NationStates Jolt Archive

Port Astragoth, 1h43m, le 01 novembre 2008

The bow of the Coupeur cut the rough waves with a stability unmatched by most of the smaller vessels near it. Because of this, and despite good sense, King Frederik Norheim II stood on the deck above the bridge in a bright yellow pancho. His right hand man, Maréchal d'Armée Charles de Remi, a tall, somewhat droopy man twice the age of his young friend who's father he himself had advised, stood behind him.

"You'll slip, I swear it," said de Remi, ready to catch the young man should he be right."

"My friend, you should warn the weather. It's impolite to rain on a monarch. One should know this," replied Fredrick, his humour entirely deadpan, something that most people didn't catch onto, which the press often used against him. A final wave heaved, proving the general correct, forcing the young man from his feet, and into the waiting arms of his general. His dignity bruised, he immediately got to his feet and pushed the officer away. "The weather gods obviously have no sense of humour."

"Of course, Fred, of course." The large man pulled back the hood of his pancho, exposing the plastic covered combination cap and letting the cold water run down his face. "Si tu veux," he started, slipping into his native language, "we could go inside."

"I'd rather we stay above, and speak english. We should all learn to speak this ugly, ugly language fluently, with out having to lean on the crutch of our mother languages." The only reply was a nod. Both men were looking forward as Port Astragoth loomed. The Tall buildings were faintly visible, and extremely foreboding as the storm raged. One could not help but imagine that this was not a good omen, considering the purpose of the visit. Were it not for the music emanating from the sheltered dinner deck, a superstitious captain would have turned the ship around. However, anything written by Les Sucreries tended to have that effect on things, even if their lyrics could be a tad morbid. The upbeat tone of their songs completely ruined the ambiance.

"I believe it is time to go inside," said Frederick.

==================================

The boat pulled up to the dock, with a total lack of press. Norheim had specifically asked that his arrival not be crowded by camera wielding gunmen, who's cartridges were skillfully cut soundbites, unflattering camera angles at opportune moments, and misleading quotes. While in reality the people of Yanitaria were rather fond of their king, the media, barring Yanitarian News Wire, would have one believe that their king was ever on the verge of a popular revolt. While popular support was quite high (a fact rarely reported), media support was quite low.

Carrying a black umbrella, dressed in a smart black suit, made of silk and "en rayeur" with subdued white strips, a white and blue striped shirt, but "sans la cravate" in a semi-formal style newly popular with the politicians of Yanitaria (shamelessly aimed at apeasing the younger voters, with much success. However the subject did so with out thought to current trends), Frederick stepped off the boat. One would note that he did not walk normally, but not unpleasantly. He seemed more to... strut. His shoulders stood erect and proud, and although he did not have an exceptionally large frame, his stance had the effect of making him look as though he actively worked on his body.

However, the only part of himself he actively worked on now adays was a facade of confidence. While his strut was natural, though probably heavily influenced by his act, Frederik was not a naturally confident person. Through out his school years, he was timid, shy, although smart. He had attended university in Tristan Providence, and continued to take a correspondence course through a local university. He had majored in non-related fields, psychology and economics, in which he had only so far been able to achieve a bachelors, due to his young age. He was well versed in a number of topics, and generally an interesting person, if not a tad odd.

De Remi followed close behind, before shuffling him into a waiting limo.

Guarding the limo were two men in similar, but noticeably different uniforms. One was dressed in long black trench coat which ended at his ankles. The other was dressed in waist-cut jacket. The man in the trench wore, among other medals on his breast, a large iron cross. The other man wore a more obscure rune often associated with Odin, the Norse God, but in recent times that had become more of a symbol of the rule of Steward Mahone and his Neo-Imperial party. The one wore a cap, while the other a beret. And they both seemed uneasy around each other, and for good reason. One was an agent of the Schutzstaffel Ordnung a centuries old Knightly Order which safeguarded the Reich against it's own government, rooting out corruption and incompetence at the highest levels.

The other man was a Freiheitkämpfer. The Freiheitkämpfers were the paramilitary group charged with protecting members and assets of the Neo-Imperial Party. A relatively new organization, they were often forced to do petty backalley murders and threats. Their name alone did not strike fear into the hearts of Tocrowkians like the S.S.'s did, not yet. But their label of being the poor man's S.S. agent drove them to become much more than that. Why Steward Mahone had appointed men from both organizations to protect their visitor was anyones guess, as no one really knew why the enigmatic steward did what he did. More likely than not however was he just wanted to mess with them. When the king approached, both men saluted and gestured to the modest black limo.

"Greetings and good evening from the Reich and the Steward. We've been assigned to escort you to the train station where you will be transfered to a secure luxury locomotive, your majesty."

"Thank you, I am glad to be here," said Frederik with a smile. He spoke clear, articulate english, something he had had to learn in University. "Do you know when exactly we will arrive? I am very tired, and I'd like to brush my teeth and go to sleep." De Remi nodded as he opened the door for his king. Fred closed his umbrella before stepping into the limo.

"Of course the train will have all the unnecessary facilities." The S.S. officer informed him, climbing in after the king and his aid along with his counter part from the Neo-Imperial Party. The limo of course had several luxuries in and of it self, such as a full mini-bar and a plasma screen television. The vehicle was of course deceptively durable as well, having been modified to be bullet proof, with run-flat tires, and it's own air supply if need be. However, none of that would be necessary. It just always paid to be prepared.

The limo pulled onto one of the busy, rain-stricken fleets of Port Astragoth. Through the tinted windows, the outside world looked like nothing more than a blur of bright lights and rain.

OOC: Sorry for the lack of replies. I have a lung infection, and I haven't been able to get to the computer in a while.

((OOC: I see. Well, take your time.))

OOC: I am feeling better now, and I'll see about posting tomorrow.

6h17m, le 01 novembre 2008

Morning broke as the train pulled into the station. Frederik, his headphones blaring, dozed lightly in his seat in front of his large breakfast. His nerves had kept him up late, tossing as the train rapidly moved through the city. Out of boredom he had gotten up a number of times to do little things, hoping that upon returning to bed he'd be able to sleep. He had brushed his teeth three times, done sit ups, and drank nearly a liter and a half of water. Still, he had been up until about 6h02m, after having sat down with an out-of-uniform de Remi. After all, one couldn't be low key while wearing a foreign military uniform.

The Maréchal prodded the young monarch awake, thinking to himself how innappropriate it was for the king to be seen as such. Fred woke up with a cough, his headphones falling out of his ears and into his omelette.

"We are here, mon roi. We need to gather our things and find our transportation."

"Ou-, yes, yes. I am getting tired of traveling. If I have to pass another ticket counter, there will be an international incident."

"What it is to be young again. When I was young, hitting cashiers would get you arrested. Now it's considered the ultimate form of pre-acquantenceship courting, says Norheim the Great. Conqueror of turnstiles, crusher of public transportation employees."

"You need to throw yourself in front of a train, my friend," said Frederik as he stood up, and headed towards his room.

"You are nervous. Don't deny it. The only reason one could possibly have to drink a litre of water is if they found themselves in a desert, or if they were nervous. And I haven't seen any legionnaires outside, so I highly doubt it's a desert," said de Remi, refering to the Yanitarian stereotype that the Legion was only sent to the badlands of Sétif, in order to get rid of them.

"Old man, as soon as you turn 60, I am going to throw you out of the army, and into a retirement home. In Okhotsk," responded Fred, referring to the hellishly cold colony island where Yanitaria sent most of it's worst criminals to live out their sentance. It was a joke in Yanitaria that prisoners were not guarded, they were just not given clothing, reasoning that that is enough to deter most escape-minded prisoners.

Arriving finally at their compartment, Norheim opened the door, and the two men gathered their things. Fred packed his dirty headphones in a plastic bag, and tucked them into a suitcase. Overall, the two packed lightly, each carrying a large suitcase, with Norheim bringing along a messanger back containing various things to keep him entertained. De Remi quickly scanned the room for anything left behind, before following Norheim. The crowd trying to exit the train was unbearable. It seemed as if everyone had waited until that exact moment in order to exit the train. The open air and light came as a bit of a shock as the two foreigners were pushed out of the train. Norheim led the two-man group to a relatively clear area, and started looking for the two government men assigned to protect him. Upon reaching the train, he had asked them to keep their distance, so as not to attract too much attention, and he was afraid that perhaps he had lost them.

The two men of course found the pair rather quickly. They had stuck close by, huddled by one of the pillars in the grand train station and so as not to get caught up in the human traffic themselves. They lead Frederik and his aid to yet another limo, which they were quickly loaded into. They were all ready behind schedule, so they ended up being curt, not to mention outright aggressive to the other drivers they encountered. They ended up making good time to the Reichstag, despite the numerous security checkpoints they had to go through as they moved closer and closer to the structure that was the heart of the Tocrowkian Government, and the seat of the Steward.

The Reichstag was practically a city in it's own right. Surrounded by monolithic stone walls on all sides, the Reichstag contained over nine-hundred and eighty two buildings within it's walls. Containing and surrounded by exquisite artwork built up over four hundred years, it was truly a site to behold, especially in it's current snow-covered status. The limo rolled to a stop in front of the main building of the Reichstag, and the two men escorted their charges out and up the massive steps inside.

Past the massive ivory gates of the main entrance, was an even more massive Atrium. The roof stretched at least 150 feet over head, and black tile paved the way. For such a massive room, it was relatively empty. An interesting feature was that in the middle of the room, the only route across was over a bridge that was built over what looked to be an artificial stream. Even more striking however was that, aside from this, along the walls of the room stood giant, 50-foot tall macabre statues. Carved from black stone into the forms of knights, archers, and warriors exquisitely detailed skulls loomed down at the king. Some grinning, some screaming, some with no expression at all.

With the indoor bridge cross, the King stood at another flight of stairs. And waiting on one of the landings was Steward Mahone. Dressed formally, he waved the guards off and descended to meet the King. "Welcome to my home, my King. I hope you don't mind the decor."

"I hadn't noticed. Very nice, I had a nursery decorated the same way when I was young. I feel very much as if I am at home," replied Norheim, in an offhand manner. "I don't suppose the sculptor is available for hire? First, I have to ask, are you a cigar man?" He reached into his bag for a package, plainly wrapped in brown paper, with hemp twine, and stepped forward towards the Steward.

OOC: Sorry for the short post, but I'll be out of school friday night and I'll be able to make lengthier posts.

((OOC: No problem. Sorry for my short post as well, Christmas had me rattled. And I promise I'll post more frequently from now on))

Mahone stroked his chin. "Your nursery was decorated in such a fashion? Very interesting. Perhaps we are kindred spirits then." He said with a smile. "And I'd be more than happy to give you the sculptors card. And I'd be delighted to share a light with you. I find that too few men in our position really appreciate such simple pleasures as cigars now a days."

((OOC: No problem. Sorry for my short post as well, Christmas had me rattled. And I promise I'll post more frequently from now on))

Mahone stroked his chin. "Your nursery was decorated in such a fashion? Very interesting. Perhaps we are kindred spirits then." He said with a smile. "And I'd be more than happy to give you the sculptors card. And I'd be delighted to share a light with you. I find that too few men in our position really appreciate such simple pleasures as cigars now a days."

"I think you would like la Yanitarie very much, then. The capital city is very hazy, but not because of pollution. A fog of tobacco smoke just hangs over the city." Frederik shifted on his feet, pacing his words so that he didn't mispronounce anything. "I prefer cigarettes though. I personally commissioned a new military cigarette which we will start exporting soon. Bon Temps. I'll be sure to send you some, when I have the chance. I also brought some good wine, but it's packed away in my suitcase. Yanitaria is famous for it's wines."

Frederik smiled, and shifted the weight of his messenger bag. "I am quite anxious to meet your family, Monsieur Mahone," he said with a smile to hold back the cringe as he mispronounced the steward's name.

"It depends on the occasion, I suppose." Mahone said with a long drag on his cigar, puffing the smoke out after a moment. "Cigars are always good for formal occasions, like a meeting such as this. Or the union of two families..." He said blankly. "Cigarettes are good for almost anything else though. I must admit I have no preference my self." He turned to Frederik, and nodded.

"And they you my friend, I assure you."

Later that evening, Guest room:

Norheim parted with his friend at the door to his room, immediately unbuttoning his collar. Looking in the mirror above his dresser, he realized his face was still red. Upon meeting the Stewards sister, he had accidentally dropped the bottle of wine he had taken from his bag, and had been prepared to offer to his guests as a gift. The bottle had only chipped and cracked, and had it not been for de Remi's foresight to make sure the bottle used heavier glass, Frederik would likely have had to change his wine-stained pants. And although the Marshal had saved him from an unfortunate trip to the dry cleaners, he had not saved the poor king from embarrassment. Such was his life.

He had picked up the bottle, which was leaking precious alcohol through a few cracks, and immediately wrapped it up in a towel that an attendant had handed him. His extremely fair skin was, at that point, most likely a deeper shade of red that the wine. Luckily however, the rest of the afternoon passed with little incident. He very much liked Valeria, and he hoped that he didn't make too much of an ass of himself.