NationStates Jolt Archive

Every year, the corporate bigshots in Allanea fund a celebration known as Good Business Day – to celebrate, naturally, the biggest successes in the Allanean export sector, and the hard work done by corporate Allanea in the year. And that year, the big winner was Alexander Kazansky himself.

The Fieldmarshal of Allanea had received bounty fees on the leader of a rogue state known as DoubleWideVille to the sum of four trillion dollars in total (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=548150). Thus, tradition mandated he would take the lead in helping organize the enormous party. Which meant, in turn, that many traders and businessmen in Liberty-City would benefit from his magnaminity during the preparations for Good Business Day. It was estimated that Kazansky spent at least fifteen billion dollars on preparing the party, and likely even more.

Already the day before, Kazansky Heavy Industries personnel attended the campi of the main colleges of Liberty-City, distributing beer and vodka from the Greater Prussian Wine and Spirits Company Company in atrocious amounts. Within the city, 100,000 cases of 12-year-old whiskey, 10,000 cases of “Jeff Davis” Prussian bourbon, and 30,000 cases of Davie Jones liquor were distributed to college students alone – and considering that Liberty-City had at least five million college students, it wasn't really all that much.

But Kazansky did much more. A vast array of lights and stereos were installed at the giant 800-meter tall Concord University Central Dormitory building, and five tons of MDMA and DPA (Dual-Purpose Aphrodisiac) pills distributed to students within, as the nation's top DJ [Francos “The Ball” Sanchez] was booked to perform, operating his machinery from an open-air stand at the top of the tower. Trucks laden with Andropov Vodka crawled slowly through the streets, the drinks given out to all passers-by. Five billion dollars were invested in a thousand large trucks decked out with loudspeakers – and each truck was the site of an impromptu street party, because Andropov Vodka was not the only thing they distributed.

A million soldiers were sent on leave the day before, and now, as they were disembarking from trains around Liberty-City, each of them was handed a small case of Old Reichsburg Stout beer.

And that was not yet everything. Kazansky had his men storm the building of the LCStock Exchange, and every broker was presented with a $200 bottle of expensive Prussian wine.

Other businessmen had to do something to participate in the giant potlach. Richard Rabbit sent out his men to distribute Bunny Burgers and gift certificates, and Kevin Nivensky funded giant Party Zeppelins with various messages. A veritable army of strippers, ladies of ill-repute of various descriptions, street performers was hired, descending upon the city in hordes. The Allanean Society for Reckless Self-Endangerment turned out a string of stuntmen to sky-dive over Liberty-Avenue.

More scarily, the holiday took place in the summer – and this enabled a 'nameless benefactor' to persuade the Demented Schooling Corporation to so schedule it's school year that school proms took place on Good Business Day.

The result of lots of drugs, drunk college coeds, tons upon tons of aprodisiacs, hundreds of thousands of high-school kids bent on losing their virginity on their junior prom, and the vast lines of strippers and other 'similar personnel', combined with the generally relaxed lifestyle of Allaneans led to the obvious. It was quite likely that some people in more conservative nations, and even those Allaneans religiously inclined, would call what resulted an 'orgy', and the biggest one in Allanea's history to boot.

Minas-Faerie

Kazansky's palace was shaking from its' first floor to the very top. The sky glittered with fireworks. On the horizon, the lights of the Concord University Dorms flickered in an array of insane colors. And here Alexander Kazansky was sitting in a comfortable leather-bound armchair, surrounded by young fans, friends, and apprentices. To his left was a young Hashi girl, perhaps seventeen years old, wearing a bright orange string bikini, eating a Karshkovian blin (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13406999&postcount=23) with premium Karshkovian black caviar (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13402840&postcount=6). A Sudanese lass in shorts (and nothing else) on his left was experiencing the first Tobico in her life, and was eating it with a spoon, too.

"Mmmm...” - spoke the President, pulling the Sudanese into his lap. “See, Shiunji, that's the fucking life. You could have it too, if you wanted.”

"Oh, but I already have it. I'm perfectly happy as I am.” - spoke the Mortician placidly, giggling as he pulled off his shirt.

"You're just saiyng this because you're goddamn high.” - Kazansky smiled. He raised his cup in one hand – it was a cup made of the skull of the Antanjylian Emperor, filled with Prussian champagne.

"Yes, I'm high. That's your fault. And the fault of them d-damn K-karshkovians.”

"You had some of their hash, then?”

"Yeah. Abdullah taught me how to make it into tea, it's more fun that way.”

"Where is Abdullah?”

"Oh he wandered off with that... damn, can't remmeber her name, some professional girl anyhow. Three professional girls, even.”

Kazansky shook his head. “Oh well. Professional girls. Something I really don't understand about that damn K-stani. Anyhow... where's Pris?”

"Pris is actually... at the dorms I think. “ - the Mortician paused as he took a sip of his narcotic tea - “I'm not sure.”

"Oh here she is!”

Colonel Priscilla Conde had half her uniform missing, and didn't seem fazed by it either. “What happened?” - Kazansky raised an eyebrow.

"I have a fan that's into cutting clothes off rather than removing them. I didn't care. It's Good Business Day, after all.”

"Hahaha!” - Kazansky's most infamous apprentice roared - “See, Alex, at least my girlfriends don't do this sort of stuff.”

"Oh shutup. I wonder what the media will make of this party abroad.”

"It's Good Business Day. Let's hope it doesn't turn out to be bad for business. Get it? Good business day? Hahahaha!”

"I think you oughta lay off the hashish for a while, Shiunji.”

OOC clarification: This is an all-tech thread about a huge party in Liberty-City. Feel free to either post with some people in your nation posting about the party, commenting about our debauchery, or whatever. Please avoid terrorism, blowing shit up, etc. Further, if you want a person from your nation to attend the party, please assume he's there. The party is essentially a series of street parties and raves split up on a territory of all of Liberty-City, which is ineffably huge. The issue of invitations is really, really moot. If you're not at war with Allanea or something, you're welcome.

However, avoid arrival posts, just assume your character is there. Characters of all tech levels welcome.

tag. will post in a few min.

Sec. of State Wolfgang Lichtenburg was walking down the street. The action remind him of Founders' Day, in Liberty City. He decided to come to establish "relations" with the Allanean government. He brought a box of his favorite drink, Gaston, Wolfenhalle's famous clear beer. He sat and drank a can of the stuff, he happy to be allowed to bring it. He look at the stuff around when his phone rang. "Hello, Who's this" he shout over the sounds. It was his wife telling him that what happens there, stays there and also to let him know that the Field Marshal was there. Wolfgang around and saw Handstand and ran to him with his box. "Celebrating your retirement" he said to his dear friend. "Yes, lets find something to do around here. Hey is that Gaston" John said as he took a can. Wolfgang, the 50 year old Secretary of State for Life, and ex-fighter pliot and John C. Handstand, ex-Field Marshal, ex-President and legendary hero who now in his 80's walk down the street discovering where to find a government repesentive to discuss matters with, until they saw what look like a strip show in the street. "Wow, That's you don't see everyday" but then they keep on walking.

"Where am I?"
The city was alive with people, mostly carring bottles and cans of booze as they stumbled around the streets. He picked himself off the ground, shaking the dirt off of his spines. (OOC: like this guy, but more round, larger spines, and orange) (http://i61.photobucket.com/albums/h52/nx9100/Demon.jpg) The ally was dark, covered in shade. He had no memory of getting there, or where he came from. He walked out into the street, and into a group of partiers. "Can you tell me where I am?"

(OOC: anyone can answer. better pic will be up tonight)

Jonas looked around, still amazed at the things taking place all around him before he took another swig of the bottle of Scotch someone had given him from off a truck a moment ago. His co-workers in the office back home in Cotland had told him about the goings-on in Alleana, but he hadn’t quite believed their crazy stories. Now though, as he watched a couple fuck each other’s brains out in the middle of the street, he was starting to suspect that their stories might have a degree of truth after all.

He was supposed to be meeting with the heads of Alleana Auto, but apparently the infamous Kazansky, leader of Alleana, had made a good deal somewhere and had been obligated to throw a national party day, so the meeting had been postponed for another couple of days – a couple of days of partying and a couple of days to nurse the inevitable hangover. So, that was why Jonas was roaming the streets, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and an open shirt, sipping the free Scotch and taking in the sights. These people were even more sexually liberated than the Cots were, and the Cots were pretty liberal when it came to sex.

That’s when he felt someone take a hold of his arm.

“You look a little lost.”

Jonas turned to see who the voice belonged to, and found a young girl, probably not much older than eighteen, dressed in… well, nothing actually, clinging to his arm. From the look of it, she was pretty drunk and/or high already.

“Eh, well…” Jonas stuttered, a little taken by surprise by the straight-forwardness of the girl. He was after all closer to his forties than his twenties, and not used to this kind of attention from girls so young anymore. “I was just taking in the sights.”

“Is that so?” The girl said with a smile. “And what do you think of the sights?”

Jonas looked the girl over again, more thoroughly this time, and he liked what he saw. The girl was well endowed from nature’s side, and he was having difficulty hiding that he liked it.

“I find the sights very beautiful,” He said.

The girl just smiled and took his hand, guiding him into a less crowded back alley.

The stories he had heard in the office most definitely weren’t exaggerated!

((ooc: looking for party favors and such (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=548348)? Karshkovia will give you a great discount for such an amazing doublecross!)

OOC: Now do you see what the large order was for? :D

OOC: Now do you see what the large order was for? :D

((ooc: lol! I figured as much. If I had caught that you had taken care of DWV before placing the order, we would have waved the billion and given it to you for a gift. Still awesome job!

Concider this post saved for a post tonight. I'll have Vasili stop by and check on the order and make sure everything was perfectly to your liking))

He continued around the streets, meeting drunks everywhere. All he could find out was the name of the nation, Allanea, and he was in Liberty-City. He kept walking, avoiding the drukerds, and looked down an ally. A group of people were laughing around a garbage can holding a bonfire. He stopped, frozen in his tracks, eyes locked on the fire...

The blaze was all around him. He could smell the grass burning, the plastics melting. A quick punch, and the seal gave way, opening the hatch. He crawled out, and found himself in a small crater in the middle of a field. He dragged himself away from the flames, and saw the lights of a city in the distance...

Moments later, the memory passed. A quick shake of his head, and his mind cleared. "That's how I got here," he said outloud. "But where did I come from?" he moved on past the bonfire, ignoring the stares of the people celebrating in the streets...

With the recent presidential elections in Kahanistan, former Foreign Minister Rachel Levitt was removed from her position, and assigned as the new Ambassador to Allanea. While she and President Sklenova were close friends, the new government felt that her personality was not suited for representing Kahanistan, except to the Allaneans who might be more pleasantly disposed toward her.

A short, voluptuous woman of around 40, Rachel stepped into the party in her favourite black mini-dress, her substantial cleavage spilling out. She took a DPA pill from an Allanean woman about half her age and sucked suggestively on her vodka bottle. Rachel had let her hair grow a bit over the last few months, and her reddish-brown hair now reached her shoulders.

She went to a nearby bench and sat down...

Still following the streets, he came upon a woman sitting on a bench. "Excuse me," he said, "Can you tell me what's going on here? Why is everyone acting strange?"

Rachel smiled, taking in his appearance. "Dude... this is a party. The Allaneans are throwing a major party, to celebrate the success of Allanean corporatism. That's why they're giving out all the drugs, playing all the music..."

(OOC: kid really doesn't apply. see above)

"This is a celebration?" He looked around at all the people. "Weird. So, is this why you came? For this 'party'?"

OOC: Must be off to work by now, but my IC entry is coming tonight. So as not to be the old wet rag, I'll scheme up an appropriately loose-living ambassador in the meantime.:D

Standing resplendent in his immaculately-pressed, forest green uniform, Major-General Samson Cowell stood wearing an expression of disgust. His face had barely flickered since the moment he stepped from the chopper and was confronted by a clearly-inebriated partier waving around a pair of glowing sticks and screaming - first in what sounded like some unknown language, and then in simple agony after the Major-General's guard had shot him in both kneecaps. They claimed to believe the partier was hostile, but Cowell took that with a sizable pinch of salt; his bodyguards had been elevated to their lofty positions partially on the strength of their political beliefs, as not one of them could ever be described as socially liberal.

After a hasty and makeshift interrogation of the wounded partier - something first exacerbated by the fact he was still screaming, then fixed when the gun was pointed at his groin - the completely teetotal and celibate Major-General ascertained he'd had the incredible bad fortune to schedule a meeting with Allanean officials on Good Business Day. Like his pilot had opined just before landing, "Of all the nations, in all the regions, in all the world, you had to book a meeting in this one." Now, standing in a Liberty City square, he massaged his brow above his blinded eye in a mix of horror, disdain and simple disgust. Another rowdy partier barged through the crowd, inadvertantly making Cowell poke himself in the eye, and only the partier's speed stopped him from getting a broken jaw.

"Fuck this," the Major-General sighed, pushing his way roughly through the crowd. The odd one still had enough feeling left in them to be annoyed, but a casual backhanded slap silenced the only complaint; still, forcing one's way through a swarm of drug addicts and alcoholics can be more than a little taxing for someone with a war wound...one swift tazering later, and a seat on a bench had opened up.

"This is a celebration? Weird. So, is this why you came? For this party?"

Not thinking, Cowell replied. "God no, I'm here on official business. This whole depravity is...vile."

The Hamilayan diplomatic representative to Allanea surveyed the revels with amusement. Mr Allen Saunders, mid-thirties, average height, short brown hair, brown eyes, average build and wearing a business suit, stood on the edge of a mass of revelers in varying states of inebriation with two aides and a bodyguard.

"Ah, got to love Allanea, eh?"

"That we do, sir."

"You guys go off and enjoy yourselves. I'll just hang around here and get back to the hotel later."

The aides needed no further encouragement, and hastily muttering thanks they disappeared in opposite directions into the crowds. The one bodyguard shook his head.

"Better not, sir. We'll wait for you back at the hotel."

"Oh, come on, sarge, live a little!" smiled Saunders.

"Don't worry, sir, we'll do that just fine," said the guard, returning the smile and pointing to two more Hamilayan soldiers emerging from the crowd with crates of alcohol.

"Ah, excellent. Mind if I do?" said Saunders, taking a bottle of whisky from one of the crates. The sergeant threw a lopsided salute and disappeared with the other guards through the streets. The diplomat walked up to a pretty woman also on the fringes of the crowd.

"What's your sign?" he quipped, grinning lamely.

Fifteen minutes later

"and sho... sho a priesht, a rehpub.. pub... pulian guard... and Kazanshky, they... they walksh into a bar... and get thish... 'ouch'! No wait, thash not how it goes... damn it..."

Empty bottles littered the ground around Allen Saunders' feet, although he couldn't remember what they had originally contained. His tie had been loosened and suit jacket disappeared somewhere under the crowd's feet.

"Anywaysh, youse got any good ones? Hey, mate, tosh... tosh that wishky over here!"

The addressed took him at his word, and a bottle sailed through the air and smashed all over Saunders' shoes. He began to laugh.

"God... god blesh Alla... Alla-nea! Not that I behleieve in god... I mean, not many of ush in... in... whe'ever do... but god blesh this! God blesh capitalism!"

Those who heard him chorused. "Capitalism!"

"God blesh capitalishm!" repeated Saunders, and took out his wallet. He tossed a Hamilayan ten-dollar note into the air. People scrambled to get it.

"Capitalishm! Moneys! Good businesh! Day of good buisnesh for all of us!" laughed Saunders again, this time taking out a thick wad of Hamilayan and Allanean banknotes from his wallet and beginning to toss them one by one, but eventually he slipped and dropped them all on the ground. He began to laugh once more, but looked down at his wallet and realised it was empty.

"Oh... sh... si'hit," he muttered, and bent to the ground to scrabble for his banknotes.

At Minas Faerie:

Kazansky smiled as he saw Levitt. "Why, hello, Rachel! I'm most pleased to see you here!" – he was slightly drunk and not really caring. – "Tell me, what are you doing tonight? Tell your people you're on vacation! Sit here, get drunk and party with me! Shiunji, get the lady another drink!"

Elsewhere

Linda held the Cotlandian close to her. He has been quite… satisfactory. He was taking no pills so far, it seemed, but introduce him to DPA and he'd be perfect, really perfect.

"So what's your name, Prince Charming?" – she asked at some point later.

Yet elsewhere

The party continued. There were rumors that a man from McPsychoville was attacked during the early hours by men with guns – practically everyone in Allanea carried guns – after shooting at a reveler for no reason. That was likely true, of course, given that that's the general Allanean response to people who randomly attacked people in public.

Yet the party was unimpeded, and already the Brydogians would be set upon by a drunken crowd of students from the Classical Studies Department of Concord University, drunk and high off their heads on a number of substances, ripping off elements of clothing and singing 'Gaudeamus Igitur' ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gaudeamus_igitur) out loud.

Rachel nodded. "I just got appointed as the new Ambassador to Allanea," she said. "Nadia's not comfortable having me in the Foreign Ministry. She said she didn't like the idea of having a close friend in that position, that it would open her to accusations of cronyism. I think she more likely thinks my personality isn't suited to it... new M.F.A.'s kind of... well, lame. He's got no spine. He's supposedly nationalist, but he's been felching the Praetonians something fierce."

She stood up from the bench as her dress struggled to contain her 36D chest. "I'm not really doing much of anything. They're still moving my stuff into the Embassy, and the Foreign Ministry pretty much gave me a blank cheque - a million shekelim for 'personal expenses.' I'll probably be out here as long as the party goes on."

20-year-old Lieutenant Commander Emily Thorne decided she liked the way this party was going. Of course, such feelings were frowned upon by navy brass, but what the hell... what did she have to lose?

The young blonde woman was quite tall - just below six feet - and a slim figure was accentuated by a black dress. She'd been selected, not only for her looks, but because everyone on her ship - the Good Cause III, incidentally - knew she liked parties.

Her rank was indicated discreetly with a hairclip holding two gold gems and one red one in a triangular formation.

She'd been trusted with a rather large sum of money, too - a card marked, rather audaciously, 'Kostemetsian Treasury', which was the key to five hundred thousand argentars accessible through a PDA. Somebody in high administration liked her - entertaining thoughts that it might be the Cause's commander, the legendary Vice Admiral James Jackson, she slipped easily through the drunken crowds.

Minas-Faerie

"Mm. Techniclaly Good Business Day ends with daybreak the day after, but you and I both know a lot of people will keep on plugging until they either run out of money, out of drugs, or simply out of steam. Oh, perhaps you want to meet the girls here – Samantha and Gerranna – they're nice and have very little inhibitions, and I plan to iron out what remains before the moon sets tonight. I believe you should join our little… entertainment."

Elsewhere. Say, Jefferson Avenue

As one of the big music-trucks plowed ponderously past, it's loudspeakers blasting something so loudly it was hard to distinguish what it was (likely Cascada or something of similar composition), a muscular man jumped off the side of the truck, his combat boots biting the ground next to Emily. He was wearing a pair of black army work pants and a sleeveless telnyashka (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Telnyashka).

"Hey, Ma'am! You ain't local, are you? Welcome to Liberty-City!"

(OOC: Must go now.)

"No, I'm not from around here. I'm frankly not all that familiar with anywhere outside the Republic. But what the hey, I'm enjoying myself."

Emily grinned on a sudden impulse.

Never a genial figure at the best of times, the Allanean response to the tazering of the insolent wretch that failed to accede to the Major-General's barked command that he stand and offer a seat to his superior had only embittered Cowell further to the nation both decadent and depraved in equal measure, but he said a quiet prayer of thanks to the Gods. Proving once again that they did indeed work in the most mysterious of ways, it had been the Major-General's wooden leg that had been hit by the one bullet that had even come close to him, and he had suffered no physical harm except the acid in his stomach eroding another layer of the wall lining. As a result, he was in no mood to be trifled with when he stumped into the Liberty City Hall and demanded entrance...that said, it was a process made somewhat trickier by the complete absence of staff, and Cowell was left to stew in his ever-growing rage.

[NB: I have absolutely no idea who Cowell would actually be speaking to in Allanean government, but I would guess the Foreign Minister or some derivation thereof.]

OOC: I was talking about the kneecapping.

IC:

City Hall:

Eventually, a clerk appeared. Just like all other Allaneans, she appeared heavily-armed, and seemingly part-drunk, too. "Hello. Unfortunately, the City Hall is closed for the holiday. Our offices are closed."

Elsewhere:

The soldier (for he was an off-duty serviceman from a godforsaken RADAR station) smiled. "You didn't look local. Something about your bearing… perhaps it's the skirt. Definitely the skirt."

"My name, by the way, is Frederick Laar. What's yours?"

"That," bellowed the Major-General, angry to the point of physical violence (which came far easier to him than to most humans, it has to be said), "is NOT an option! You find your foreign minister for me now lest I decide to take out the rage of an overnight flight in an intensely uncomfortable helicopter with one eye and one good leg on you-" And that was as far as he got with his threat. It might seem like he got a long way, but considering he hadn't made any suggestions of where the unfazed clerk might like to go to find her various extraneous body parts, he was still a long way away from finishing.

The reason he stopped was the rather sizable pistol hovering not four inches from his workplace-friendly euphemism for testicles. The clerk still didn't appear to be all there mentally, but her hand was rock steady; the Major-General guessed that there was about a 68% chance of him disarming her without the gun going off, but that just meant there was a 32% chance of the gun going off in the one place of him that actually worked properly.

"I sshaid," slurred the clerk, her eyes beginning to refocus on Cowell's now-oddly-coloured head, "we're closed."

"And I heard you," began the Major-General quietly, trying to stay calm. "But I have a long-standing appointment with your foreign minister, and I am not about to let this disgusting festival interfere with matters of grave international importance. Where is he or she?"

"Yes," – shrugged the clerk, taking a step back to – "and I'm Santa Claus. Listen, fella, the City Hall has nothing to do with the Federal Government, and regardless, it's a holiday. I bet the Secretary of State is out partying, or, given he's a pretentious conservative prick, having dinner with his family. Don't care which. Now get out of here or I call security."

"Then where are my presents?" snapped back Cowell, tapping into his long-dormant well of wit and coming up rather short. "Insolent wench," he added, snatching the pistol away from the clerk's hand and, in a movement both fluid and, frankly, confusing to the eye, actually removed the trigger from the gun while leaving the rest of it intact. Feeling that he'd made his point, the Major-General turned sharply on his heel and stomped out of the City Hall, feeling thoroughly impressed with himself and leaving the clerk with no option other than to give him a single-finger salute and a shout of "Dumb bastard!"

Of course, the whole scene was undermined somewhat when Cowell came back into the lobby with inspiration at his side. "Sorry, did you say he might be at his home? Where might that be?" For her part, the clerk just stared. What else could she have done?

Minas Faerie; Liberty City, United States of Allanea
Lady Uralia Tíliel nós Kharlir, Foreign Minister of the Confederacy of Sovereign States and Ambassador to Allanea for the recently-rechristened Revolutionary Commonwealth of Wagdog, gazed upon the revelry in pleased reserve. Like others of her kind, she valued business and the rewards thereof; and due to this plus the patience naturally born of immortality had been highly successful in converting what began as another collectivist isolate nation into something more... suitable, to her people's needs. Her tribe would ideally have found another haven, such as Old Vetaka where they had first landed after losing the way to the Undying Lands and thus becoming marooned across both Space and Time. But beggars can't really be choosers, and at the time their literal 'bad trip' had finally settled at an end in Wagdog the equally-disoriented Wagdians had needed the Elves' business sense to survive in the new world they'd dawned in; as much as said Elves had needed the locals' hospitality in return if they were to meet the same basic need to make way in a new and unfamiliar Age.

Coming back to the present from out of the reveries of recent decades past, Lady Tíliel daintily wandered through the crowd of variously-inebriated revelers towards her goal. A petite woman by the standards of the Quendi, still meaning of substantial presence as far as Human reckoning went, she kept silent so as to more efficiently dodge the various spaced-out come-ons from many and sundry in the crowd. Her flame-red hair and typically-radiant beauty a woman of her own obviously didn't help in that regard, but were manageable with proper presence of mind. I will have my pleasure here of course, but as I choose it. For now, there are proprieties to attend.

Her thoughts weren't perhaps as formal or focused as those of the Ambassador to Vetaka, the famous Lady Tóriel, but they served her well in her role all the same. Approaching the President and Ambassador Levitt, she began. "Greetings to all of you, and my congratulations on the fruits of enterprise yes?" She plucked up at that last; yes indeed, the recent years had beem most profitable for her. And not improperly either, if perhaps not as ideally fairly to certain others as even she would hope. "If I'm interrupting then I can attend what needs elsewhere, but all the same Good Business Day is hardly a thing to waste."

Were it up to Lady Tíliel, she'd see to it that Good Business Day was added to the already chock-full list of Wagdian holidays. And given the disproportionate Elven influence in the government via their newly-independent Covenant League party, it likely could be yet; Wagdians certainly loved a good party and though perhaps not as extreme about it as the Allaneans yet, were quick learners. For now though, she reckoned internally, best to take it one step at a time...

He watched the lady get up off the bench. "Well," he said, "Thanks for talking to me. Everyone else was either too scared or drunk or something. In fact," he looks her in the eye, "you don't seem scared or surprised. Could it be because you have seen other creatures like me before?"


(OOC: pic (http://i61.photobucket.com/albums/h52/nx9100/Blaze.jpg) )

"Well, yes," said Rachel. "I've been to Allanea many times."

"Nice to meet you, Mister Laar. My name is Emily Thorne. Came here to party a bit and spend a good chunk of the Government's money."

"Allanea?" He had a confused look. "What is that?"