome Alliance can ICly apply. This is also going to be where IC negotiations as to the direction of TA will take place.

Of course, the Founder of this alliance of Maniaca.

IC:

Poppernickle City,
Capitol of Maniaca
0815

"At close intervals," Sergeant First Class Morrison's measured voice boomed and echoed across the empty stretch of tarmac of the Poppernickle Int'l Airport, "dress right, dress!"

The group jutted their right elbow our, the two ranks inching into a compact block, and one they were done, they still stood like statues. All by the Sergeants at the end of the ranks held their heads to the side, only daring to blink. "Parade," Morrison seemed to glower, "Rest!" Boots clamoured as they took their drilled stance.

"At ease."

"Ugh, finally," one of the soldiers could be heard complaining, however softly, mostly out of humour. The honor guard was extremely disciplined, but it didn't make them zombies.

The leader of the honor guard drew a tight lipped grin. They were waiting for President Odurus Urungus' plane to show up, they were the advance party. Unarmed, they wore the Velascani Army Greens, which were just that. Pressed and creased in all the right places, staybrite buttons and medals gleamed in the early morning sunlight. The odd thing about their uniforms was the Pauldrons on the left side, gold plated, they had three spikes, which were more like spires, that curved wickedly towards the soldier. The points approximately one inch above the Soldier's head. They were known as hat hangers to soldiers in the ranks.

Morrison had recieved word of the President's arrival just a few minutes before, a warning which sent him and his Soldiers scrambling to the assembly point. Even now he could hear the massive engines of the 747-400ER whining down the tarmac, untill it became defeaning, the earth vibrated beneath the soles of his shoes. He took that as his queue. "Group! Attention!" He commanded as he himself preformed an about face.

The huge aircraft pulled to a stop before the squads, the engines now howling before they began to idle, then finally cut out all together. At once ground personnel scrambled around the plane, and a staircase was rolled up to the door. As the hatch opened, a rather average fellow, donned in very fine business attire stepped out, he paused a moment to take in the fresh air. Marrison rendered a salute to his President.

Odurus Urungus hardly even noticed the salute, or even the Soldiers themselves. He was more used to a full platoon, at the least, dispatched to escort him through his own land. He had far more enemies there than he could possibly have anywhere else. He smiled wryly at the irony.

Behind him lumbered the much larger General of the Armed Forces, Ballsac the Jaws of Death, whom had at least six inches on the 5'11" Life President of Mari Velasca. He was in the same Army Greens as the enlisted Soldiers below, to which he returned a respectful salute. The difference was that his uniform had two silver Pauldrons, which were slightly more rounded and subdued than that of his enlisted counterparts.

Meeting them was a Sikorsky helicopter, something neither the President, nor the General quite expected, but could understand. The metropolis that was Poppernickle loomed in the distance, the enormity of the skyscrapers were evident, even from there. Yet somehow, the overpopulated country still maintained a cleanliness Velasca could only dream of. As Urungus and his comrade, as well as a small contengent of aides loaded into the transport, Urungus couldn't help but wonder what this new alliance could become.

It certainly had humble beginnings, no charter, no constitution, no true goal as of yet. In fact, the name made him wonder if they weren't going to spend the day running around in pastel tights, brandishing plastic decoder rings pulled from cereal boxes.

Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

No, Mari Velasca needed this as much as Maniaca, probably moreso. Velascan foreign Policies had thus far been contained. Internal affairs was at the top of the list of concern. Only within the last few years has international relationships actually became pertinent in the eyes of Urungus, who saw the war mongering of other nations as a possible threat to his own.

The helicopter lifted into the air, gaining altitude quickly to make the trip to the Capitol of Maniaca itself. A 5-ton truck rolled towards the honor guard, their transportation, much to the dismay of SFC Morrison.

Emperor Jomo Kenyatta sat in an armchair in the corner of the meeting room, a larger than average sized square room located in the top corner of a two-hundred and sixteen story customs and naturalization headquarters. The plush carpet was dyed a dark blue-green, the same color as the walls. The dark blue morning sky could be seen over the tops of taller buildings in the distance, and even the pink and orange sunrise made itself apparent to those who looked close enough between the towers of glass and steel.

The Emperor's personal assistant and close friend, Kwame Nkrumah was seated at a well polished wood desk in front of the wide window. His posture was lazy and periodically he reached for a handful of the nuts that were sitting in a bowl on the desk. He broke the silence:

"How many people are coming?"

"Three are expected, but we've been getting calls from other people interested, who just may show up."

"I'm not really sure why we're doing this."

"I'm tired of being small, Kwame. Look out that window, see how big we are. We might very well be the biggest nation in contact with the outside world, in the entire world. And yet you go to another country and ask them who 'Jomo Kenyatta of Maniaca' is, and they'll ask you 'who from where?' We may have the most powerful military in the world, we may have the most powerful economy in the world. Hell, this is the most unimposing room I could find for this meeting and the seats are velvet. But it doesn't mean anything if we're not recognized."

"Our people recognize us, that isn't enough?"

"Our people take us for granted. They're so in shock that they don't catch an epidemic disease every time they shake someone's hand that they're in a permanent state of euphoria, with a big bald black man to thank for it."

"Well how is a bunch of small fish latching on to us going to remedy that?"

"Everything gets better when you have friends, Kwame."

Peter Miller, the secretary of foreign relations for the Empire and one of the only white men still with a job high in the Maniacan government walked in the open door and had a seat in the opposite corner of the room. The Emperor waved at him.

"Did you want something?"

Peter Miller was silent for a moment before saying, "Oh, yes, forgive me sir, I'm not really a morning person."

"You should have some nuts."

"I think I will, thank you." He stood up and grabbed a handful of nuts. "The representatives from Mari Velasca arrived in the country a short while ago."

"That's good. What about the others?"

"Nothing to report from Krendakov or Kolvokia."

"If they don't show up I'm declaring war on both of them."

"I'd have to advise against that, sir."

Lord Titon sat in a fighter craft, oxygen mask firmly in place, watching the pilot. The man was staring ahead. His mask hid most of his face, but not the piercing grey eyes. The fighter carried no weapons, a subtle mark of respect which said that the Kolvokians trusted the honor of Maniaca, although one that would probably be lost on them. Few nations saw things with the same degrees of subtlety that the Kolvokians did, and fewer still even bothered to look for such degrees in the Kolvokians, who were after all known for their extreme nature.

By the same token, no bodyguards apart from the pilot had accompanied Lord Titon.

Lord Titon, of course, carried a sword on his left hip. Subtle compliments only went so far, and no Lord would leave Kolvokia unbladed. "Mattias," spoke Titon abrubtly, although without seeming to startle the pilot. "What is your opinion on this matter."

Mattias was silent for a moment, and then spoke. "Kolvokia must have strong allies. But they must be honorable allies as well. We do not yet know if this is the case."

Titon nodded, and gestured for Mattias to continue. Mattias could not have seen the gesture, his eyes being locked still on the sky in front of the plane, but said "At the same time, we must be wary. For strong allies, if trusted too much, could easily become strong conquerers."

"No conquest in Kolvokia could be easy," said Titon. Mattias nodded. Between the warlike tendencies of the people, and the death before surrender culture, any invasion, let alone occupation of Kolvokia would be disproportinately costly.

"This is Lord Titon's aircraft, requesting permission to land," said Mattias.

Suddenly, the sound of Phil Collins' melodious voice rang through the meeting room.

"Oh, that's me," Maniacan Secretary of Foreign Relations Peter Miller said quietly, seeming somewhat embarrassed. He answered his phone, and held a short conversation.

"The representatives from Kolvokia have arrived and are landing a short distance away from here."

"That's good," remarked Emperor Kenyatta, "I like the name Kolvokia."

Peter Miller chimed in, "Me too, it's very fitting for a nation."

"I don't," said Kwame Nkrumah around a mouthful of peanuts, "It sounds too much like the old guy we had here, what was his name?"

"Emperor Catsendt?" offered Peter Miller.

"Yeah, him. I didn't like him I'm glad we got rid of him."

"He's still alive, Mr. Nkrumah, you know that."

The Emperor added, "Yeah, and he's only in his early forties or so. He founded the nation when he was a teenager."

"Oh, yeah," said Nkrumah, swallowing. "He put us in power too, didn't he?"

"Yeah"

"Yeah"

"Well I hope he's enjoying his retirement. That other guy too, who was always following him around......I'm ready for some negotiations guys."

The skyways outside the window were beginning to light up with the headlights of the city's early morning commuters.

Lord Titon was alone when he entered the conference room. He took in at a glance the elegant furnishing, the three men- he identified the Emperor and Foreign Relations Secretary instantly, and assumed the third man was an aide- and the impressive city view. He focused in on the Emperor and knelt, lowering his head in a gesture of recognition for the position of a sovereign whom he did not serve.

"I am Lord Titon of Kolvokia. I come here to represent the High Empire and the people of Kolvokia." He said. He noted with some interest the positions of the Emperor and aide. The wide window and impressive view beyond immediately drew the eyes, which in turn set the aide in the center of attention.

Is there signifigance to this? He wondered, Or am I simply reading too much into it? His naked sword still hung on his hip, an action which demanded that they trust his honor as he had trusted theirs by not bringing along bodyguards.

He gazed evenly at the Emperor.

The three Maniacans stood, and Emperor Kenyatta returned Lord Titon's kneel. He stood again, walked in front of the desk, and spoke:

"Welcome to Maniaca, Lord Titon. I am Jomo Kenyatta. You may have already spoken with Peter Miller, our Secretary of Foreign Relations," he said, gesturing to the thin man in the corner. He stepped to his left and motioned to the man behind him as he continued, "This is Kwame Nkrumah. He is a friend."

Nkrumah accepted the introduction as a cue to speak: "Hello, Lord Titon, I hope you had a pleasant trip. Allow me to suggest that you try a few of these nuts," he said, placing his hand on the rim of the ornate glass bowl. "They're called clown nuts, because under the old regime we had a mascot that was a clown, and he went on TV and told people how to grow them in their basements. This was when farmland was just starting to get scarce, and we hadn't done much research in hydroponic farms, and things of that nature."

Nkrumah, as he spoke, moved only his lips and jaw, and even those very little. He stood as tall as possible, however he did not appear uncomfortable and it was clear that was his normal mode of operation. The luminously all-white government uniform (a business suit, jacket, shirt, tie, pants, belt, shoes, socks, everything, all white) contrasted sharply with his pitch dark skin. He spoke so evenly his voice almost had an anesthetic quality.

The Emperor filled the silence: "That is an excellent suggestion, Kwame, especially considering the nuts are quite high in protein. Now, the desk, if I may."

"Oh, of course, sir."

Kwame walked, with a straight back, to the chair in the corner where his Emperor was formerly sitting, sat down, and almost immediately sunk into the lazy posture he was sporting at the desk.

The Emperor invited Lord Titon to have a seat at one of the armchairs encircling a large round, also well polished table a few feet in front of the desk.

"The representatives from Mari Velasca are within the nation's borders and en route by land to this conference. We have heard disappointingly little from Krendakov but we may confidently assume a representative will arrive."

The Emperor lifted the bowl of nuts off of his desk and tossed it gently over the gap between the desk and the table. It landed with a loud 'thunk' and slid twelve inches or so to the middle of the table.

"Excuse the noise, Lord Titon. Let me assure you the nuts are delicious."

The Helocopter landed gracefully, despite the best efforts of the tail wind that whirled and whipped off the sides of the imperiously tall buildings of this extremely large city.

No doubt this infernal city has more thralls than my entire country, Odurus thought as he was ushered off the landing pad.

His loose pin striped trousers clung to his well-developed legs as wind scattered dust all about the roof top. He had an old style about him, one could easily picture him in a 50s speak easy joint. His black suit was finely tailored, with a red suede vest underneath. Costume. One of the life President's many eccentricities. After all, when one has no enemies on far shores, one has plenty of time to go at his own fancies.

Some just went ahead and called him 'a little off.' To which he would grin.

He was shown into the building, the crisp morning air replaced by the sterile, grandious interior one would perhaps expect from such a powerful country. They seemed to suffer the same illness Mari Velasca did, idling. Of course, only the wealthy Velascans were in a position to actually enjoy such times.

Urungus heard a sigh behind him, as he approached the door to the meeting room, General Ballsac was in tow all the while. He may have been a brave man, tall, imposing, but no one ever said such a man couldn't get nervous. In fact, the President couldn't help but toss his own misgivings into the back of his mind.

A push through the door and everything would change for Mari Velasca...

The first thing the both of them would notice was their feet sort of sank into the carpet. Which made it seem as though they had just walked into a room that had once been a depository for the Nation's Blueberry jam. The walls didn't help that none. The next thing, of course, was the group of man that already occupied the room. Urungus was hoping he would have been the first to arrive, it would save him from having to guess who ran which country.

So instead, he introduced himself and his comrade, "I am Odurus Urungus, President of Mari Velasca, and this is General Ballsac," he saved his full title for later, "the leader of the Velascan Armed Forces," his voice was calm, youthful, despite his middle age.

Both of them stepped forward, as if Political Warriors stepping into the battlefield, covering eachother's back. They went to the two that seemed the highest in the unspoken pecking order. The President extended his hand to the plump, balding black man, that seemed to love his nuts.

The General on the other hand went to the other fellow, he seemed more his style. A giant hand with suasage fingers reached out for a hand shake.

They both hoped for brief subtlties.

The men shook hands, and Emperor Kenyatta introduced his entourage. After this, he began to feel tired, and dismayed that he was still waiting on the delegation from Krendakov. After being introduced Kwame Nkrumah receded back to his chair in the corner, wondering if he had heard the General's name right.

Emperor Kenyatta studied the faces of his new comrades for a moment and guessed he was the youngest man in the room. His whole head was shiny and smooth, and it was clear his skin still possessed plenty of elasticity. He was a young man, although certainly much older than his predecessor. In some ways he differed sharply from his personal assistant. He was only a few inches taller than Nkrumah but considerably slimmer, and Nkrumah, although only a few years older than the Emperor, was effected noticeably by signs of premature aging.

The Emperor encouraged his guests to help themselves to the nuts on the table while the conference was delayed. He explained that perhaps it was wise to wait a little while longer for the reps from Krendakov to arrive, but supposed it wouldn't be catastrophic to begin the summit in their absence.

The General found his seat at the furthest end of the group, at which point he could quietly observe the goings on. He held his hands, palms up, to the Emperor, emphasizing a respectful decline the Emperor Kenyatta's offer. However, Odorus retreived a handful, adding a kind nod to the Emperor, before taking his own seat, sinking into the velvet chair.

The whole meeting was different than what they had imagined it to be, entirely too informal for most delegations, he quite enjoyed the lack of over-stuffed leather and over-inflated egos. However, something was missing, there was no urgency, no organization, like a comic book with no plot. Indeed, the Velascan President felt quite stagnant, his thoughts began to wonder. Mostly to how much better off he was compared to the two aids they had left at the Helicopter, they must be incredibly bored by now. Then there was his best friend and vice President Flattus Maximus, whom by now is probably blowing up his cell phone with voice mails, asking for advice on some pointless matter of state or other. Good thing he left his phone on the plane. Indeed, even the honor guard was turned back halfway enroute to the meeting, to guard the plane.

In actuality he thought any sort of escort was needless and, under these circumstances, pompous. He couldn't fool no one, he was indeed a small fish in an over crowded pond. Truth be told he didn't know what would come of this delegation, but he hoped it would be beneficial to Mari Velasca.

"Good nuts, Emperor Kenyatta," he said as he crunched on a couple of them. He did well to keep a tentative mask, he didn't want to be a bad guest, after all.

Comrade-Diplomat Ekelev sat on board the Krendian Diplomatic Service jet. He was wearing a black two-piece suit and a dark-red tie. His short and greying hair, originally dark-brown, was parted on the left. His eyes were grey-blue. He wore glasses, which were small, oval and rimless. He was looking over a series of reports on the nations of this “team awesome” – an amusing alliance name he thought, it brought visions of super-heroes from United States in the 50’s.

A rather pretty looking blonde air-hostess who worked for the service tapped him on his shoulder and he unplugged his ear-phones, which continued to play rock music from the album ‘best of Krendian rock’. She was wearing a military style uniform but in a muted red colour.

“Comrade,” she began in a sweet voice, “We will be arriving in Poppernickle City in Maniaca within an hour.”

“Thank you comrade…” He looked at her name-tag, “Zhalkova.” He smiled at her and she smiled back.

“Would you desire anything else to drink, comrade? While I’m here.”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll have a cola.”

She walked off in the direction of the refreshments cabinet as Comrade-Diplomat Ekelev popped his ear-phones back in. He turned back to the documents and sighed. Their dullness was nearly painful. He finished the page on MariVelasca – a capitalist nation which was most likely to conflict with Krendakov’s views and aims for the alliance – and picked up the other folder entitled ‘Krendian desires’.

The folder contained one document listing what Krendakov aimed to get out of this alliance. Although Ekelev had already been briefed on this subject umpteen times, he always felt that it was in his best interests to read it ‘just one more time’. This way he was unlikely to get anything wrong during discussions.

At that point Comrade Zhalkova came back and, bending he knees to get down to the level of the desk, placed a short and wide crystal glass filled with cola and several ice-cubes. She smiled at him, and left. Ekelev pulled a pen from his pocket and made a few notes on the document before closing it. He picked up the glass and took a sip while turning to look out the window, to look out over Maniaca.

Peter Miller's phone went off (although he'd had the foresight earlier to switch it to vibrate), and he announced, to everyone's relief, that the representatives from Krendakov were en route and due to arrive shortly. Emperor Kenyatta felt it would not be too inconsiderate to begin the preliminaries of the the conference in their absence, considering it was likely they would arrive by the time it was their turn to speak. He turned his eyes to Lord Titon.

"Lord Titon, if you would please tell us, what is Kolvokia's vision of Team Awesome?"

Lord Titon nodded. "To begin with, I must confess I am uncertain about the current name. Perhaps when it retained its original meaning, Awesome would have been an appropriate name. Given its current connotations, however, the word seems somewhat..."

He paused. Puzzlement seemed to crawl briefly across his face. This was an illusion, of course. He was perfectly fluent in the language. He wouldn't be here if he were not. What he was trying to do was to find a way to say what he felt without offending these potential- and in the case of his host, potentially dangerous- allies. He could not find one.

"Pardon me," he said, his face returning to the emotionless seemingly stone expression he had worn before. "There is not an equivilant in this tongue. The closest is, I believe, tacky."

Kwame Nkrumah bit down on the nut in his mouth and the crunch was audible in the silence. Peter Miller ran the fingers on his left hand down his lapel as he scribbled furiously on his stenographer's pad with the other. Emperor Kenyatta's forehead wrinkled, as he spoke in an emotionless, robotic manner, "Well you're free to suggest something else to call ourselves. At the moment, however, that is the least of our concerns. If that is all you have to say, then President Urungus, you're welcome to comment." The Emperor, who was tired to begin with, was now not feeling cordial. His mind filled with thoughts of finishing this quickly and returning to the affairs of his nation, and in the brief silence that followed, he silently lamented the talks had only just begun.

Comrade-Diplomat Ekelev walked down the corrider with one of the buildings staff. In his hand he held a plastic bottle of cola, which he had stopped off to buy as soon as he saw a vending machine. It was Ekelev’s opinion that cola was the finest drink known to mankind. He screwed off the lid and took a drink, then closed the bottle again, sighing contentedly as he did so.

Finally they reached the door of the meeting room and the staff-member opened the door and heralded Ekelev’s arrival. Entering the room, Ekelev began to apologise for his late arrival.

“I apologise most sincerely for my late arrival, unfortunately there were difficulties at home the delayed my departure. I am, as my guide stated, Comrade-Diplomat Ekelev, but if you would prefer, comrade or mister are acceptable titles.” He looked around. “I do hope I haven’t interrupted anything.”

“I apologise most sincerely for my late arrival, unfortunately there were difficulties at home the delayed my departure. I am, as my guide stated, Comrade-Diplomat Ekelev, but if you would prefer, comrade or mister are acceptable titles.” He looked around. “I do hope I haven’t interrupted anything.”

Emperor Kenyatta slowly turned his head in the direction of the new arrival. "Welcome to Maniaca, comrade, it's no trouble. Have a seat, and let us know what your thoughts are."

Emperor Kenyatta's mood had shifted suddenly, he was not interested in pleasantries.