NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: I say mostly closed, because some people have been invited in, and obviously it isn't closed to the Klatchian crowd and those who know what Klatch is lol.

Dyelli Beybi was a country in turmoil. Anarchy was too strong a word. The country was in fact very well ordered and everyone went about their daily lives as if nothing was wrong. What was wrong was the fact that about half the country was 'Royalist' and about half were 'Parliamentarian', then of course there were random bits of the country such as the capital city, Cyro, which was being run by a military junta and Saint Guineford's which was being run by an Archbishop and his personal army.

There had been a few pitched battles, a few zeppelins had been shot down, but by and large nobody seemed particularly interested in fighting.

Bath was a large city, one of the largest in Dyelli Beybi, and the city with the strongest support for Parliament. It was here that those nobles interested in the idea of being the new ruler of Dyelli Beybi had been invited to come and speak to Parliament. It was a hot, hot, dry city, although the fields around it were green to the horizon thanks to the impressive irrigation schemes that fed water from the river Djel out to the farms. The airport itself was further out, in the desert, a good hour's drive from the city centre. It was large, although mostly catered to small domestic flights rather than large International aircraft which generally flew into Cyro.

The heat shimmered above the runway, giving the assembled notables a pretty good idea of how hot it was outside, a heat the air conditioners kept well at bay inside the terminal.

"You are gambling on this Felix." one man grumbled. He was a broad man with ginger hair and a matching beard, quite unusual in a Dyellian.

Felix laughed in response, "Yes I am, but not as much as you gambled when you invited Mercs in. Remember what happened there?"

The bearded man frowned at the floor, he remembered acutely what had happened, the Mercs had been ambushed and slaughtered by Royalist militia who 'someone' had given high powered energy weapons to. Secretly everyone knew that someone was the junta in Cyro, although nobody wanted to provoke them into openly siding with the Royalists, "Yes, I do remember." the bearded man replied, "But this is crazy voodoo psychology."

"Not really." Felix replied. He was an older man, probably in his fifties, his neatly trimmed van dyke having turned a distinguished 'salt and pepper' colour. Unlike the other man who wore a snappy business suit, Felix was uniformed in field grey with black jack boots and pale blue webbing, it looked fascist, although in truth there was nobody in Dyelli Beybi with more of a commitment to democracy, "You think the Tzarina is unpredictable, but there is a method in her madness. If we announce someone is here to marry her she will need to come and find out who it is; She will take it as an insult to her honour. Then we trap her... oh and she will know its a trap, so it will all come down to whether her Hardmandle Commandos are better than TWEP."

The bearded man simply shook his head. There wasn't much they could do now except wait. Wait for their interviewees and the man who would hopefully reunify the shattered Nation.

The zeppelin captain told Zach that they where to land soon "good" Zach said with a smile. He was wearing his usual travel wear black pants with a vest, a green coat, a Ushanka (Russian fur cap if you don't know what it is), and his luck pocket watch. So he sat there as the captain was getting ready to land.

‘Water. Just water’ A cynical eye was applied to the bottom of the glass and squinted into the clear depths for any sign of overt bacteria or the more ostensible Black Death. As a child he had always been told not to drink the water when traveling and had taken the suggestion, as well as a great many others to heart. Cato von Waldenburg was not only a believer in the small rules like ‘don’t pick at it’ and ‘it is always darker before dawn’ but was an active believer and pursuer of such euphemisms, and after some very painstaking research as a young child had discovered that it was quite light before dawn, and so on.

His father, of the more predictable ‘damn your eyes’ aristocrat had always been in a state of dull terror around his eldest son whom after some years could easily outthink his senior and was fond of correcting his father’s speeches and missives. Elementary schools refused to take the boy, and the Church was keen on ignoring the issue, so he had been painstakingly trained and tutored by a string of tutors and professors until he had finally arrived for university and begun his life in the Imperial offices.

Cato nodded slightly to the flight attendant who dipped a nervous courtesy and disappeared to the rear of the compartment. For an Imperial Charter plane it was really quite modest, and though hardwoods and upholstery was fighting for the furniture the designer, in perhaps an unordinary show of taste had refrained himself from gilt and leaf. Several dark suited men sat around the Prince saying even less than their master and were apparently asleep behind their dark glasses. Von Waldenburg himself was dressed modestly in a dark grey morning dress suit with his baronial star pressed tightly around his neck and a few desultory civilian medals hanging from his lapel. The entire affair was quite fetching and, in comparison to normal Imperial dress, Spartan. A dark scar beside his ear gave the overall impression that the man was not the grand nephew of an emperor but the more adventurous sort of archeologist.

On his lap a laptop began a tinkling ring which was answered as Cato drew his finger across the pad, closed a copy of structural reports on the WIS Thousis, to open a picture of his father. In keeping with the man he was dressed in military uniform and from of camera shot there seemed to be the sounds of artillery thundering. The picture was grainy and lagged behind the speech but it moved with a quite realistic impression of Leopold von Waldenburg.

“How comes the battle my boy?” Leopold roared apparently to compensate for the artillery fire. There was quite a bit of mulling on the plane as Cato thought this over.

“I believe,” he began, “that the Third Army is making salients into the city however the siege continues to stagnate.”

“No.. No..” The picture of a hand was put to a grainy forehead, “I mean are you almost there? How are you feeling?”

“I see. We are approaching rapidly and I understand have been cleared to land, we should be touching down in a few minutes. I am…” he did not wish to make such a loose linguistic phrase as ‘fine’ but sought for an equivalent, “my health is satisfactory, and I am in moderate spirits. Do not worry father; I understand the consequences and implications of my mission and readily accept it in your name.

“Yes, yes. Well fine. See that you are polite and dignified, this means a lot more than just your future, this could easily be the change of our country. Especially with the age of the Emperor. Just remember everything I told you Cato.”

“Naturally father.” The screen was cut as the pilot signaled that all electric devices should be shut down. The Prince had not missed, however electronic, the suggestion in Leopold’s voice. Of course it was true; marriage and inheritance laws were difficult in the Empire and if he himself held such a position overseas as well as at home…. The laptop snapped shut as did the Prince’s eyes; he did not waste time thinking on the matter, life was meant to be dealt with as one event at a time and for the moment, on approach to this God awful Klatchian continent so far removed from the Homeland, Cato chose sleep. In some time he was woken by the thump of rubber wheels on tarmac.

Bath airport did have a zeppelin mast, although on this occasion it was occupied by something that was clearly a warship (Dyelli Beybi was odd). It had the circular Dyellian flag stamped on the side, next to a freshly painted H.M.A.S. Lobster. It seemed to be armed with 8 on each side (mounted broadside), two turrets each mounting a pair of slightly larger cannons and an indeterminate amount of rather large looking missiles, SAM arrays and CIWS systems...

Anyone with knowledge of the politics of Dyelli Beybi would know the vessel belonged to the Junta and as such its rather slow response to being asked to leave almost certainly had something to do with the military having stopped taking orders from Parliament.

Nevertheless after an hour of sitting, metaphorically giving the finger to everyone involved, the Lobster did pull away allowing the Zerabithean craft to pull in in its place. There they were met by a rather flustered looking Dyellian dignitary. He was short, slim, Caucasian but with dark hair and dark eyes (fairly typical for a Dyellian). He bowed low, "Your Lordship, our extreme apologies for the behaviour of Lobster, we believe the Captain was drunk, military have been becoming more and more insolent of late. Please Sir, may I take you to meet Mr Dzerzhinsky and the Honourable Mr. Powell?"

__________

The description of the Klatchian continent being 'God Awful' was one which would sound true among the leaders of most Nations which had had the misfortune to come into contact with the Walruses, Humans and other things that called Klatch home. Dyelli Beybi was regarded universally as the least stable State in Klatch, although the latest power struggle had been surprisingly bloodless by Dyellian standards (just over 3,000 dead in fighting to date, almost no civilian casualties).

The climate was another reason Dyelli Beybi was regarded as one of the least visitable places in Klatch; it boiled you during the day, then froze you at night in the heartland of the country. In Cyro it just boiled you... then fed you to the mosquitoes. Fortunately the finger that Cato's flight was connected to was fully air conditioned, allowing the young noble to escape the Dyellian heat... for now.

As usual for Dyelli Beybi the place was crowded with security. Men and women in dark blue uniforms armed with shotguns and sub machine guns. They looked like the 'no nonsense' type of people Klatch bred. The kind of people who knew they were likely to end up having to shoot at someone in the near future and were going to make damned sure they were the ones who pulled the trigger first.

Upon leaving the finger into the terminal proper, Cato would be given the opportunity to hear a short snatch of conversation, "... I know you think you own this place Ming, but you don't, the Government still has control and you more than anyone else should know what the people did the last time the military staged a coup."

"Yes." the second speaker sounded like an upper class Englishman, "There is a reason they call my men the Ever Victorious Army... I do remember, I remember I brought back a new order rid of Chekists and their scheming."

It was at about this moment that the pair spotted Cato. Ming it would seem was a portly looking Asiatic individual dressed in an ornately decorated Khaki Field Marshal's uniform. He clicked his heels smoothly, "Your majesty, I must beg my leave."

The other was a goat faced Dyellian with a Van Dyk beard. He looked older with a considerable degree of grey in his beard. His uniform was field grey with blue piping. If Cato knew much about Dyellian internal politics he would know this marked the individual as a Chekist, one of the not-so-secret police who during times of less morally inclined Governments had run totally out of control, terrorising anyone in the population who so much as dreamed a non conformist thought, "Your majesty." he bowed.

"Chief Constable Dzerzhinsky." he introduced himself, "Welcome to Dyelli Beybi. As you have possibly seen the military are not completely behind Parliaments plans as they worry we will fracture the country... which of course is why we are keen to interview yourself and the other applicants, to make sure we have the right man for the job."

Inwardly Dzerzhinsky cursed the Field Marshal's timing, although outwardly he wore a pleasant smile. The Junta he knew weren't going to interfere in any way that would endanger the foreign dignitaries, but they seemed keen to try to frighten them off, he'd have to find out where the leak in his office was... then again in the current political climate it might be easier to find where the leak in his office wasn't...

"We understand you are probably tired" he continued, setting aside his worries of being spied on for a few moments, "So if it is your wish you we can have a car take you to your accomodation as soon as possible. Simply let us know when you feel you rested enough to begin the Interview process."

As Cato, carrying a small leather valise, and his two guards struggled or more accurately pushed through the roving obstacles of the terminal, mostly those with guns took a small amount of tact. There was however a small circular depression around two men, as if through a group consciousness no one wished to jostle these two men. With a slightly hesitant step Cato approached the two and hove obviously into their view as they ceased the own private conversations and bowed sublimely to the Waldenburger Prince, who returned it in a stiff and formal fashion. He could not help but overhear a small portion of their speech before they caught notice of him. The information had only seconds to process before the groups had met and greetings were exchanged.

One of the two men, a ‘dumpy yellow’ as his father would have described him came to graceful attention in the manner of the strumptruppen in Blünderburg and departed with a pageant of military smartness. Cato paused, even though the other Bebyian was attempting to speak with him and cocked his head at a slight angle and stared at the departing back. And then continued staring for a full ten seconds than was appropriate with his head at a slight angle and his lip moving every so suddenly; his face was a battleground for the look of scorn and a veneer of dark interest.

“Quite,” he snapped his head back to his host, “That is so often the case, if I recall my Prinzy correctly the civil power must not rule ever in conjunction with the military less to become reliant and answerable to their legions. Of course in Waldenburg there is a third element to share power with, and if I recall my geometry, a triangle can hold the most weight.” Cato attempted a smile as he mulled around the foreigner’s suggestions, “indeed no Chief Constable, you’ll find sitting does not burn even half the calories of even a slow walk. When your courts are prepared then I am as well. However if they are not immediately prepared I would be quite endeared to this nation if I were to see it. If the few glimpses of the countryside are similar to those from my window then it shall be a most sentimental and moving scene; Waldenburg is of course holds over five million square miles of the brutal sand seas, and in some respects it is the father of our nation, and holds at least to my heart a certain…. Value.”

"Of course, we can arrange that." the unusual diction threw the Chief Constable for a moment, but he was after all, Dyelli Beybi's father of deception, and a little thing like an unusual speech pattern wasn't about to throw him, "Indeed of course this is only one of the five semi autonomous regions that make up the State of Dyelli Beybi. This, the Djel valley is the heartland of political power. Then of course there are the vast plains of Fasta Benj, the jungles of New Dyelli, the tundra of the D.B.A.T. and the more mild climate of Outremere."

Dzerzhinsky was from the D.B.A.T., although he had emigrated to Dyelli Beybi long before its integration. Personally he didn't really understand wanting to do anything but avoid the desert, but he knew it would go down well with the sand rats in the South. He'd find someone to take the Prince out into the wilderness, someone with sand in their veins.

"Please your highness?" He indicated the path out of the terminal. Apart from the security, there was nobody about, all normal traffic had been diverted to other terminals, which had resulted in congestion and no end of complaints from angry comuters.

"We are not so much interested in conducting a formal interview." he confided as they walked, "Rather we are interested in seeing how you interact with others, whether you establish a connection to the land and to the people. I have been told by reliable sources that Dyellians can be... trying. We need to be sure you will have the patience to deal with us."

There was a brief blast of baking, bone dry air as they left the terminal. Outside there was a black limousine, thankfully air conditioned, and a pair of black SUVs, loaded with heavily armed security guards which drove front and back by way of escort, "The limousine will take you to the Royal Palace, however I will arrange for a suitable guide to take you out into the countryside as soon as possible."

The drive into Bath was fairly boring, fields of sunflowers and wheat grew in well irrigated fields, before eventually giving way to a few wealthy suburbs before the sprawl of the city. It was a fairly typical modern city, unremarkable right up until you reached the monstrous earthworks and spotted the huge steel turrets that marked the entrance to the old city, a rabbit warren of medieval and renaissance streets, but with a wide boulevard running down the middle to the Royal Palace, sited in the heart of the city.

The Palace was a huge, squat, square building in neo-classic design. The interior would prove to be built around a series of pleasant courtyards, and while the exterior walls may have been forbidding, the interior was much more lavishly decorated. The building seemed to only be about half in use, clearly having been built to house far more people than were currently stationed in it; A whole section had been converted into a museum.

The Prince had been allocated a spacious state room facing inwards onto a brick patio surrounding an enormous carp pond. Corinthian arches abounded, the rooms themselves taking on a similar classical feel with decoration in white marble. The Prince would be left for a good two hours before his 'suitable guide' eventually arrived at which point there was a sharp rap on the door...

The Imperial Jet roared gracefully through the clouds to its destination. Its passenger, George von Habsburg was taking another look through the limited information the Holy Osean Empire had on Dyelli Beybi. George looked very much like a member of the aristocracy. He had originally intended to wear a military uniform, but had been persuaded to wear somethin less grandiose, eventually deciding on a personally tailored suit and carried a silver topped walking stick.

A college of his, who was prsently reading, turned to George and asked "what are your thoughts on this offer that the Dyellian's have made? I see it as an oppertunity but I would like to hear your thoughts if you don't mind". George replied " Of course not. I agree that this is an oppertunity. Not only does this bring great prestige to me and the royal house, but this could also be an oppertunity for the empire. I expect my cousin Alex..." this refering to the Holy Osean emperor "...will use this to some advantage. This will a matter of importance not just to me and the rest of my house but to the osean empire." With that said, he then returned to reading untill the the wheels of the Imperial jet touched the landing strip.

The Dyellian Authorities in Bath (pronounced 'Both' or 'Barth' by Mackisicanis) would receive the following communication:

The Ornithopter of his Excellence Lord Wynbourne will be arriving at the airport in the City of Bath, The Blessed Kingdom Dyelli Beybi, in approximately thirty-two hours.Provisions should be made for Lord Wynbourne and his retinue as guests of nobility and distinction. Lord Wynbourne also requests that an Honour Guard and such high officials as is fitting be on hand to receive Lord Wynbourne and his distinctive and noble Retinue.

Lord Wynbourne will then receive members of Parliament of the Blessed Kingdom of Dyelli Beybi and interview them concerning his decision to accept (or decline) the Throne of Tzar of the Blessed Kingdom of Dyelli Beybi.

I thank you in advance.
Sir Otto Drane
Personal Assistant to the Lord Wynbourne


The Dyellian's may soon learn that the epithet 'Eccentric' has often been applied to Lord Wynbourne....................................

OOC: I say mostly closed, because some people have been invited in, and obviously it isn't closed to the Klatchian crowd and those who know what Klatch is lol.

Dyelli Beybi was a country in turmoil. Anarchy was too strong a word. The country was in fact very well ordered and everyone went about their daily lives as if nothing was wrong. What was wrong was the fact that about half the country was 'Royalist' and about half were 'Parliamentarian', then of course there were random bits of the country such as the capital city, Cyro, which was being run by a military junta and Saint Guineford's which was being run by an Archbishop and his personal army.

There had been a few pitched battles, a few zeppelins had been shot down, but by and large nobody seemed particularly interested in fighting.

Bath was a large city, one of the largest in Dyelli Beybi, and the city with the strongest support for Parliament. It was here that those nobles interested in the idea of being the new ruler of Dyelli Beybi had been invited to come and speak to Parliament. It was a hot, hot, dry city, although the fields around it were green to the horizon thanks to the impressive irrigation schemes that fed water from the river Djel out to the farms. The airport itself was further out, in the desert, a good hour's drive from the city centre. It was large, although mostly catered to small domestic flights rather than large International aircraft which generally flew into Cyro.

The heat shimmered above the runway, giving the assembled notables a pretty good idea of how hot it was outside, a heat the air conditioners kept well at bay inside the terminal.

"You are gambling on this Felix." one man grumbled. He was a broad man with ginger hair and a matching beard, quite unusual in a Dyellian.

Felix laughed in response, "Yes I am, but not as much as you gambled when you invited Mercs in. Remember what happened there?"

The bearded man frowned at the floor, he remembered acutely what had happened, the Mercs had been ambushed and slaughtered by Royalist militia who 'someone' had given high powered energy weapons to. Secretly everyone knew that someone was the junta in Cyro, although nobody wanted to provoke them into openly siding with the Royalists, "Yes, I do remember." the bearded man replied, "But this is crazy voodoo psychology."

"Not really." Felix replied. He was an older man, probably in his fifties, his neatly trimmed van dyke having turned a distinguished 'salt and pepper' colour. Unlike the other man who wore a snappy business suit, Felix was uniformed in field grey with black jack boots and pale blue webbing, it looked fascist, although in truth there was nobody in Dyelli Beybi with more of a commitment to democracy, "You think the Tzarina is unpredictable, but there is a method in her madness. If we announce someone is here to marry her she will need to come and find out who it is; She will take it as an insult to her honour. Then we trap her... oh and she will know its a trap, so it will all come down to whether her Hardmandle Commandos are better than TWEP."

The bearded man simply shook his head. There wasn't much they could do now except wait. Wait for their interviewees and the man who would hopefully reunify the shattered Nation.

OOC: please don't tell me you mean Klatch as in Discworld.

OOC I imagine it is. He is Dyelli Beybi after all. (And my country is based of Omnia!)

IC

“Capital.” There were no inflections on the word, simply a statement of appreciation with no apparent tone,” ever more like the Homeland. Most of our population lives in the fertile Strein river valley, and though our nation is primarily, and rightly so, known for its deserts we share all these geographical amenities with your fair country to some extent or another. I look forward,” it was a phrase that even the most scrupulous soul could find little error with, “to my time here.”
--

An official limo spirited him through the comparatively lush countryside. All the while Cato scribbled in his private shorthand in a pocket notebook and glared, forehead wrinkled in apparent concentration. A few sketches filled up some considerable space and the pencil scribbled at blinding speed with the apparent inspiration of a wild flower. Bath itself impressed the Prince very little who had lived most of his life in the sprawl of Blünderburg where it impossible to study the skyline for the ancient architecture and smog of industry. Despite the various noise associated with the limousine the compartment was in stony silence.

The apartments again were given nothing more than a cursory glace as Cato tossed his luggage onto a small chair and folded out of his morning jacket and into a more worn traveling suit. If he was to tour the Klatchian deserts it would hardly be fitting to ruin his formal wear. His medals and various insignia were slipped into a small envelope and placed under the pillow of his own bed. Cool marble ringed the room and reflected brightly of the polished floor. It seemed at the moment he was not needed and Cato meandered aimlessly about the suite poking his head into a few of the rooms and circulating about the enclosed courtyard. His notebook never left his hand and required several sharpenings before even the Prince’s mind became bored.

It had been several hours since the door had closed and there seemed to a lull in activity and noise from the surrounding compound.

“So,” the Prince said to himself; he had seen the basis of the country, and through dossiers could conclude that it was a nation stitched together on the basis of conflict, and with so many ethnic and indeed species backgrounds there could hardly be a common consensus on nearly anything. In times of struggle it was thought it was never best to too closely associate with any side, therefore, perhaps it was time to go on the offensive.

With a sudden step and snake like hands Cato snatched a vase of the floor and moved it beside another pillar where its corresponding vase was again swapped with another. Several chairs were also swapped and moved several inches out of symmetry. A wall clock was wound back three minutes and moved down three inches.

A sudden rap on the door roused Cato from a thoughtful glance at the bed and brought him to the door which he opened tentatively, and poked his head around, “May I be of some assistance?”

"yes i would like to see him as soon as possible" said Zach as he begin to walk with theml ooking around seeing others "probably for the same reason im hear" he thought to himself. (sorry i had school)

OOC: The Federated Klatchian Coast is somewhat based on the discworld as is Dyelli Beybi. Although really it is mostly something completely different now... Of course there are still the pyramids, giant crocodiles, D'Reg tribespeople... and the pointless albatross. 'Fasta Benj' is also a discworld reference although to a rather minor character in Jingo I think(?) escapes me at the moment.

__________


"Prince Cato?" the speaker inquired. Unlike the Chief Constable, this one had a noticeable Dyellian accent which, were they to have been dropped in another world, would leave people trying to figure out if they were from Cardiff or Dublin...

She was decked out in what seemed to be desert combat fatigues, but without the added bonus of any kind of body armour. She was short, yet Cato would almost certainly have noticed this was almost a defining feature of Dyellians, as was the dark hair, although the hazel eyes were not. She looked in her early twenties, with delicate features.

"Inspector Caitlin Davies." she introduced herself, "I have been informed you requested a guide to the desert, Sir?"

The Sir sounded almost forced. She seemed friendly enough, and truthfully she had nothing at all against the foreign Prince, but she did resent having to bow and scrape to nobles. That was why they had overthrown the last Tzar, wasn't it? An irony that was possibly lost to the Prince, but certainly not to the young Dyellian was that this very building had been the headquarters of the Republican Army which had decisively crushed the armies of the Tzar only a few miles from here.

__________

Meanwhile at the airport the Zeribathean and Osean delegations were being met alternatively by the two apparent organisers of the scheme.

The first, Alistair Powell directed himself to the Zeribatheans. He was a tall man for a Dyellian, which meant about average height for anyone else, with a big, although neatly trimmed, ginger beard, "Pleased to meet you your Lordship." he pronounced in a thick Dyellian accent, "I hope your flight was a pleasamt one?"


Meanwhile the Osseans were being greeted by Chief Constable Dzerzhinsky, a long faced man with a tidy salt and pepper van Dyk beard, "Your Highness."

A bow from the waist and quick click of the jackboots followed the initial address, "Allow me to introduce myself... Chief Constable Dzerzhinsky, at your service. I must say; welcome to Dyelli Beybi."

Secretly he had half expected Ming to come back for another round of 'frighten the visitor', but the wily Field Marshall had apparently decided he was needed elsewhere...

"I hope your journey was a pleasant one?"

"it was enjoyable yes" Zach said to the man greeting him "i did not want to use the zeppelin but the MIA had told me this was your main use of transportation....... oh well it would not be the first time they got it wrong shall we continue?'

“Good evening inspector. It is a pleasure, do come in for a moment; I put my coat somewhere.” Cato snapped his fingers repeatedly as he headed back into his suite where his coat was draped across a chair. “ I do not suppose I could impose upon you to ask a question? Cato closed the door and walked into the hall again, depending that the woman would follow him. “Is there usually so much tension in the air? So many weapons? Our government prepared dossiers of course on key figures and such, but our knowledge of the outside world is limited by what we are prepared to see, and quite honestly that scale shrinks every year. And if the subject does not touch any sentiments may I inquire what of the Tzarina?”

According to his upbringing, and within the entire sphere of his life thus far, he had been taught women were divine creatures who’s brains would overload at the mere idea of thought, and that their main task was to sit, and bear heirs. This woman, almost a dwarf as most of these Klatchians seemed to be, and wearing what appeared to be a military uniform unsettled the Prince. The fact that she was about to venture into a desert to show him around, needed a good run up before comprehension. In response he took a clipped almost abrupt and nervous tone. For his entire youth that was one of the sure things his father had been firm about, a Lady is a Lady, and a Man is a Man, to change the order of this was to change the order of society. He was trying to overcome this and tried not to meet the woman’s eyes and kept most of the shake out of his voice.

“You must accept my apologies; it is our ancient custom that before the Emperor of Waldenburg is crown he is pushed into the High Desert where he must return home to receive his throne. This seems all to familiar in that aspect. I do hope you will forgive me for my… prone for haste.”

George stepped out of the jet with a small group. There they met a long faced man with a tidy salt and pepper van Dyk beard, who introduced himself as Chief Constable Dzerzhinsky and then said ""I hope your journey was a pleasant one?". George replied "Indeed it was. If we may continue?"

(OOC:where is he?)

OOC: Pardon me, had a rather busy couple of days

The Airport
At the airport both men were ushered towards awaiting motorcades which would take them to the same palace in which Prince Cato was staying.

Upon entering, each would be asked if he wuld like to take some time to relax, perhaps enjoy the bar, or if they would like to proceed with the interview process...

Within the Palace
The Inspector followed a step or so behind, apparently totally oblivious to any misconception as to what her role in society might be. That was not to say she might not have picked something up, rather that Dyellians were rather good at politely ignoring things that could lead to an a 'less than cordial' turn in the conversation.

"The tension." she answered, without any attempt to dodge the question, "Is because everyone expects a civil war to errupt. If it wasn't for the fact that the military won't allow it, there would be a civil war. As for the weapons... no, usually there are not."

"We find that the weapons usually put foreigners at their ease." she added after a momentary pause, "Shows we have tight security and all that."

Which left her considering the Tzarina. She pursed her lips, glancing to the ceiling for inspiration, "The Tzarina is... odd. Some people who meet her think she is completely insane, others think she is mor lucid than most. I guess you will have to find out for yourself. I have no doubt she will attempt to make an appearance once she is aware that Parliament has been selecting her a suitor, one might say it is something of a red rag to a bull. Obviously you will be in no danger."

There was a very strong implication in that last sentence that the reason that Prince Cato would be in no danger was because he had been left in the care of Inspector Davies.

She frowned momentarily, the only sign she was perhaps a little puzzled by the Prince's behaviour. She had had to deal with men who had assumed her to have a pepper corn sized brain, however the Prince seemed perhaps a tiny bit intimidated, not something she had ever had to deal with before. Nevertheless she soldiered on with her explanations on what the Dyellian crown entailed, "I don't think they are expecting anything too extreme Sir, merely that you show some kind of understanding, or at the least acceptance of Dyellian culture, as well as the capability to survive the Dyellian political world, which is sometimes a little 'Byzantine'."

“I Imagine,” Prince Cato lead the way with a eerie recall of his steps earlier, even though this might be entirely the wrong way towards a new objective, “she will not be too pleased with such an arrangement no, hmmm. And if it is not too forward may I ask what you think? Is the Tzarina ‘completely insane’ does she need a king, does the country need another king? What happens when the military wishes for a civil war? I’ve read the reports; it won’t be your first war. I’m afraid I’m getting us terribly lost.” He motioned, and bowed respectfully for the Inspector to take the lead.

“It would seem the military wants to know who wins before they have their civil war, or as the case may be, not.” This was said in a tone of entirely benign interest it neither implied connotations of support or disapproval, but rather of a flat apathy, which Prince Cato had and amazing repertoire. “I do apologize. I ramble; I took you from your work to see the deserts, let us do so. I realize you’re hardly in a position to tell me every thing I want to know, and probably not inclined to do so anyway.”

George decided that, as much as he would like to have a drink, it would be better to get straight to buisness and replied " I believe it would be better if we proceed with the interview".

"so" zach said after looking around "when do we start?"

In the Palace, being as George and Sam seemed eager to get started, the pair were led together through the maze of coridoors into a room which was, to all intents and purposes, a court house. Three elderly men in white wigs were seated on an enclosed dais, "Gentlemen." one cleared his throat, putting on a pair of glasses, "Welcome to Dyelli Beybi and welcome to the Interviews for Tzar."

"You will notice we are interviewing you together. This is because as Tzar you will never have the comfort of privacy in the manner that a random member of the public enjoys." for a moment the judge descended into coughing. Pulling a hankerchief from his pocket to muffle the sound.

"...Where was I..." the judge on his left was lighting a fat cigar, apparently ignoring the proceedings he had been called to take part in, "...Yes... We have several questions for you which will help us to decide on whether you will fit in as a Dyellian monarch."

He paused to pick up a piece of paper from his desk, pushing his glasses firmly back up the bridge of his nose, "The first is a roleplay situation... It is morning, you rise early, that is to say at midday, whereupon you are presented with an itinerary of things to do today. Firstly the Vaadian Ambassador has demanded that you grant him an interview. Items of secondary importance are inspecting the wine cellar, signing a new Act of Parliament and attending mass with the Dean of the Palace. You do not have enough time to do all three of these secondary tasks. Which do you drop and why?

"Following this decision you move over to the Royal drawing room to see the Vaadian Ambassador. On your wa you encounter a smelly beggar. What do you do and why?

"Finally you reach the drawing room, the Vaadian Ambassador is already seated and helping himself to your best claret. How do you respond and why?"

__________
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the palace...


"The Tzarina is completely insane." the Inspector replied, but there was something about the way she said it, the most marginal hint that whatever she said in the confines of the palace might not be the same as what she said elsewhere, "The military, I believe are simply trying to prevent bloodshed. After all, the last time that happened the military failed dismally and ended up 'purged'."

As they left the palace frontage the Inspector led the way to a rather beat up, mud splattered 4x4. Presumably it had been white once, "Please your highness." she opened one of the doors in the back to allow Cato to enter."

Once he had she closed the door behind him, opening the drivers' door and pulling herself in. The vehicle started up with a spluttering bark, shuddering slightly as the engine reluctantly sprung into life. Dyellians drove on the left hand side of the road it seemed, something which a lot of foreigners were sure to find confusing. It was yet another long journey across the city, although this time Cato had the Inspector to keep him company.

"My job ceased to exist after certain terrorist threats vanished." she confided, "So you aren't keeping me away from anything important."

"I presume you read the message Parliament sent out?" she asked as they powered along the main road at exactly the speed limit (something which wouldn't usually be recommended in Bath's heavy traffic conditions), "You are only being asked to marry the Tzarina to legitimise your possition. After that they plan to execute her for 'tyranny', although they need to catch her first."

"As for your earlier question... whether you support Parliament or the Tzarina is really do you support the principle of democracy or an autocrat with principles." she laughed with perhaps a hint of bitterness.

It was quite a drive out, although as they passed the turn off to the airport the fields were becoming noticeably less fertile, drifts of reddish coloured sand begining to appear beside the road, "I am of course repeating everything that I hear to the Tzarina." she added, quite conversationally.

Disconcertingly it was unclear whether this was an attempt at humour, or if the Inspector was deadly serious. Whatever the case she was keeping an eye on Cato in the back seat, although who she was dutifully observing him for was open to question...

“Once you catch her you mean. Then you will report to her.” Cato had become more relaxed in the woman’s presence by simply ignoring her more obvious feminine parts and ways and concentrating mainly in looking at the changing landscape. He had caught the tone of the voice, and lacking nearly anything resembling a sense of humor took the comment as a veiled threat, one that he was quite happy to brush aside.

“I did not however receive any messages that suggested execution. Parliament perhaps has a more literal mind and our language has never been an easy one. I was lead to believe she would need reigning in, perhaps a smack on the wrist, and a firm talking to, not bloody execution.” Cato rubbed his forehead with a tanned hand, the change from city to desert was having its effects on him and his head started to ache with the swiftness of it. “That seems rather inflammatory of Parliament. Would such an action extinguish the bloodline? If she is executed after marriage? Would that not leave one person, solely alone in the midst of an embroiled royalist faction, a seeming accessory to Her Late Majesties’ death and already within the bad graces of the Parliamentarians by being, by virtue, or not, a monarch?” The sun was already beating down heavily now it seemed, on the thin metal roof o the vehicle. And then Cato’s mind cleared.

It was perhaps a sociological effect of deserts on the Waldenburger people but when one walked out of one it usually involved prophecy and enlightenment. More religion had come from those sandy flats than could be counted and it seemed to open the minds of men. “There is something afoot Inspector Davies; there is something going on I am not supposed to know about, maybe even you, but I fully intend to find out what that is.Everything is too convenient, everything too black and white. Let us see this desert now, and see all the wonders it contains.”

George noted the presence of the other interviewee and decided that it made no difference to him. He then took his place in what apeared to be court house and listened to the three men who appeared to be judges as they explained why they were being interviewed together and then decribed a roleplay situation and asked three questions.

He then responded " Well, First I would drop the inspection of the wine cellar. It is less important than the other tasks and, unlike the other tasks, it is possible to do it at another time. Then when I encounter the begger, I would likely give them some change. Not only is the begger's situation unenviable but this would be a quicker way of dealing with the begger than refusing and I would need to arrive on time to meet the Vaadian ambassador. Finally when I find the Vaadian Ambassador, I would tell him that he is excused this time but that he should not do it again."

(hey what about me?)

OOC: Sorry, meant to include Zach in that :P That was just a slip on my part. Have a shot at answering the scenario. I'll post ICly a little later on, got some stuff to do while its still light where I am

OOC: I'm going to post a bit later to the three who got involved in the interviews inside so that everyone has a fair chance to respond with their creative answer lol

As the desert came upon them Davies took them offroad, the big tyres struggling occasionally in the sand; This wasn't the Sahara though. It was dry and sandy, but the sand was reddish in hue and the whole place was rather rocky, "Oh I'm sure someone could talk them around." she commented on the planned execution, "She has some very set ideas though and likes to always get her own way. On top of which she has something of a personality cult which no doubt they seek to shatter."

After some time she pulled up by a rocky outcrop. A thorny bush had managed to grow there providing an illusion of shade in the afternoon sun, "Would you like some fatigues your highness? We have an extra set in the boot."

They weren't his size, designed for someone a little shorter than Cato was, presumably chosen by a random Dyellian waving his hand in the air and saying, 'He's about this high!'

"Welcome to the desert." the young woman flung her arms wide, as she left the vehicle, breathing in the hot yet unpolluted air, "Not many Dyellians live out here, it's mostly D'Regs. My Dad worked on the oil fields though. I think God is out here."

It would probably be no surprise to Cato that the Dyellians, a people so close to the desert were deeply spiritual, practicing a wide variety of religions (including the worship of vultures), although in the most part followed a perculiar brand of Christianity.

"You said something was afoot before. You are right. Very observant." She sat down on a rock, peering off into the distance, "I am part of one of the Security Intelligence Services, which means I have a fairly good picture of whats going on. There is the threat of war with Ilek-Vaad, with Vrak and of course with Alcona and Hubris. With any luck it will come to nothing, it usually does not. However if it does Parliament knows the junta will forcefully reunify the State to follow the Tzarina as unity is important at war time and the Tzarina is a strong figure whereas Parliament can appear somewhat wet at times."

She glanced at Cato, checking to see if he was taking all this in, "So Parliament, under the guidance of Dzerzhinsky has come up with this hair brained scheme to bring everything back in order. Funny thing is it will probably work."

"You seem intelligent enough to make a decent monarch." she mused, "I would be interested to be there when you meet the Tzarina."

Of course the proffered clothing did not fit but out of a certain sense instilled into him since childhood he swapped out his silk traveling jacket for a coat and tactfully left his suit pants on. His arms showed through the sleeves at about forearm level. Either way he did not sweat a drop, this was all perfectly natural and normally added to the heat he would be scaling a destroyer checking heat manifolds.

Following the inspector he also sat upon reddish colored rock and after a few false starts in which he caused some small landslides wedged his foot on another. Cato very much doubted that the Inspector was telling him everything, perhaps in intent but not in practicality; perhaps this was beyond her means, but he very much doubted it. Not making eye contact, partially from his fears and partially to preserve the moment of solemn meditation he whispered to the woman. “I suppose that is no great confidence,” he attempted to suggest with his tone, although admittedly subtlety of this nature was not one of his merits, “if you admit it so readily. I would be happy for the company should I ever meet the Tzarina.” He subsided again; this was obviously not the time for politics or dark intrigue.

For some great time he just sat and scanned the horizon where heat shimmered upon heat and the sun illuminated what could be an infinity of sand. “It leaves a gap in the mind, where there is nothing there becomes something, where there is no one suddenly there is a great voice.” Again there was a drawn out moment of silence, “If Parliament selects me I should like to come here again, properly and walk it alone, as the prophets, my father, and my great uncle the Emperor did. It may not be our own by I suspect it doesn’t really matter. When you are ready to move.” He left the sentence hanging.

(ok then )

"well i would first off, like the other guy said i would skip the wine, also i would look at the bill that needed to be signed if it was very important i would do that first and if it was not then i would do the interview"

While Cato spoke the Inspector had turned her face to the sun, closing her eyes and allowing the rays to wash over her skin. For a moment it seemed like she hadn't heard him, but then she opened her eyes, blinking as she turned back to him, "You seem suprisingly in tune with what makes us tick, without the startling arrogance one is used to seeing in much of the nobility as well."

"Where do you wish to go?" Her eyes seemed to be searching for his, trying to make contact, "Do you mind if I ask a question?"

The request to ask a question seemed more of a formality than anything else as she forged ahead anyway without stopping for an answer, "How do you make a marriage to a complete stranger work? I'm not trying to be critical of the way things are done, I'm just curious."

As she spoke an awkward looking sandy coloured bird flapped past, apparently cruising for carion. Odd thing was it looked like a large parrot...

__________
Back at the Judge's table...

As the responses were made the trio of judges began to mutter amongst themselves, nodding or shaking their heads as they decided what answers they liked. Eventually the centre judge cleared his throat, "Prince George, you have answered very well on the first point. As well as on the second, it is important that we remember it is such beggars who make up the pillars of the throne. On the third point you could have been harsher, your diplomatic solution perhaps being interpretted as weakness, especially considering the fact the Ambassador was a barbarian Vaadian."

Apparently there was not a great deal of love lost between Ilek-Vaad and Dyelli Beybi... "Prince Zach, your answer to the first question was good, although you seem to have forgotten the other two parts to the question. Never mind. The second part of the test is a physical."

Apparently this was the cue for escorting security to appear, moving the suitors across the palace to a courtyard none had seen yet. This was set up as a rather unpleasant looking obstacle course, "Okay gentlemen." there was a rather perky looking Dyellian woman in desert pattern camouflage pants and a white singlet who seemed to be in charge here.

A quick glance at her neckline would reveal dog tags, definitely a soldier of some rank, "The object of this exercise is simple. It's a race to the finish although we are also marking you for style."

"First off, when I give the signal, you run to the table in the centre of the courtyard and put on the military fatigues. Next you run to the shooting range at the far end, pick up a SSA2801 assault rifle and fire 30 rounds at the targets pinned to the sandbags." there was something she had missed out. The SSA2801 was a fairly inoffensive looking side loading assault rifle, however it was plasma fired, giving it a truly horrific recoil. Firthermore the fatigues hadn't been equipped with the customary flexotropic armour plates used when firing the weapon, meaning firing it on full auto would almost certainly break the firer's arm or shoulder...

"Next" she continued, "You drop under the barbed wire and crawl to the end of the run where you have to wrestle the money off the Alconan.

Here there were two people in suits which looked like horribly ugly charicatures of English country gentlemen clutching large bags of coins. Apparently they were supposed to get their hands on these...

"Then you run into the next area where it is your task to beat the Vaadian brutally." another charicature body suit, this one looked a lot like General Paton...

There were no shortage of things to beat him with. A hose pipe, a child's tricycle, a frying pan and a chamber pot had all been left lying around handily.

"Finally you run to the finish line, but before you do, you need to pick up one of the 'injured POW' dolls lying close to the Vaadian."

"Any questions?" she asked, then without waiting for a reply, "No? Good. Then you're ready to go. On your marks! Get set! Go!"

Cato’s ears reddened slightly from the compliment but he like the Inspector ploughed ahead, “It has nothing to do with making it work, or love, or any sort of feeling towards one another. My great aunt, the Empress, was married to the Emperor for sixty years before her brutal stabbing had nine children by the man, hated the Emperor. Every morning she set her face to a smile and waved at crowds or kissed children or visit soldiers. Now it is my turn to do the same, though I cannot say what I think of the Tzarina as the best I have seen of her is a picture and am constantly reminded she is an egotistical and entirely insane autocrat. It has never been about making it work, giving the illusion of happiness and tranquility is all that matters, and ultimately, if anyone is to marry her and be an extension of either her execution or her reduction is status, then domestic tranquility is out of the picture altogether. This, I have always felt, and you’ll have to excuse the word, is where commoners have always won out; when choosing a potential bride they probably never have to consider execution as a honeymoon.”

Though the sky fell the odd bird that had so wrapped the Inspector’s attention and it seemed to merit it; to Cato it looked as though a bird of paradise had been sand blasted, smacked about the head a few times with blunt objects, and then set lose on the world. “I think just a circle around and then back to the car. I am probably doing myself no favors in walking around in a desert; my father would not approve. What is that thing?” He pointed to the odd looking bird with a wary hand and began to sidle sideways hinting for Davies to follow him.

Hearing the word go he started to run and a few min later was at the first part "good thing im a fast runner" he thought to himself "and a bad shot".

OOC: Hopefully, I've done this right. If there is anything wrong with this post, tell me and I'll edit it.
IC: Once the Dyellian woman shouted go, George immediadly ran to the table in the centre of the courtyard and put on the military fatigues. Then he ran to the shooting range at the far end and picked up the SSA2801 assault rifle. He then properly positioned himself to minimise the recoil of the weapon, checking to make sure the weapon was in Semi-automatic and fired 30 rounds at the targets pinned to the sandbags. The weapons recoil was horrific and and made george grimace.

Then he dropped under the barbed wire and crawled to the end of the run. There he launched himself at one of the people in suits, swinging his left fist at him. The man blocked the punch but george then swung his right fist at the man, knocking him down. The man got back up and tryed to wrestle him but he managed to knock the man back down. He then grabbed the bags of money that the man had been holding.

Next he ran into the next area where he was to violently beat the Vaadian. A hose pipe, a child's tricycle, a frying pan and a chamber pot had all been left lying around obviously there as to be used as weapons. He grabbed the chamber pot and hurled it at the man's face, then hit the man repeatedly with the frying pan. Finally he went up one of the 'injured POW' dolls lying close to the Vaadian and put it over his sholders before crossing the finish line.

Zach grabed and put on the fatigues, grabbed the gun set it to Semi-automatic and shot 12 rounds and fell to his back. He then got back up went through the barb wire and stood up as one of the men charged at him in which Zach jumped and dogged him. He did this a coople more times until the man grew tired fell on his knees and got pushed down to the ground by Zach. After this he ran to the Vaadian and noticed something. The man after the other guy beat him looked scared like a sheep who just saw a wolf "why must i beat a man like this to prove myself" he said " the other guy we wanted to hurt me but this one probably does not know why he is hear getting beat up" he stood there for a min walked pass him grabbed the injured POW and crossed the finish line.

OOC: My extreme apologies for being away. Have been on several long long plane flights and was too jet lagged to post yesterday.

__________

"Desert Kea" the Inspector provided, "Carrion birds mostly, also eat the odd small animal."

There was a pause as she searched for anything else interesting to say about the ungainly creature, eventually concluding with "It's a parrot."

She stood, dusting herself off as Cato seemed to not wish to explore further, "You sure you don't want to go out any further?" she asked, "You aren't missing out on anything by spending time with me rather than the old buggers back at the palace. Apparently they're just going to ask me about you when I get back to make up for any tests you may have missed out on."

She began to move back towards the car, the reddish sand crunching under her boots, marking her steps, "Out of curiosity, do you like the Tzarina to look at?"

The Tzarina, Alexia ap Adam was young. Probably only slightly older than Inspector Davies and was attractive in the same way that the Inspector was, the same kind of fine, delicate features. Of course that was more a racial similarity than anything implying they might be related.

She paused just before the car, opening the Prince's door for him, "Thats probably why so many of the nobles take lovers. Under Dyellian inheritance law they count as much as legitimate children... which is why Alexia ap Adam managed to get the throne... because Richard Glawis had 'sewn wild oats'."

__________

Meanwhile in the palace the Dyellian woman had taken notes of the two gentlemen, "Prince George. You managed to put bullets on target despite the fact that we had given you the miltary grade weapon. Well done. You also retrieved the money from the Alconan, mercilessly beat the Vaadian and retrieved the POW. Overall I was very impressed, especially at the vicious manner in which you administered justice to the Vaadian."

The Princes' were probably getting the idea by now that the Dyellians really disliked the people in Ilek-Vaad with the kind of pathological hatred one might expect a banana republic to have for a close neighbour...

"Prince Zach... by the way your Lordship, is that Zachary or Zacharias?" she paused waiting for a reply "Anyway, similarly you did very well, I know you found the gun a bit difficult, but you managed not to injure yourself, so you pass in my books... Only thing was you showed mercy towards the hated Vaadian oppressor which was somewhat disappointing. Still, there is still one more task to go."

She looked slightly crest fallen that the Prince had failed to deliver the beating she evidently felt was deserved by a Vaadian (or someone dressed as a caricature of one), "Before we go onto that though. I have been asked to request from you both feedback on how well you thought you did, whether you think our assessment has been fair so far and also how you think your opponent has been doing?"

"well" Zach said "for one its Zachary, and two im not sure exactly what you find so bad about the Vaadian that you have us beat one just to prove we are worthy of being Tzar."

George replied "Well, so far I believe I have done well. I think the first test was a good one but the second one was odd. As for my opponent, I believe he has done well enough but he could have done better".

“It is a desert.” He seemed apologetic as he said it, “It will not go anywhere and we can see for miles. I meant we should perhaps take the long way back the car nonetheless.” He tried as best he could to pull down his sleeves to cover his bare wrists from the desert sun however this just pulled other portions of the uniform upward. “Of course I have not seen the Tzarina in person, but the pictures seem…” he paused waiting for the right word to slot into place. Beautiful was of an entirely overused word and one, which he would not have picked for the situation. By tradition Waldenburger women were pale, gaunt, and patrician like where high cheekbones counted more in a marriage than personality, “Well different. Handsome and graceful, elegant and regal of course but…” he tapered off for a moment and considered his sentence to the sound of crunching gravel, “you’ve probably been to an art gallery, of course you have, and seen a portrait that is said to be so lifelike that its eyes will follow you around the room. It has all the correct lines and shadings, spaces and tones, but most importantly it is not human, and it cannot contain all those subtleties that make it human.”


“I believe the Tzarina is such a painting. A piece of art and of course beautiful but in a sense, not literally of course, distant and separated to everyone else’s life. Perhaps it is coaching for pictures and paintings, and once you meet her there is not such issue, but it seems she is a marble bust brought to life. Of course I realize I am hardly one to speak ah…I cannot actively articulate my thoughts; I apologize.” They were approaching the dusty vehicle from the opposite side and the Inspector reached out to open the door. Cato stumbled and nearly threw himself to the ground; a woman had just opened the door for him! With a willpower that shocked even himself he kicked a random rock out of his path, smiled slightly to the Inspector and stepped in. “Thank you.” When the door had closed Cato surreptitiously leaned over across the back seat and clicked open the other door, pushing it back as far as he could.

"Ilek-Vaad are our neighbours." the Dyellian explained, "Well, neighbours in the sense that they border the Klatchian Federation. They are also the only real threat to the supremacy of the Federation on this Continent."

That was the political reasoning, but there was also a defintie clash of cultures between the Dyellians and the Vaadians, the Dyellians viewing the Vaadians as uncouth barbarians, "Vaadians only understand force." she explained, "One cannot reason with them in a normal manner. Only through blatant displays of strength can they be convinced to divert from their destructive course."

A pause, she seemed somewhat surprised that there were "I expect though that you may have more questions? Questions as to what Dyelli Beybi is. Anything you think mght be important to know before you take over running the country?"

__________

In turn the Inspector seemed somewhat taken aback that Cato had opened a door for her (in particular the other back door considering she thought she was driving). She looked slightly flushed as she got in. He was nobility after all, she was just someone looking after him.

"I have only met the Tzarina a few times, although she seems to be firm friends with my sister." the Davies family were not nobility in any way shape or form, they were what the Dyellian people occasionally referred to as 'political nobility', people who had managed to rise in the muck of Dyellian politics to positions of considerable influence in the public service (although Caitlin Davies was somewhat overshadowed by her siblings).

"If you meet her I dare say you will find her disarmingly down to earth." she turned away from Cato giving the sky to the North a long stare. There seemed to be a dirty brown haze on the horizon although she chose not to remark on it, "So, how qualified do you think you are on a martial level?" she asked.

There was a slight twinkle of mirth or some other mischievous emotion in her eyes as she asked the question, "I'm guessing you're probably missing the 'physical aptitude' test."

Cato rather felt he was losing the initiative and was rather relieved when the woman asked him a straight forward question with hopefully no more insinuations, “On the military front, I am not overtly accomplished, but my current profession is as chief engineer to the Wiesbaden Wreftwerks. I studied naval engineering of course and was instrumental in designing the WIS Thousis and her sister ships.” He decided it would be rather undiplomatic to mention any of his duels fought at home for some reason or another; he was not particularly proud of them and felt it would be rather damning.

“My father of course is a Field Marshall in the Imperial Army and I accompanied him on one of his campaigns, the Pacification of the Mad Men of Stern, although they seemed only slightly vexed when we found them. Other than that I have never seen frontline combat, and even then that is stretching the euphemism as I was given a pistol and a desk.” He began to struggle out of his loaned clothes and fit back into his tailored traveling suit. “It is the second son that goes into the military by tradition, I have no brothers so a compromise between succession and service was chosen. It is probably not enough to truly qualify me. Do you think it would help if I took the aptitude test to make up for that?”

"i suppose if they pick me i should look into that issue" Zach thought to himself "will we get a chance to see the Tzarina since i have only heard words about her?"

George again replied "More information on the history and culture of your nation would be useful. " This situation was odd and George knew it. He expected more people to have applied. Perhaps there were others, but then, where where they. And what are the motives of the people behind this. Finally he really needed to know more about this Tsarina and soon.

OOC: Apologies this is briefer than it should be.

While Cato was speaking Davies carefully pulled the door closed, nodding towards the North where one could now see a gathering dark mass sweeping down upon them, "Sand storm... don't worry it will be within the hour. I just don't much want to drive in it."

She pursed her lips, giving the Prince a critical look as she curled her legs up under herself, "I understand you know how to command, but that isn't really what I meant... Could you say, handle yourself if someone slipped past your bodyguard?"

That glint of mischief was still present in her eyes. She looked like exactly the sort of person who would start the next sentence with 'so if I did this...' if Cato answered yes.
__________

"We expect her to be present in the very near future." the Dyellian woman responded to Zach, perhaps sounding a little nervous of the prospect of the Tzarina actually coming here...

George's question was much easier to field, "Dyelli Beybi is the oldest high human culture in the Federated Klatchian Coast, although we are proud to be a Nation that houses four other sentient species as well as numerous human cultures which are not strictly 'Dyellian', such as the Guyans in the North and Benjians to our West."

"Dyelli Beybi is a proud nation and one with a history of isolationism. The people tend to be very independently minded and unlikely to suffer a leader they regard as a fool. This is also a very spiritual land, being the most religious region of Klatch by a long long shot. Attendance of worship ceremonies is extremely high although there is little rub between the different religions, rather you could say the religions have allied against the atheistic outside world."

"interesting" Zach said "are the people willing to get out of there isolation? since most likely whoever becomes the new tzar will surly want there nation to interact with the other."

"Ah..." This was a moment that Cato had been dreading. Still he was rather hopeful that he could dance around the near murders of several prominent members of society. "There is perhaps something you should know about Waldenburg. There were four civil murders committed last year, two of which are unsolved, and the other perpetrated by Jews. We, the Waldenburg family, do not have dedicated guards as such, certainly for show and some specific affairs but none that watch me while I sleep or so on. There have been times in the past however where I have needed to defend myself, in a... structured manner. In those cases I came out rather well; as for someone slipping behind my back, I am unsure. I would hazard a yes, although I have never even considered that a possibility in all honesty." Cato easily overlooked, perhaps rather obtusely, any body language of the woman and cast an eye outside to the building cloud. "Wind," he laughed bitterly, "across the desert. What will they think of next?"

"Something to do with the Sea and hot air rising." Davies shrugged, conveying the impression she didn't understand or particularly care to... obviously not a budding meteorologist.

She blinked at the prince, rubbing her forehead thoughtfully. Although inwardly she was wondering what the throw away comment about 'Jews' had meant. There were Jews in Dyelli Beybi, albeit not that many as a percentage of the population... and it was only a matter of time before that kind of thinking got applied to her own people who didn't fit the Nordic stereotype in any way shape or form... but she mustn't get carried away by paranoia... or be rude. The Prince so far had seemed like a very nice man.

"Defend yourself in a structured manner?" she continued, letting the little bead of worry slip behind her, smirking slightly at the euphemism, "I assume you mean duelling?"

Outside the vista was turning into what seemed to be a huge crashing wave of dust, "So you think you'd fair ok against a trained 'agent'", it was her turn to use a euphemism.

"So if someone like me, did something like this..." she aimed a rather weak punch at Cato's chest (well away from fragile bits like collar bones), certain in the security that he would block it if he had any kind of military training whatsoever... provided he was paying attention.

__________

Meanwhile the Dyellian woman shrugged, "Perhaps. That is not impossible were the right person in charge of the country."

"Unless there is anything else, the last test is an interview with some Bishops. As you probably know the Tzar is also the head of the Church in Dyelli Beybi, so they have a certain vested interest in assuring he is someone suitable."

"Yes... Dueling. As I say I am not proud of this, and it is not something that was done entirely by my choice." Cato had been dreading it but perhaps it meant little, "It's not something I really want to talk about. But there are certain areas in which... I could defend myself, against 'trained agents' yes."

Cato saw the fist coming; he perceived the inspector proscribe it's arc to his chest and in all truth he could have dashed it out of the air. It thumped into his chest, at least he had been able to prepare for it, and he only grunted slightly when it collided with his chest. His mouth fell open. Cato had been thinking it would be test of willpower but a woman had punched him...

"Inspector.." His mouth was hanging open dumbly and he plainly goggled down at the fist and connecting arm, "You are of a..." he waved his hands about in a vague way suggesting he could mean anything from table lamp to a rolling ocean and finally finished with, "feminine persuasion. What were you expecting me to do?"

A rather astute Alconan politician had once described the Dyellian security forces as 'Amazonian'. It wasn't entirely incorrect. Dyelli Beybi was noted for women in roles which were traditionally male dominated. The police force was 40% female, the military close to 30%. It was perhaps a manifestation of Dyelli Beybi's 'under siege' mentality.

She laughed as Cato asked what he was supposed to do, doubling over in gales of amusement. After a few moments she came to face Cato, wiping tears of mirth from her face, "My dear, dear Prince." she could be so disarming when she spoke, even as sand began to fly around the vehicle, "I was referring to myself."

"Dyelli Beybi is perhaps infamous for its dangerous women. Zara Alwood is perhaps the most notorious assassin in our history. She's apparently shacked up with some Vaadian General, but I'm going way off topic." she was trying to look more serious, but couldn't help smiling at the Prince, if anything the Prince's reaction had sent him up miles in her standing, that kind of old fashioned honour was long gone in Dyelli Beybi, even if she couldn't help but find it amusing.

"50/50, if someone comes after you here it will be a woman. The Tzarina herself has Cheka training." she explained, "I would expect you to block my strike and twist my arm behind my back."

"I really admire your attitude." she put words to thoughts, "I'm sure it would make anyone you were pursuing feel very special, however Dyellian society is well... a little different."

A pause for just a moment, "Within the last year I've been shot and set on fire, which is why my eyes aren't brown." apparently the Dyellians had some top rate surgeons...

Zach gulped after hearing this knowing that whatever he had to do for the last test that it would not go out well.

"Twist your arm?" It was rare for any strong emotion to boil over the rock walls of self control and sound barriers of Cato, mind but when they did so it was in a torrent. First the face reddened, the chest heaved, then an eye ticked, and a fist began to clench. "On fire... Shot." He began one at a time to regain his complexional bearing and arms to a point where he could stick together a coherent sentence without confusing his tone with one emotion or another, "Really? All of that?"

There wasn't a lot more he could say, as sand whistled around the vehicle he tried to assemble an entirely new ideology in his head. "Please allow me to see if I have this straight in my mind? Those in power, or those on whim will send women, who may or not may be themselves, out to kill others. You've been doing this for how long?" He was absolutely incredulous again as if verbalization finally hammered the idea home. "And no one's caught on? Good heavens; if you tried that in Waldenburg you could stab your way halfway up the hierarchy before any questions were asked. Will that be something I must learn to do; is that really vital? I would much rather not bash you head in if it is all the same to you. If I do marry the Tzarina I suppose we could tag off on assassins."

George had expected something like this. He mearly replied "Very well. Let us proceed".

"Yes." Davies replied simply, "Fortunately I don't have the scars to prove it."

Her hand had stayed where it had landed, now she moved it, smoothing the Prince's shirt it an apologetic gesture yet one which perhaps might be perceived by some as overly intimate. However in the buffeted vehicle which seemed strangely removed from the rest of the world, she felt this might be overlooked. Propriety could be resumed with normal weather conditions...

She smiled, a flash of white teeth at Cato's scandalised reaction to her revelations. A prouder woman in her position might bridle at the apparent sexism, however being viewed as unusual pleased Caitlin more than annoyed her; it meant she was interesting, "I have been a Chekist for two and a bit years." she replied, "And people do know who I am, at least around here... I'm wearing a uniform."

A coy smile, "Likewise I would rather you didn't bash my head in, although I'm still yet to see if you're capable of it." she gently goaded.

The truth was that Cato's interest in the desert had deeply impressed the Dyellian hierarchy. So they had sent him out to commune with the sands while at the same time aware he would be missing bits of their interview process. Davies was tasked with otherwise bringing an opinion as to his abilities, including his physical suitability for the role (although secretly she wondered how physically fit you needed to be to eat five seven course meals a day and sign a few bits of paper which seemed to be the main roles of a Tzar). Nobody had told her what to do, so she was improvising...

"Try to hit me." that coy smile again, "I would wager you that I'm better trained than you."

__________

Meanwhile the other two were led into another room that looked like a court. In fact it was almost identical to the first except that this time there were three elderly looking gentlemen wearing mitres instead of three elderly looking gentlemen wearing wigs. One was dozing quietly, having missed his afternoon nap, although he woke with a start when the Prince's entered.

"Your Lordships." one intoned formally, "We have one question for you and we believe it is a simple one. Why do you think you personally would make the best Tzar of Dyelli Beybi, bearing in mind the associated role of head of the Church and taking into account the multi ethnic and multi religious nature of Dyellian society?"

"well" Zach said "I think i would be a good tzar because I care for the people, and as this fine nations leader I would live up to the Prussian kings quote
the first servant of the state. The multi ethnic and multi religious people would not need to worry for the only side i will take is the one that will help the most people, take for instance on the second test when we where told to beat up that one man. I did not beat him because i felt it was unnecessary, if this nation has problems with their people then we can work together to solve them not make it worse by beating there people to prove our selfs worthy of being tzar, and with the church i am not a very religious man but no religion will be prosecuted because of what that religion thinks about different things if i am the leader instead i will let them think what they want (as long as those thoughts do not bring terror to the people) and that is why i think i can do a better job of being tzar that the other man." Zach made a deep breath after saying all of that hoping that they will like it.

"I'd rather you go back to punching me than that future." He moved his hand up the front of his jacket brushing down a crease Davies had missed and in doing do gently brushing his fingers against her own retreating digits. It was perhaps a risky gambit, Cato thought, but hopefully the woman was not watching his palm and the Service Cross he now held delicately, pin deployed outwards. "I will never lay a hand on you, nor any woman but..." He paused if looking for words then with his left hand made a snatch for her outstretched hand, in the same woman and with cobra like speed his right hand was flying outward. Cato was entirely positive that he had the acuity to halt the attack at any time, however he made quite sure the pin would strike her neck flat if at all.

In honesty, with all the odd looks, confidences, and gestures it was either attack the woman with a pin or face entirely more compromising situations in future. There was a little spark of the Prince, so hereditary, so genetically inclined as to descend from a thousand generations of warrior kings, that made him yell, although not too loudly as it was impolite to shout indoors, the ancient Waldenburger battle cry. Waldenburg was a language so old, and so guttural that the words usually mixed together to form a cry only distinguishable as a language through inflections. In his mind, already so focused on the tiny silver head he hoped like hell this worked or he would be in a bit of a tight spot and his face even redder than previously.

Caitlin Davies was a Chekist. While she had boasted to being a trained killer she was not in fact a particularly efficient one, never having had the heart to pull the trigger except in self defence. She was trained though, and it was training that kicked in when the Prince lunged at her with a sharp pointy object.

Before that moment the Prince would have seem a momentary look of concern as his fingers caught hers.... she cringed inwardly at the thought that her behaviour might have been seen as coquettish to this point. Her sister had warned her how foreigners often saw Dyellian women as flirty... then he lunged and her brain switched to autopilot.

She twisted slightly, couching her neck behind her shoulder then pushed forward, throwing herself onto the pin which slid through the coarse fabric of her uniform and into the soft flesh of her shoulder... then, having more or less flung herself on the Prince, she rolled, hoping that his grip would give before he tore too much of a gash in her. She was fast, very, very fast. Another Klatchian would probably realise this was due to number of non-human ancestors, although it was very unlikely Cato would spot this.

This was all accompanied by the kind of language one might expect to hear in a Benjian brothel... apparently the Inspector did not take pain very well. At about the point that she was charmingly comparing Cato's uncle to a sunburned Walrus one of her boots slammed against the roof of the vehicle and as one trouser leg dropped a little, it revealed a sheathed blade strapped against her calf. If she managed to get a hand free (something she was struggling to do) she could probably do some serious damage...

__________
Meanwhile in Bath
"That is a fine sentiment." the youngest of the trio, probably in his late forties summed up, "However I assume you are aware that as Tzar you would also be the Spiritual leader of the Episcopal Church of Cyro and would be asked to speak with the Arch Bishop of Saint Guineford's on matters concerning the Church?"

"While personal religiosity is not required, an ability to fulfil the ceremonial functions of head of the Church is. You say you are not a religious man." he continued, "Do you think this might impede your ability to fulfil such functions?"

What was left unsaid was that the current Tzarina was an extremely religious woman. Part of the problem Parliament had had in reigning her in was due to the fact that she had strong support from the clergy which was then transferred to support in the populace when said clergy took the pulpit...

The woman was fast Cato had to give her that, and as his hand shot forward she saw the Inspector react and not quickly enough try to retract his advancing hand. Luckily the pin on the medal was a flimsy affair having more in common with a safety pin that with its more sturdy cousin. However when Cato felt the small piece of metal lodge itself in Davies the change over him was instant. His hands collapsed, his muscles fell instantly weak and, he reeled back in shock and social stigma.

His arms were still wrapped, in a confusion of limbs and body parts, around the woman but the rest of his body sat back, and quietly folded his legs together and turned his head aside exposing his jugular ever so slightly. The knife was apparent and only a few inches from his eyes and he seemed to suggest that the inspector should use it without much fuss or bother. "Apologies Inspector Daives," a flailing boot nicked his forehead with a tiny click, "I did not intend for that to happen. Do what you must." Again he turned his head down although with perhaps a bit of dizzy lolling.

George listened to the other applicant, Zach, gave his response. He then gave his own " I believe a good Tsar for this nation because I already have limited experiance in dealing with the issues involved. As the head of one the Osean Empire's province I have dealt with situation's where ethnical and religious groups have clashed. I can assure you that that I have managed such situation's well and have handled the affairs of my province successfully. I have no doubt that I would be a good Tsar". With that, he fell silent.

Davies, upon realising Cato wasn't actually planning to kill her, also stopped struggling, "Oh." she managed, her body trembling as the adrenaline drained out.

She lifted her foot from the roof, noting the small dent in the ceiling. The vehicle was somewhat beat up before, hopefully nobody would notice. She laughed, a relieved laugh, still shaking, "For a moment there I really thought you planned to do me in your Lordship."

Suddenly she seemed to realise she was lying all over the Prince. She sat up suddenly, blushing furiously, "Lord I am so sorry I broke your medal. It was an instant reaction."

Blood was beginning to show around the point where she had impaled herself, creating a small dark stain on her blouse, "It bloody hurts too."

Having focused on the pain, she suddenly seemed incapable of focusing on anything else. Trained agent she might be, but training couldn't alter Davies' total inability to handle physical pain... which meant Cato was treated to another bout of vicious swearing while the young agent unbuttoned the front of her uniform blouse (perhaps thankfully for the Prince having the modesty to turn her back), hastily pulling it away from the afflicted shoulder. She glanced at the jagged point of the broken pin, muttered a few choice swear words then, "Could I ask you to pull that out? You have two hands free."

__________
Meanwhile in Bath...
The centre Bishop replied this time (the oldest of the three having seemingly fallen asleep again... right up until the point someone seemed to kick him under the table, at which he woke up with a startled grunt). He pursed his lips seeming to think deeply before replying, "Can you give us examples of any situations you have handled?"

George replied " One example would be when Christians and muslims in my province clashed over issues with the other groups faith. I managed to get both group to the negotiating table and sort out a fair and peacefull solution. I have also had to deal with a situation where a race supremecist group got into a riot with a ethnic minority it disliked. I co-ordinated the effort to contain the riot. I then dealt with the group and aided in efforts to make sure that it wouldn't happen again".

Cato slumped both relieved and vexed that the woman had not slit his throat. That was another custom of the old world which he rather felt he should forget if this was to be the outcome. He noted 'Lordship' as well with a growing dread; it was probably not a good sign. "For my medal...." Cato could not raise his voice above a whisper and it seemed any bottom he had been at earlier had even fallen out.

"I apologize Inspector Davies, please" he reached out two trembling hands and added as an afterthought, "relax your shoulder and brace yourself." The metal shard slide out easily enough although a nasty barb near the base may have pulled up a bit of skin with it. "I know nothing mitigates that action; I can do nothing else but apologize, and promise it shall never happen again." He bowed his head once again and found a embroidered handkerchief from his father which he passed over to the woman to act as a bandage or tourniquet until something more efficient could be found.

"I may not be one" zach said after pondering the question for a bit. "But i can say that i will do what is needed and if that is something i need to do than i will do it without compliant, and if people think not being a religious man will cripple my ability's to do that then i will show them that i can.

While it shouldn't have hit anything too threatening, nevertheless Davies' shoulder flowed unabated until she slapped her hand over the small wound. She waved a hand at the hankerchief, "Oh no, that's far too nice."

Instead she leaned over the seat back, retrieving a rather grubby looking oily rag from the glove box which she bound over the wound, "Don't know if the Tzarina is a haemophiliac." she said conversationally, "Over half of the population are to a degree."

She slipped the blouse back on properly, buttoning up again before rounding on Cato, "Now... this nonsense about it 'not happening again'."

She shook her head in wonderment, some people could be so pig headedly bound to their way of doing things. And this Prince was positively strange, he seemed disappointed she hadn't slaughtered him. Not that she had any intention of doing that at any point; that would certainly have led to her own unpleasant demise. She cocked her head to one side as if hoping this would give her a greater understanding of him, "You are an old fashioned sort." she murmured, "I was quite impressed, you took me totally by surprise, even if I nearly ended up as a Kebab." that was a gross overestimation, but she grinned like the young devil she was probably beginning to appear like.

Quite suddenly she slid herself over the back of the rather low bench seat to the front. The storm was starting to thin. There was still a lot of sand and dust in the air, although now one could see a fair distance through it. Davies was right, it hadn't been a particularly big storm, "You don't need to apologise to me, I'm not a little girl. Thanks for getting that spike out by the way..."

The engine started up with a choked splutter and they were on their way back to town, "I like you." she said after a while, "You don't seem like too much of a toff, you're young, intelligent, strong enough to survive here, both physically and mentally. I might have tried something on if I didn't know you were too honourable... and if I didn't think I'd be lined up against the wall and shot if it got out." she laughed at that, checking the rear vision mirror to see if she'd made the Prince blush.

__________
In the Palace
The Bishops exchanged a glance and a nod but said nothing. They seemed a bit more closed lipped than the judges as to what their opinions were, "Your Lordship, that concludes our questions. We shall deliberate and by the morning we will have an answer."

A benign smile from the old sleepy one, "Tomorrow, in consultation with all others we will have chosen a Tzar. I have been told there are 'refreshments' to be found at the bar."

He sounded mightily like he would appreciate some 'refreshments' himself and stared longingly at the door. Although they had said this was the last test. There was one more, the most important of all, and that was waiting at the bar. Dyelli Beybi was full of surprises.

"Little girl or not," Cato could still not bare to meet the Inspector's eyes directly, "I should not be stabbing people, perhaps it is a royalty thing but it is something I try not to do." He was tempted to continue but thought he had better not say much else, and that continuing any line of thought that may end up with him stabbing his tour guide again.

His eye brows knitted when she mentioned she might try something. The euphemism was not common in Waldenburg and even if it had been the meaning would have gone over the Prince's rather literal head. It seemed as if there was little conversation planned for the return journey, as the Prince primarily for the status of their health and the already diminished abilities of Inspector Davies and for fear of embarrassing himself once more.

With a furtive hand the Prince reached into his jacket and removed his little leather bound notebook. A pencil was slid out of the ring bindings and after a few moments thought applied to the paper, again in the private shorthand. It was in a flurry of quick movements, and with his eyes apparently looking out the window, that the pencil ticked out row after row of private notes on everything from the composition of the sand, to the elevation of the road. As distance and paper seemed to fly by a sketch of a bird, ungainly and with talons outstretched was added beside a sketch of Inspector Davies, with perhaps a few features exaggerated, and finally of the desert landscape. It was an old habit, the gathering of information in seemingly random pieces, but overtime the pieces could become more coherent and certainly useful.

"refreshments.......eh i suppose i could go for one drink" Zach thought to himself "one drink then on to other stuff." He bowed and walked away.

George then said " Very well. I look forward to knowing your answer tomorrow." He then gave a short bow then went to the bar.

The bar was crowded with Dyelli Beybians of all descriptions, from fair skinned Djels to dark Benjians to a few distinctly non-human characters (like the small orange skinned one with the bright blue mohawk). A large number looked like military (although in reality they were 'private security contractors'), although an equal number seemed to be office workers, probably part of the sprawling mass of Dyellian bureauocracy. It was a pleasant looking place, people were generally well dressed, a woman on stage to one side sang to a gentle piano melody.

"Hello strangers." the Princes were almost immediately snapped up by a moustache wearing individual with an eye patch. The khaki dress uniform aped the Dyellian one, although it was at the same time somewhat more ornate, "Captain Innes, Powell Retinue, and what brings you to our fine establishment?"

He seemed friendly enough, although there was a certain hint that he regarded himself as the de facto bouncer and any poor behaviour would be swiftly punished.

__________

Meanwhile on the way back Davies watched the Prince through the rear vision mirror with undisguised interest although she couldn't see what he was actually writing/drawing it did not stop her trying.

As they moved back into town she piped up, "Could you maybe do me one small favour? And please don't think I'm using you as a career advancement tool, because I am not. Could you possibly request that I be sectioned to the protection of the royal persons in the palace?"

There were deeper motivations than a simple desire to further her career, although she wasn't about to reveal those at the moment. Regardless of what Cato said they would arrive at the gate soon after, whereupon the Inspector scurried out in an attempt to open Cato's door before he did himself...

Thereupon there was a peculiar conversation with one of the guards in a language that sounded a lot like German. Were Cato fluent in that tongue he would probably understand;

Guard: Hey what are you doing here? This is a restricted area

Davies: (sounding annoyed) Commisaar Davies, you showed me out a few hours ago. I don't really need to produce papers do I?

Guard: (having inspected the papers) My apologies Commisaar, you appear to be bleeding

Davies: I bet your mother said you were a regular genius... just tell me what to do with the Peer.

Guard: Peers are in the bar.

Davies: (sounding suprised) Is it closed for the Peers or open to persons of the usual rank

Guard: Open.

Davies turned to Cato, "Your Lordship." she smiled in a warm, but professional manner, "Would you please follow me? I believe it is time to meet your competitors."

As they left there was a faint although audible mutter; "-ing spooks."

"Certainly Inspector." Cato paused in his efforts to sketch the small corporate logo on the rear of the seat in front of him. " I do not now what weight my word will hold, but I shall pass on the suggestion to your superiors if I every find out who they are. And failing that I will leave a recommendation at our consulate suggesting that situation." Before he could continue that line of thought the bulk of the palace hove into view and the Inspector began to negotiate the various security.

In all honesty it was a very imposing building and the architecture, far removed from the Gothic style of Waldenburg was a breath of fresh air. He was so engrossed he almost injured his host again as he swung open the door and by the hair of a chin missed smacking her in the face. He stepped down as the Inspector rushed past with a faintly defeated look on her face to where a bemused guard was standing at the level of attention necessary for receiving two people from a dust covered vehicle from a side entrance.

If Cato had been intently listening he could have picked out a meaning but the first part of the conversation was lost as Cato attempted to hurriedly wipe away a few spots of blood off his fingernails. A resounding 'bluten' roused him from his own actions and drew a ear to the conversation. It seemed to they were going to... He faltered, the adjectives could either be construed as salon or bar and in a few seconds of pondering he lost the rest of the conversation.

As they walked away and inside Cato drew as close as proximity and decency allowed and whispered into the inspectors ear in a huffy voice as if he wished no one to hear. "Do you have a first name Inspector? I don't think I caught it." He blushed slightly, "for the recommendation of course."

Zach looked at the man for a sec and said "um.. i was wondering if i could get a bit of drink please."

George merrily replied " Good sir, what drinks do you have to offer in this fine establishment of yours?"

Innes looked at George with total non-comprehension a look which turned into one which said 'you'd better not be taking the piss'. At this point someone from the man's table interrupted, a pretty young Asian girl with a very slight scar crossing her left eyebrow, "George, let the Gentlemen be." she chided, not sounding in the slightest bit Dyellian. The accent was more refined, the kind that nobles the world over liked to adopt, "Forgive my friend, we aren't used to strangers here. I recommend the Helmut Cola; it's nearly all alcohol and contains no cola. Please, sit with us when you have your drinks. I'm guessing you are the foreign Princes?"

__________

"Caitlin." Davies replied, noting the Prince had blushed. Presumably that was an odd question in his culture, "Caitlin Theresa Davies."

In a few moments they too had reached the bar, although the original request she had made for the recommendation was somewhat superfluous now. She stopped before entering, "Your Highness, I must leave you for a moment, it is required that I wear dress uniform or smart casual to gain entry."

Innes had also noted Cato, although a quite glance at his companion caused him to decide not to confront this Prince also. He had seen that one before and knew she was a Chekist, and Chekists were always trouble.

It seemed to be a generally friendly place with people mixing freely, all hints of the ranks they enjoyed outside abandoned within the space of the bar. In fact the only person who seemed to be alone was a middle aged Chekist (recognisable for the field grey uniform with blue piping) who was sending a series of text messages off a very cheap looking mobile phone.

George replied "Very well, I'll take you for your word. Yes, we are the foreign prince's and I'll be happy to sit with you". Although he replied in a friendly manner he was slightly suspisious of this women. She had appeared at just the right time to defuse the situation, true, but her accent told him immediadly that she was not Dyellian. In fact it sounded very much like the kind of accent that was usually used by nobles across the world. Concidering the situation, everything was open to suspicion.

Zach sat down as the lady walked away pondering about what mite be happening then he looked to the other prince and said "So how goes your nation? since this has started we never really had a chance to talk."

"Of course Inspector." Cato bowed stiffly from the waist. "Good evening, if I do not see you again." The room ahead looked friendly enough; foreigners and the dark skinned natives mingled across the room and after a few moments Cato picked out a few of his competitors, or at least he thought as much.

With a few guarded steps he entered the room, acknowledge the few nods and greetings as he entered an studied the room more in depth. The bar of course was a major source of his investigations and over the room he studied various glasses and moods. Once, after some considerable thought which left him standing eyebrows knitted near the door, he took a few guarded steps towards the bar and met the eyes of the server.

"Could I," his eyebrows raised as if he was imparting state secrets, "possibly have a cup of tea please? Black tea, very hot please and if you have sugar back there just one one please. Now if I may. Who," he pointed to one of the more pale skinned men in the room sitting at a table with a few natives, "are those two gentlemen?"

"Good evening to you your Lordship." Davies saluted in return to the bow, a curtsey being totally out of the question in a military uniform, "Although I confess I am intending to join the bar once I am properly dressed so I may well see you then.

The man who Cato approached looked up from where he seemed to be trying to drink himself into a coma with a Guyan official, "Them?" he blinked stupidly, the alcohol seeming to have already had a good effect on him, "Some blok pakrahs that have come here to try to marry H.R.H., treacherous b*$£^."

This earned him a glance from a short bearded fellow at the next table who was coincidentally as bald as an egg. He might have been frowning although it was very hard to tell behind his sunglasses.

The young Asian girl (correctly a Guyan, a native of the province of New Dyelli) was talking happily to an enthralled group of mercenaries, although the low cut top probably did a lot to keep them interested. A quick glance would reveal she was wearing a gold crucifix around her neck... in fact probably 2/3 of the people with open collars were sporting some kind of Christian symbol on a chain. Dyelli Beybi was a very religious country in its own peculiar way, and this part of the country was a stronghold of the Episcopal Church of Cyro.

Some time later Davies reappeared although now wearing a field grey uniform blouse and skirt with blue webbing and back jack boots. She nodded to Cato but made a bee line for the only other Chekist in uniform, the one with the old cell phone.

*bump for good luck*

OOC Out turn was it?

IC

There was a point where no excuse can be made for misunderstanding a drink order; when Cato received his cup and saucer the sugar could not sink to the bottom for the seething of the liquid. Still, it would have been impolite not to take it and with a tentative hand he took the saucer, and with a scowl from the barman and a very gentle nod of thanks towards him, Cato turned into the crowd. This was always a problem arriving late to parties, he had never fit in anyway, there was never a group with just one extra space.

An Asian woman, who in Cato's opinion had probably bought a uniform four sizes to small and missing most of the fabric, entertained a large circle of rather grizzled looking soldier types. They seemed entirely engrossed, and Cato noted not entirely with her face, and would probably not mind a visitor attaching himself to the group.

With agile feet and with a great deal of attention being paid to his drink he maneuvered through the crowd until he was on the outskirts of the group, and settled into a pose that, while not suggesting he was disinterested suggested that his drink was rather more important at this time. In truth the heat was starting to radiate through the bone china and his hand was starting to feel uncomfortable.

The group Cato approached seemed to currently be debating whether Captain Innes or First Lieutenant Jones, a slightly older and more restrained Dyellian could hold more alcohol. At Cato's appearance though, the eyes of the Guyan who seemed to be guilelessly capturing everyone's attention swivelled to him, "Oh, you're one of those Princes." she said in that surprisingly refined voice, "Ginny Kwan, Third Secretary for the Commission from the Semi-Autonomous Region of New Dyelli."

Which was time for introductions from everyone, apart from Inness and Jones there was another retainer, a Lietenant Julius Vladicovitch as well as a sleepy looking bureaucrat who introduced himself as Gerald Boshin. He was one of the darker Benjians and seemed to have absolutely no interest in what anyone else was doing, dozing calmly in the corner.

"So where are you from stranger?" this was the bluff Innes who, having been pacified by Ms Kwan was considerably more friendly than he had been towards the other Princes.

While he was explaining this, Davies decided to also saunter over. This was heralded by a visible stiffening from the military types, which she totally ignored. A slight laugh on her part, "My companion Mr. Quentin thinks perhaps you had been expecting the variety of tea that comes with vodka, gin, tequila and rum?"

"The Cheka never miss a thing." Kwan put in sweetly, although their was perhaps a slight edge to her voice that implied an implication.

"Not a thing." Davies replied, equally sweetly and with the kind of smile that would make anyone who had actually met her run a mile.

George looked at Zach and replied "My nation is doing well". He then continued to drink.

"good" Zach said, he then took a sip of his drink looked around and said "hey is that the 3rd guy trying to become prince?"

George found that question odd. He replied "I do not know. He could be but I know nothing about him. I don't know why you you asked".

It seemed doubtful anyone was watching when the Commisaar Davies had been speaking to slipped out of the bar via the kitchens (it was compulsory for Dyellian bars to serve food as well as alcohol).

He slipped easily out the back, not being the kind of man who attracted a great deal of notice, besides he was a Commisaar so it was generally assumed he was on some kind of official business. He was fair by Dyellian standards with a round face and watery blue eyes. He grimaced slightly as he pushed open a door to the outside, the package had arrived perhaps a minute early, which had meant he wasn't here to take charge of it.

"Look, I know what it says on the manifest." the trucker complained, "But I really do have a consignment of fruit for these kitchens, come have a look."

The guards were the ceremonial type you found the world over. Black uniforms with white webbing and polished steel germanic style helmets. The submachine guns they carried were very real though, as was their training. Dyelli Beybi was a land of strife and civil war; most random members of the public knew how to point a rifle and had no hesitation pulling the trigger... as such any kind of guard had to be made of better stuff."

As one followed the driver around the back, the Commisaar noted that the second had clicked the safety off, standing poised to gun the man down if he tried anything funny.

With two quick strides he crossed the floor to the second, flicking his pen out as he did. The guard turned, but not fast enough, the Commisaar jabbed him quickly in the neck, covering the man's mouth with his other hand to cover any cry for help. His pen was of course a syringe carrying a hefty dose of fast acting horse tranquiliser. Not enough to kill, they didn't kill Dyellians, but enough to send him to sleep for a while.

As the man slackened he released him, glancing up to where the driver and the other person on the mission had managed toalso incapacitate the other guard. It had been fast and efficient, the work of Cheka assassins, "Blimey." the driver muttered, "That was close."

"Indeed, if there had been one more person here we would be pushing up the daisies by now." the other person (who had been hiding where the fruit supposedly was) remarked dryly This one was a she, and from the clothing, was probably a farmer.

"You were early." the Commisaar grunted, "Otherwise I could have bamboozled this pair into letting you in."

The passenger grunted, "It is unfortunate, I do hope they wake without too much of a headache... however we must remain fluid in our planning. I think it is best if we change into their uniforms."

"Too big for you." the driver looked her over. Dyellians were almost universally short, but the men were still usually bigger than the women, "You'll look like a child trying on her dad's uniform."

"Nobody will tell, it's dark."

"There's a light in here." the driver pointed out.

She raised an eyebrow, then in one swift motion, drew a concealed pistol from inside her jacket and shot out the bulb, "Call maintenance, it's broken."

The shot was soundless, not silenced, but truly soundless, the only noise being the shattering glass. This did not impress the Commisaar one bit. He cleared his throat loudly, "If you have quite finished this ridiculous bickering? Move these people out of sight, change into the uniforms if you want, then we can begin phase two. The more you piss around the more likely we are to get caught."

The woman smiled at this, a vague faraway look on her face that would make you wonder if she'd even heard you, "Oh yes." she replied softly, "We can't have that."

As Davies approached he nodded his head slightly in her direction before proceeding, "Waldenburg. Thank you. It is..." He doubted very much many of the men in this group had heard of it. "Old, very old." This was contrived to be said in the fashion that 'Old' implied backwards. It never paid to say anything against the Church and their policies on technology; you could never know who was listening.

"We have many troubles in the last few years and this is one of our first international meetings that hasn't involved some sort of violence. The Church of course does not approve of me going abroad; it says men should stay where they are put, but if I may say so your country thus far has been worth my incurred stay in hell." There was a certain diverting of attention as Davies approached the group and when prompted Cato looked down at his tea, "there cannot be much in it;" it was still very much on the roil and Cato's right hand was now by degrees very much warmer than his left.

"Ms Kwan. You'll have to excuse my ignorance on the matter but the "Semi-Autonomous Region of New Dyelli? I was under the impression the Dyellian state brooked very little separation of territories? Of course I am not in much of a position to know."

"Ah no." Davies replied, "It is what a staunch abolitionist would call a cup of tea, very much lacking in any of the stronger beverages."

Her voice was very level, without any hint of irony or mockery, "My Lord, my companion was under the impression you might have anticipated Dyelli Beybi to be a 'dry state'."

"That would be a laugh." Innes chortled. He was guzzling down a mug of the local speciality 'Helmut Cola' which was advertised as all alcohol! (apart from the plutonium). It was illegal in most places outside of Dyelli Beybi where health and safety standards on alcoholic beverages were lax to say the least.

"Would you like me to fix it for you?" Davies offered ignoring the retainer.

Kwan in turn ignored Davies in the way she ignored most women she viewed as attractive enough to be a real rival, "On the contrary." she assured the Prince, "Dyelli Beybi the Kingdom is made up of five Semi-Autonomous Regions, the Djel Valley, which you are in, New Dyelli, the Dyellian Antarctic Territories, although don't let the name fool you it is actually in the Arctic circle, Fasta Benj and Outremere. Each S.A.R. runs itself more or less independently although we have a unified foreign policies and the House of Commons and House of Clergy can pass legislation that affects all the S.A.R.s. The Commission mostly deals with people interested in trading within New Dyelli. We act in a facilitative role."

This sudden move to politics seemed to have bored Innes, although it caused Vladicovitch to pay a little more interest, "I am from the D.B.A.T. he announced proudly, for a brief while we declared independence and fought a bitter struggle against the hated Doffels... you all know the term we're meant to use for those vicious bastards... elves people call them sometimes. Although when the Dictator Pierre Soult was removed we returned to the motherland gladly."

"Outremere is the largest S.A.R. followed by the Djel Valley." Kwan continued, "Although it is very badly run."

There were nods of approval all around, "Too many non-humans." Vladicovitch muttered, "And I don't mean greenskins they're ok. Its the nocturnals and the little orange buggers and the elves you need to worry about."

Racism it would seem was almost unheard of in Dyelli Beybi... they had other species to hate.

"Oh, no inspector Davies. It is not a problem. Though I do not drink I am not adverse to it, in proportion any rate." Cato made a game attempt of lifting the cup to his mouth but even yet the heat allowed him only to touch his lips to the glass.

"I See," he nodded to Ms Kwan, "so self-derived nationstates federalizing for what, if I may ask? Do these regions share a common ancestry? Or ultimate goal, or perhaps a mutual dislike? How did such a diverse collection of states form into one? As I have seen of the desert today it seems the world can change within a few miles of a previous group into an entirely diverse and different population, or as the case may be none at all. And on a more personal note may I inquire what the Third Secretary does?" He had noticed the stiffening when Inspector Davies approached earlier, and though he could not say Davies was the ticket to power he felt a certain respect if not a total and paradoxical awe. He contrived to draw out the word 'third' for it did not sound to mighty, in a friendly but perhaps irksome way.

Davies looked vaguely confused at the concept of someone not drinking, then decided it was probably very pious and would make the Prince solidly popular with the churchmen.

Kwan smiled brightly, leaning back in her chair, "There are five people in the Commission, the Commissioner himself, the Deputy Commissioner, the First and Second Secretaries and myself." it was a junior role then. She probably wasn't old enough for a more senior position.

"I don't really do much." she added confidentially, "I'm really there to prove that New Dyelli is important enough to have five people."

She had not made much effort to explain the other part of the question, on how Dyelli Beybi had turned into such a patchwork of states. This was Inness' turn, "Are you ready for a history lesson?" he grunted.

"We, Dyelli Beybi are one of the oldest nations of the Federated Klatchian Coast." he said with pride, "While our Government may be unstable, we have never descended to the point where we are no longer a state."

"We defeated the Benjians during their invasion." a glance at the Benjian in the group, "Then set up a buffer region that we named East Benjia while the remainder of Fasta Benj was renamed South-West Benjia. Recently and due to Governmental collapse in that State we have absorbed the whole and rebranded it Fasta Benj. It is really a security for the Benjians, it stops them from being taken over by the Ilek-Vaad/Alcona and Hubris mega state.

"We absorbed New Dyelli when the dictator that ruled that region died. Again this was as protection for the people and in this case we only control half of the former State, the rest having been absorbed into Vrak where the population are slaves to the Walruses."

Kwan nodded in grave agreement to this point, but allowed Innes to continue uninterrupted, "The D.B.A.T. was brought onboard to unify the Dyellian race."

"We are one people." Vladicovitch added, "The Moskauans and Dyellians. We share a culture and it was deemed better by our leaders to join Dyelli Beybi than remain under threat of annexation from Var and Ilek-Vaad, people who do not understand us."

"Outremere." Innes finished, "Was basically built to allow us somewhere for our burgeoning population to go."

This seemed to sum everything up to the general satisfaction of all involved who got back to their drinking. That was with the exception of Davies (who was probably the only person in the bar who wasn't drinking something), "Really it is too hard to administer the whole of Dyelli Beybi from Cyro. It is simpler to split it up." she concluded, "Also it stops insurrections. The people of Fasta Benj and New Dyelli are proud people with long histories. It would be presumptuous for Cyro to assume it could rule them. Rather it is a partnership."

Kwan smiled at this, involuntarily as it was coming from the Commisaar.

"Ah very good; mutual protection, but against whom? I hear so much about this 'Ilek-Vaad'" the foreign syllables could barely be patched together with the Prince's own Nordic tongue. "There seems to be some history there something I should know. Also If I am not being terribly rude, I should probably know why we are here? Is this an end of the day mixer of should I be on my guard?" he smiled as he said it and this time managed a tiny sip of tea.

If he was forced to guess he would suspect rum, but again it was something he wasn't very knowledgeable about. "If it the former you may have to excuse me to meet my competition, and you may have to point them out." He smiled in a rather disarming fashion and let his focus drift off slightly from Ms Kwan and up to the ceiling.

Zach (seeing that he was not getting anywhere) just sat there wondering if something was going to happen and if he should ask that one guy if he is the other prince.

"Its an end of day mixer." Kwan looked startled by the idea it might be anything else.

"Which means be on your guard." Davies added in a low voice that was clearly aimed only for Cato, "That." she nodded towards Zach, "Is the competition."

Truth was she suspected that the real method Parliament had chosen for weeding out the Princes was to afflict them with a whole lot of increasingly pointless and potentially humiliating tasks until only one of them remained with the staying power to put up with them. It wasn't necessarily a bad way of doing things. One needed a lot of patience to deal with Dyellians, especially the actual Djels who were notoriously lazy, experts at wasting everyone's time and charging a massive bill.

Idly she wandered over to the other Princes while the retainers began an explanation of Ilek Vaad, "It's a State North East of here, the only State in Klatch that is outside the Federation." Innes grunted, apparently disgusted at the cheek of not signing into the Federation.

Vladicovitch looked like he was about to spit, but a look at the barman disuaded him, "They have recently gained control over Alcona and Hubris due to some typical Alconan machination to undermine Dyellian supremacy. This allows the Vaadian scum to control 3 votes of the 18 in Klatchian Parliament. They are deceivers of the worst kind."

"All they respect is military strength." Innes explained, "Would you believe they flew one of their big military transports into restricted airspace, claimed it was an Alconan embassy, refused to follow ground control instructions then somehow managed to drum up international sympathy when our brave pilots shot it out of the sky."

"A war would solve everything." Vladicovitch supplied, which seemed to be a sentiment shared by Innes, although not by Kwan who shifted uneasily at the thought.

A war between Ilek-Vaad and Dyelli Beybi would be carnage on an unprecedented scale. Which was probably why the Dyellian politicians had worked so hard to prevent it.

Meanwhile Davies had approached the other Princes, offering a charming smile and bob of the head, "Your Highnesses, on behalf of the Cheka may I extend a warm welcome to Dyelli Beybi."

She would perhaps have gotten further, although at this point there was suddenly an almighty bang that physically shook the room they were in. Everyone jumped with the exception of the barman who continued to calmly wipe down a beer mug.

Around the room a few people were demanding of each other (rather pointlessly) what that was, although obviously nobody held an answer. Davies placed a hand on her chest as if steadying a racing heart, then gave a short laugh, "Had me jumping out of my skin."

Across the room the sleepy Benjian had opened his eyes, although with the lack of any immediate threat he closed them again. Kwan was looking decidedly nervous, which Innes had taken as a signal to put a 'protective' arm around her, a move she did not resist.

"Hmmm" Cato noted the worried look on Ms Kwan's face and drew a few snap conclusions of his own. Only a small amount of tea had sloshed onto the saucer, luckily, for if there had been a torrent Ms Kwan would likely be on the floor weeping. "Pardon Ms Secretary, Mr. Innes, if no one else looks prepared to move perhaps I will. I will just pop my head around the door, and be back in a moment." Cato nodded his head graciously and turned on his heel for the main hall door.

Unfortunately for him the building plans were a mystery and he could have wandered around for hours before finding the source of the explosion, if it had even been in the building. With a casual eye he noticed the nonchalance of the bartender. Nothing out of place the Prince thought to himself; he waved his hand to himself in speculation 'there must be men swinging from the chandeliers at least every night. This did not seem quite right, but he pushed that thought to the back of his head just as he pushed out into the hall and began study various alcoves, awnings and doorways.

"Sir." a guard held up a hand, if you could please wait inside we are assessing the situation.

He had appeared out of nowhere. He was wearing the black and white ceremonial uniform, although he also had a friend with him who was fully kitted out for urban combat. This man was yabbering away on a radio.

Neither seemed particularly willing to give any answers that might indicate what was going on, "We believe their has been a minor disturbance in the North-East Courtyard. Everything is under control." the guard continued with the usual excuses that meant nobody has a clue what was happening.

Even as he spoke half a dozen men and women (although it was hard to tell which was which under the armour) jogged past, presumably heading for the North-East Courtyard. Cato might notice the letters BMP on the shoulder.

Zach looked up and said "hello how goes you?" he was going to say more but saw people running down threw the area and looked at them. (sorry about spelling)

Inspector Caitlin Davies blinked, seemingly momentarily thrown by something, "If you could please accompany me your Highness, I am with security."

A nervous glance towards the source of the noise. To her it sounded exactly like a bomb, "Please Sir, I need to get you out of here. This kind of thing doesn't happen here. I would gamble you and the other Princes are the target."

She turned from Zach then, cupping her hands around her mouth, "Your Highness, Prince Cato, would you be so kind as to accompany me? I have orders to ensure you come to no harm."

The worry with this kind of event was that nobody really knew what happened next. Was that all, or would there be more?

Usually Cato noted, with perhaps a small amount of worry, a small disturbance required squads of armored responders and so much confusion. With a curt nod he turned on his heel away from the guard and returned to the bar where Davies was yelling for him.

"Bomb?" He asked while raising an eyebrow as one professional to another. "Very well lead on Inspector I will be directly behind you. Whatever it was the guards are saying in the North Courtyard if that helps at all."

"um sure" zach said and got up then he said "so where too?"

OOC: My apologies if this post may have sailed a little close to the wind.

"It is." Davies responded simply, "It means we don't go there."

"Please." she indicated to both Princes, "Please follow me."

She led them with a certain degree of nonchalance away from the bar, but rather than taking them back through the entry she led them through the kitchen area and into a service corridor that led towards the perimeter of the palace. This are was hot and stuffy, making even Davies, a local break a sweat, "Come on." she pointed ahead, "There is truck delivery place up ahead."

The corridor entered out into a dingy looking parking bay with a large truck labelled O'Booze and sons catering supplies idling in it, spilling noxious gasses into the room. There were also two security officers, one shorter and evidently female. She stood back as the Princes entered, casting her eyes downwards, her face hidden behind the polished helmet.

Davies stopped then, turning to the pair, "I must confess I have led you perhaps more into harms way than away from it. But what can I do but obey the orders of my Sovereign, it is what honour demands."

From behind them there was the unmistakable sound of a submachine gun being cocked, "Thank you Commisaar." it was the little female Security Officer, "So... you are the pair who are auditioning to take me as a bride. Like some corny reality TV show. Maybe we should take this all on film and release it to the media, I'm sure the public would love it. Welcome to the dramatic final episode and well done for making it this far."

For anyone who had seen her picture, the pretty dark eyes girl who was now shoving a submachine gun at the two Princes, while smiling in a benignly unfocussed way and looking like she was on a completely different planet was the Tzarina of Dyelli Beybi. The one who Parliament described as a rebel, a tyrant and a trouble maker, "Would you like to take a little ride with me? You can say no by the way. I would have sent for proper transport befitting such noble personages, but unfortunately Parliament might get suspicious... never fear I will return you to them in all one piece. Shall we?"

"Quite," Cato smiled blithely. "It cannot be anything but a pleasure to do one's duty I am told. Inspector Davies," he fumbled in his jacket with very cautious hands, suggesting he had no weapons, and pulled out his notebook, "would you be so good as to deliver this to the Waldenburger consulate, at some point. Your recommendation is on the last page if that is any incentive." He passed over the notebook, he doubted very much if she would any time soon, but it would be better placed with her than left on a corpse he felt.

"Your Majesty," Cato bowed to the Tzarina keeping his teacup level with his chest. "Your pictures do not do you justice. You look so much more alive with a machine gun in your hand." With a flick of his head and a lift of his hand he slammed his tea finally down his throat. "Inspector I would hate to think that 'Quentin' believed I had run off with his china, please make sure this get's back to him. That is if you are not accompanying us. In here your Majesty?" he nodded with his head to the van, "Lead on please. If all rebels are as engaging as you Majesty every Dyjellian civil war must a calendar event." There was some truth to the statement; Cato had never been held at gun point before, especially by a woman, and the event was strangeling stimulating. Most of his flirtations had been drilled into him by his father before he departed the homeland but just now he felt he could possibly warm to the roll.

Zach was a bit confused about what was happening but still said "um ok"

"He wouldn't mind in the slightest." Quentin had appeared silently from the back of the truck, apparently he was in on the act as well. Truth was of course that Richard Quentin was and had been for some time, the most senior mole in the Parliamentary camp, and as of yet he had not blown his cover.

The Tzarina seemed to have responded to Cato's comment, mirth sparkling in her dark eyes, "Oh... the last one was much more exciting on those fronts. One day I will introduce you to the woman we now call the President of Klatch."

As everyone else was moved to the back of the vehicle he left with a satisfied smile, content in the belief that the Tzarina had successfully and honourably eliminated (or was about to eliminate somewhere quiet) a pair of meddlesome trouble makers.

It was in fact quite comfortable. People had said the Tzarina was insane, and they were not far off... she was definitely eccentric. The back of the van had comfortable seats with proper belts, and right against the driver's cabin a young woman playing the cello.

"She won't hurt you." Davies whispered, handing the booklet back to Cato, "She's only letting Richard think that so that he doesn't get himself killed."

As they got back inside, allowing the two Princes to take their seats together with the guard on the other side, the Tzarina held out a hand, barring Davies, "Sorry Cate, you're not coming."

"I know what you're up to, or I can guess." the Commisaar replied, very calmly, "I just want to remind you I left with them, they will know by now that I am involved, Felix will torture me until I tell them where you are."

"You don't know though... but he wouldn't believe that." the Tzarina sighed, then offered her hand to the other woman, giving her a hand up.

She allowed Davies to pull the shutter down at the back, then handed her her helmet and submachine gun, "I think some Bach would go down nicely." she spoke to the cellist.

She did not take a seat, rather stood, taking a moment to let down her raven-black hair, sighing in resignation, "I am Alexia ap Adam, Tzarina of Dyelli Beybi and Fasta Benj, Empress of Outremere, Primer inter equalis in the Synod of Bishops and Metropolitans and bastard daughter of Tzar Richard IV. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

She smiled at the pair, leaving time for an introduction. As the truck turned she lost her footing, just about landing on Zach, although she righted herself in time. It was interesting to note she had surrendered what was presumably her seat to Inspector Davies who was looking decidedly uncomfortable at this.

"In a few hours Parliament will come down on us like an avenging angel." she confided, "And they will take me, marry me to one of you, then dispose of me as the tiresome nuisance I am."

"This eventuality is better than civil war." she continued, "Which will happen if neither I nor Parliament come out victorious soon, and will happen if the populace hate whoever it is replaces me."

"I want to know which of you has the stomach for the business ahead?" she asked finally, looking at the wall a few inches above Cato's head, "This country is a horrible sordid afair and civil war is our favourite hobby. It will need a strong person to sort this out, someone who can moderate the populist panderings of Parliament."

"Good alliteration there." she stopped mid flow, grinning like a giddy teenager, "Ah where was I... yes, you know the expression 'you can take a horse to water but you can't make it drink'? Well in this case they can't make it say 'I do'."

She laughed, a dry, perhaps slightly bitter laugh, "So I have the ultimate decision, no matter what they might plan... oh and the other thing is. If I escape alive from all this which is over to a trio of murderous b@$%*£"%s on my staff and a surprisingly nice pilot, then you might well end up stuck with me... and them." which was not too subtle code for she would run the show.

When it became apparent that the Tzarina was not to have a seat Cato rocketed to his feet as well, which was perhaps inadvisable in a moving van. When he sorted himself out he responded quietly, "Prince Cato Lucious von Waldenburg. It seems, Inspector Davies, there was something else I wasn't supposed to know about." He steadied himself against a side of the van as they took a sharp corner, "Whatever Your Majesty has in mind I'm sure will be thrilling, however I doubt Parliament will think as much. Never mind that though. But, If I may ask, what will make us strong people? Is it this? Is it really this?" He seemed somewhat dissapointed again he wasn't going to be butchered in some terrible way and his tone had shrunk from almost excited to his usual quiet monotone.

"No it isn't." the Tzarina shook her head.

"Your highness please sit down." she insisted, "I would feel dreadful if something unfortunate happened to you." which was rich coming from someone who had been pointing a submachine gun at him a few minutes before, although the concern seemed genuine.

"I'm not going to make you strong." she said with a distant look in her eyes, "You are or you aren't. I'm just looking to see if you are."

"Of course." she said in a whisper, "Everything depends on whose side you are on. Are you on the side of 'Corrupt Democracy' or 'Straight and Honest Autocracy', or perhaps simply on Prince Cato Lucious von Waldenburg's side."

She cocked her head to one side, studying his face as if that would tell her everything she needed to know about him, "Time will answer that one."

"I will not." He insisted right back as the van hurtled around another corner, "one never sits when an Emperor stands and with an Empress..." he waved his hands around. "It is just something that is not done. Of course when writing the books of etiquette there are usually not machine guns factored in..." He paused for a moment and looked pensively at the aforementioned weapon, "except in Madame Griswald's Primer... If you hold the stock with your other hand Your Majesty it will be easier to carry a champagne flute with you." He lapsed into silence.

Before this he had been sequencing through a wide range of emotions, flippancy, disappointment and now the shock had ended and his brain was finally providing the correct chemicals for the situation. His faint smile crystallized on his lips, and color drained from his cheeks. His legs began to bend to follow the previous order, but he imposed what small amount of will he had left on them and straightened up. "My seat is yours. Or we can both stand together, however dangerous."

"Ha!" the Tzarina seemed amused by the sentiment, "But it's ok to disobey an Empress when she specifically tells you to sit down while one of her minions waves a rifle at you? You are a perplexing person Prince Cato."

This was not the end of the matter, "You look sick." she commented, then abruptly dropped to the floor, scooting over to the Dyellian side of the van where she sat propped up against the wall, "Now take your seat."

It was not long before the van stopped. It came as quite a surprise, one moment they were bouncing along and the next they were stopped and there was dead silence aside from the sound of crickets chirping in the night.

A few moments later the door was pulled up from the outside, allowing everyone to spill out. It was dark, so it was hard to tell exactly where they were, but it seemed to be a small clearing in a lightly wooded area that backed onto the river, "Dyelli Beybi has an odd inheritance system." the Tzarina began, then seemed to lose her train of thought, "All of you can go, that is an order by the way, not a question. Unless you think you are bold enough to be Tzar. Then you can stay... Sorry Cate its time for you to leave."

She waited, and amazingly enough the Dyellians did leave, although not before Davies had tossed the Tzarina the submachine gun she had had before. She caught it out of the air with expert grace, slinging it over her shoulder, "Watch yourself 'Lexi." she called, "I assume you realise I will be notifying Dmitri who will do his nut?"

"I am relying on it."

There was a certain reluctance in the parting. The Tzarists it seemed thought Alexia ap Adam was probably quite insane, however they also seemed to both love and respect her, so complied with her orders, as ill advised as they were. The Tzarina turned her back on the proceedings, staring out towards the river, waiting until she heard the vehicle departing, "The driver is a traitor." she said after a while, "He had a tracking device on the vehicle. He thinks I am too stupid to notice."

She hadn't turned around but she fully expected to find she still had at least Prince Cato for company, "This is madness but it is also honour. If Powell had it, and he is Teulu so it would be expected he would come here alone and we would duel to decide the fate of the Nation." she laughed at this, "But he doesn't, so he will send his retainers, then he will crow about his victory."

"Dyelli Beybi has a very interesting inheritance law." she continued. She knew she was behaving irrationally, but she hated the stuffy formalities Dyellian nobility had tried to force onto her. Felix who now hunted her had once protected her, hiding her identity, keeping her safe as Commisaar Baldwin, but she had been found and had been convinced by Sherwin Thales, about the only person she trusted not to obey her (a trait she liked) to come back to Dyelli Beybi and to serve as monarch. So let them think she was a little crazy... it allowed her a little entertainment at everyone else's expense.

"In Dyelli Beybi." she continued, "All children inherit equally, including females and including bastards. This has given us our fair share of civil wars as there tend to be multiple persons who see themselves as Tzar, or Tzarina. When I first came to this clearing it was with some not especially friendly men who wished to eliminate me in case I disrupted the inheritance process, something I had no intention of doing as only a fool would want to run this country... it tends to severely lower one's life expectancy. It is with a sense of irony that I am now Tzarina while my two half brothers who both wanted to be Tzar sleep in unmarked graves. None of my family died natural deaths, my mother was murdered by my father, my father was murdered by my half brother and my grandfather was murdered by rebels. My two half brothers died in battle."

"So. Are you ready for all of that?"

OOC: I'm still here. Haven't got a clue whats happening with my guy though.

OOC: If you want to just assume he got involved in the kidnap by the Tzarina, otherwise you can assume he stayed back. Whatever you want really. We shall adapt to fit you back in

OOC:I'll assume he got involved in the kidnapping by the Tzarina. It'll be more interesting.

"Oh," Cato said, a bit relieved at the prospects of finally sitting down, "you don't have to listen to Empresses, or Emperors." He smiled broadly, and slightly weakly, "I'm sure you know how that works by now; my great uncle goes on about it for hours after he's had a glass of sherry." The Tzarina went on however and any pleasent mood the the Prince had been trying to conjure vanished with the stories of her families terrible fates. Privately Cato thought these were preferable deaths to what the Waldenburger Church did to reigning emperors with a smile and a song, but he thought it tactful not to mention it.

When at last the van pulled to a stop, as well as the Tzarina's dark stories, he unceremoniously fell out of the back and only just managed to stagger upright. It seemed like a little thicket sparsely populated with trees and a few shrubs. The light was a little low and Cato could not see anything of interest or entirely worthy of speculation. He turned his head, perplexed, to the Tzarina, "A traitor to whom? To you? I'm sure I don't need to point out the contradiction there. Some would say he is the only honest horse at the trough. You've brought us to water it seems; makes us drink."

"Contradictions?" she smiled vaguely as if she had no concept of what Cato meant, "But obviously dear Prince I am the only real authority in this country."

She said it so seriously yet there was an obvious sense of sarcasm; she had turned to face him and perhaps he would see a slight twitch of the mouth.

"You're still yet to convince me you're not going to get eaten alive by this God forsaken country." she added suddenly, "Here catch."

Without any warning she tossed the rifle to Cato then spread her arms wide, "If you shoot me they'll give you a medal." she dared him, "Although they'll pack you off home again... is it tempting?"

There was an exhilaration born of fear and uncertainty. It kept Alexia ap Adam from becoming too bored. She was almost certain the foreign Prince wouldn't pull the trigger... almost. She felt (perhaps mistakenly) that he might if he thought she was unhinged enough to be a real danger to the country. She smiled, the quickening of her breath the only outward sign of fear.

While everyone here almost certainly thought she was suicidal, she wasn't. In fact she had absolute faith in the ability of her retainers to extract her from any prison in the country. Which was the stunt she was really trying to pull off. It would result in all the big wigs of Parliament convened in the same area so with any luck her crew might manage to knock a few out or better still, capture them in the attempt. This was so much more decisive than the constant skirmishes around Agua Pura. In the long run she gambled this would save lives.

"Of course not." The rifle flew by the Prince and clattered off somewhere in the darkness, "Inspector Davies and I have already been through this, rather less gracefully, but I will not. Anyway," he said conversationally as he took a few gentle steps forward, "the driver may be a traitor but Ms. Davies is not. Medals are useless to a dead man."

He paused now about three meters from the Tzarina, her face only visible as a slightly pale outline and reflection off her eyes, "With respect Your Majesty you knew I wouldn't shoot you, so why tempt me? The only thing that will fix this God forsaken country is honor over logic, and faith over compliance. Shooting you would not only get myself killed, which would be no great difficulty, it would start yet another civil war, which though not disturbing me being both dead and foreign, is so very messy. I assume this was not your test then?"

"If Cate is sensible she will be running for her life." the Tzarina pronounced, her hands now on her hips as she assessed Cato anew. She spoke quietly, standing her ground as he approached.

"I didn't know for sure." she contradicted, "I expect the unexpected. It makes life more fun."

There was a certain standoffishness about this Prince. It was she figured something cultural. She took a step forward, then another. The third step put her close enough that she had to crane her neck to look up at Cato, "You asked why I would tempt you?"

She paused, a smile growing on her lips, "I needed to test your purpose for being here. If you were here for the glory you might have taken that... and you are right, I think, it would lead to civil war. The teulu would fight to appoint a new Tzar and everything would turn into a big mess again."

"I must admit Prince, you confuse me." she submitted him to another grave study, "If you will indulge my idle curiosity, what do you make of me?"

It wasn't so much idle curiosity. Cato she sensed would have a strong say over how she was treated in the almost certain eventuality of capture. Furthermore, she couldn't help but like him, he seemed to believe in all the right kinds of virtues, the ones she had cynically begun to think had been invented by authors with the specific intent of causing disappointment to her when she discovered real people were cruel, malevolent, untrustworthy and inhumane...

"Do you think she is sensible?" He looked down at the Tzarina and if it weren't so dark she would have noticed his blush; this was far to close for decencies sake but this was not the time to pull back. "I have my doubts on that scale, if I were to guess I would suggest she is crouching behind that bush," he nodded to an amorphous lump that may have very well been the inspector or in all likelihood was just a bush.

Little beads of sweat gather on Cato's neck as the Tzarina's breath brushed against it; he could feel his body tighten and his hands lock behind his back. "Fun is all well and good but throwing me your rifle without being certain, although I am not so sure, but if that were the case, was foolish. With that in mind." He looked straight down at her and raised one eyebrow ever so slightly, "You are an Empress. If that includes insane and violent then so be it, but I know that includes wise, dutiful, and prone to the right path. Engrossing goes without saying and I like the way you handle guns, IE not shooting me, which by the way I am eternally in your debt for."

Cato took one step back and finally relaxing his back muscles to prevent hernia spoke again, "You did not bow submissively to parliament, nor allow your life to be changed in the moment and twinkling of an eye. A country could do a lot worse than this insanity." His words were fairly shallow of course Cato knew. Being forward was not one of his skills, and though all his words were those which he felt there was an added depth which he left out for the moment.

"The ap Adam's were nobodys." the Tzarina smiled ever so slightly as the Prince stepped back, it was satisfactory to see that she did exert some degree of power over him, "Well not quite nobodys, friends of the Glawis dynasty. Certainly I was not born with the idea that I might be a Tzarina, and for quite a while lived happily in the knowledge that there never would be one."

She shrugged, it was an explanation of sorts for her behaviour, more than she generally gave people and hopefully enough that someone with some skills in deduction could put it all together, "I see this as a huge responsibility. Parliament wants someone who will sign off whatever they give them and quite frequently those will be things that are designed to enrich them at the expense of the country. Corruption is rife here."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully, "I think you'd be more comfortable on my side." she grinned, "But let us not talk of that, for 'now is the hour' as they say. They will be here soon."

She stepped forward again, lingering close to the Prince for just a moment, then stepped past to retrieve the rifle.

"And yet you are, and it is a monument to you." She passed by him for the rifle and he sagged before snapping back up and straightening his suit. "Very well then," he tugged down on his cuffs and tried to line his clothing up again; Cato had not noticed how askew it had become, and dusty, and wrinkled he admitted.

"So what is it we are doing? Hmmm? And why does it require none of your retainers? Something a bit below the table perhaps, a little vexatious to others? Well God knows I can't say no."

"Not quite." she replied silkily, flicking the safety back on before slinging the weapon over her shoulder, "I am waiting for Parliament to send people to arrest me. It requires none of my retainers as I want none of my retainers to suffer. Besides, I will need them when it comes to battle."

In the distance there was the audible sound of an engine switching off. It had grown slowly, slowly enough that it had became a barely noticeable background noise. What was noticeable was when it vanished...

"Listen." she stepped forward quickly, catching Cato's sleeve, her voice quick and low, "We have not had the time to get to know one another but I am going to work on the assumption I can trust you. I assume you can act? I want you to play the pampered, foppish dolt, a small minded honourless dolt who is interested in what they propose because you know it will get you free dinners for life. You are weak and easily controlled and willing to go along with the correct public tosh to keep them from taking your free meals away. Can you do that?"

Everything was pronounced in a rush. Now was indeed the hour and the Tzarina knew it. A few hundred metres away Dzerzhinsky and a TWEP (Terminate with extreme prejudice) counter terrorism squad were bearing down on the area where it was assumed the Prince was in danger.

"I understand my Lady Yum Yum in Tish, Pity She's a Tree is still the talk of the boarding school." Cato shook out his hands a few times and jutted out his chin. "What on earth makes you think I can act?" He whispered from the side of his mouth, "you haven't had time to get to know me, that much is obvious."

If the Tzarina had been listening intently and not to the the stomping of boots she would have heard Cato practice rolling his 'h's under his breath and nodded his head in rhythmic time. "Should you have the gun?" he flicked around his eyes at the prospect of approaching soldiers and the apparent need of him to be something he was not. He nodded once to the Empress, "where do you want me? I'll follow you're lead."

"You're a noble." she said as if that explained everything. Had she had more time she would have continued, talking of the court pageantry which was really just one big dramatic performance, of the simpering and scraping and pretending to think things one didn't think for 'form's sake'... but she didn't have time so left it at that.

"Good God no." she clung very firmly to the weapon, "Unless you want to disarm me, remember I took you prisoner. They think I'm going to redecorate this pleasant glade with your innards, and you should probably keep that up. Remember to be a bully when they are watching. Don't let the mask crack or Felix will be on you like a hawk."

That would be the Felix Cato had met at the airport. The Tzarina jumped suddenly as someone gave a pained grunt from the bushes to the South. This was quickly followed by a rustling of movement and a blast of gunfire. She swore, then bounded with surprising speed behind a fallen tree stump.

Then everything seemed to be moving very, very fast. There was a tinkling sound as if a can had rolled into the clearing, then an almighty flash and bang that left the ears ringing. People were running, guns were blazing and a huge individual (about 7 foot and built like a professional wrestler) in a black uniform that completely covered from foot to toe had flung himself at Cato in an attempt to shield him from the Tzarina's weapon.

She had stopped moving, sitting slumped against the stump, breathing heavily, presumably having absorbed one or more rounds.

Some metres away though the search for the second shooter was still on, although it hadn't stopped a radio operator from radioing in victory, "We have both individuals. Primary target and one man are injured. Please send med-evac."

When the tiny flashbang rolled into the grove Cato was not at all ready for it and simply cocked his head at the tiny cylinder, and when exploded he simply fell over ears ringing and eyes rolling and blank.

"Behind the bush," he mewled in what he assumed was a game attempt at an aristocratic drawl. He wasn't quite sure how one sounded as his immediate family had either spoken in brunt roars or the appropriate female drone. "Over there," he flopped a hand randomly to the last location he had seen the Tzarina; He was entirely unaware of her situation and his own was perhaps beyond him at the moment.

A foot landed on his hand and the click of a radio suggested there was someone standing directly over the Prince, "you clumsy fool. Watch where you're putting that boot." This took no acting whatsoever as the offending foot was standing on a few of his fingers and exerting more downward force than the Prince thought possibly. "I say..." finally, giving into the forces of nature and the demands of his body, Cato passed out, his head lolling to one side, and the body, so recently wriggling for freedom, fell limp.

"Is he awake?" someone asked in a familiar (probably horribly familiar) lilting Dyellian accent.

"No idea. I believe he will come around soon Inshallah."

Some time while Cato had passed out he had been moved to a rather plush looking hospital and changed into one of those unfortunate surgical gowns that doctors took joy in inflicting on their patients... Right now he was being attended by a severe old nurse who seemed to be all nose and chin with a pair of beady dark eyes nestling somewhere under rigidly arranged steel grey curls.

There was also a Chekist. Not Davies but an unctuous looking male, of Middle Eastern extract. He wore slicked back hair and a broad grin once the Prince awoke, "Your Highness." he crowed, "We are pleased you are back with us. Sadly the traitorous b$^(£ still lives, but this situation is not one which will continue for long. We wish to know if you would accept our offer of Tzardom?"

"Oi." the nurse waggled a meaty finger at the Chekist, "I'll have none of this in my ward you'll make him die of fright."

"Pardon me matron." he actually sounded contrite... although she looked like the kind of woman who could wrestle the individual who had flattened the Prince into submission...

It was warm. If was soft. Unfortunately Cato's natural language had no word for 'fluffy' but had it this would have been the opportune moment for its use. A wheedling voice seemed to be calling him back from his cozy cocoon and pulling him into, once he had open his eyes, the sterile walls of hospital.

The Prince's first image upon opening eyes was a woman who have been his late mother; rotund, grizzled, and capable of lifting a pig under either arm. He was very tempted to burst into tears but before he could do so his eyes roved to another figure, this one seemed malign and dark as if someone had just experienced some deal of pain and he was the only one to see the joke.

"Did you just say b $ ^ ( £? Pound sign? What?" His head swam with residual lights and the orchestra of his mind seemed only to begin warming up. "The Tzardom?" A flash of memory. "Oh, yes. Someone needs to sign the warrants." A hand was removed form beneath the linen sheets and applied to Cato's forehead. "Everything must be done properly of course." He gave what he hoped was a machinating little smile, "very smoothly is how things must go. If it is the will of Parliament I believe we can... accommodate each other. Sir I accept." Cato sniffed with as much indignity as he could at the nurse without hopefully offending her and settled amongst his pillows to better study the man delivering this news. "Where is she? The Tzarina... Where am I for that matter? And what happens next?"

OOC: Sorry for the lack of posts. I just really haven't felt up to writing much. Considering that quite a bit has happened I'll have to assume my guy stayed back.

"This Sir is the Saint Jude Hospital." the Nurse sniffed, looking at Cato as if he was about to keel over dead at any moment, "The most prestigious private hospital in Bath."

"The only private hospital in Bath." the Chekist supplied, which earned him a glare which he managed to ignore this time, "The Tzarina is currently in the Saint Caedwalla Medical Centre for Serious Criminals."

"As soon as you are up to moving around." he continued, "We can get you married, then we can rid the country of the little vixen once and for all."

__________

"Had to be done." Quentin sighed, he was a very tidy man and bodies offended him.

Davies just smiled weakly in response. She didn't stand up. Cato had been quite right, she had stayed behind when she had been ordered to leave. Dyellians weren't very reliable when it came to following orders...

She had been the one who spotted the TWEP troopers and had shot one, although the low velocity silent round had been fully absorbed by the vest the man had been wearing. That was about when she logically should have been filled so full of lead they could have sharpened her head and called her a pencil. But luck had been with her, and she had bolted, catching a round in the calf just before making it back to the truck...

Which is when she should have died a second time. The driver it seemed though had wanted 'a little privacy' with her before handing her over to TWEP (probably in a deceased state)... which was a big mistake on his part. It had, she reasoned, been self defence, and besides he was a traitor, although technically so was she. He was a double traitor though, and that was worse.

Ditching the truck she had rung Quentin then hijacked a private vehicle, moved the body from the truck then driven to Welles, which was where she was now. Agua Pura would have been safer, it was friendly territory, but it would have been hard to slip across with Parliamentarian forces on alert.

So now she sat in a rocking chair in a disused Cheka safe house, her leg throbbing despite the hefty dose of pain killers, while Richard Quentin tried to figure out what to do now. All was lost, she would need to flee the country. Fasta Benj would do for a while, but soon that too would come under Parliamentarian control and by then she would need to be well out of harms way...

"I will ring Vasa." Quentin eventually decided with a sigh, "This has been a massive balls up. Vasa will do his nut."

Vasa though was surprisingly calm...

"I would hate to keep her Majesty waiting; shes deserves everything that is coming to her. If you send someone to fetch my luggage from the palace I feel up to be moving." Of course Cato now out of his post traumatic stupor felt quite hyped on adrenaline and the whole secretive manner of the affair only enhanced such feelings. "It was only a flashbang," he remembered to draw out his 'h's and keep the drawl. "The hospital has a wheelchair certainly, and though not for a moment do I need it, perhaps there should be one handy. My hearing, however fuzzy, has not abandoned me."

He fluffed his pillows and pulled himself still further up the bed, sitting now as if dictating from an Imperial court, "Things must progress quickly, as quickly as Parliament will allow of course. This is the hour." He paused momentarily, "someone must fetch my laptop as well there are things that must be done."

"It will all be organised your Highness." the Commisaar bowed obsequiously. This was exactly what he expected a proper monarch to behave like. He had been too young to come into contact with the last Tzar, but his daughter was frankly weird and so common.

"We shall bring the woman to you. For now we will return you to the palace if you feel you are ready." the nurse frowned disapprovingly at this comment, but didn't stop to intervene, allowing the Chekist to remove the Prince to a waiting armoured limousine while escorted by four security guards, one of whom was roped into pushing the wheelchair along just in case, a task he did with little grace.

Security at the palace was beefed up. It had always been strong, but it had been breached, so now it would be like trying to infiltrate the national gold reserve...

Some time after Cato arrived back at his rooms the Dyellians were good to their word, dragging the Tzarina in, dumping her unceremoniously on the floor. She had been dressed in a grey jumpsuit which presumably was the prison uniform. She had taken a gut shot during the fight and that was seeping, creating a dark patch on the uniform. She had also picked up a split lip, although that was almost certainly a result of later mistreatment. Her complexion was pale and she carried the unmistakeable look of someone who was struggling to stay conscious, "Your Highness." and despite everything her voice was clear, more than slightly mocking in fact, "We meet again, may I inquire after your health?"

Another Commisaar had brought her in. Truth was he liked the Tzarina, thought she was an amazing leader, had gone to see her in Cyro once, grinning inanely as she waved to the crowd of which he was a part. But what could he do? He was just a cog in the machine. He did do one thing though, he disobeyed the order to kick her if she got smart, the small act of disobedience giving him an unexpected thrill.

"She should not bleed so," Cato waved his hand imperiously, or in a fashion he hoped was. Admittedly he did not really feel up to the task of moving and his head was a little fuzzy as if someone else entirely was pulling his limbs about several seconds after he had thought the command. "It is most distressing. Think of the carpet. If she has not been attended to medically see that she is very shortly, it is rather unusual to marry a corpse." Some conspicuous honesty broke through however, "except in the case of my late great uncle." he thought for a bit longer, "we were always very worried about that."

Cato's eyes glazed over as if in a happier place before snapping back to the present. He looked down on the Tzarina and across to her handler, "I am all the better for your asking. In a few hours however I am told we are to be married, what do you think of that? A lot of things will change very shortly. Commissar," he snapped towards her handler, "fetch someone to stop her oozing she mustn't die... of this. It would ruin my good mood."

"She is a haemophiliac." the Commisaar assured the Prince, then added in case he didn't realise the importance of this, "It is a sign of true Djel descent." as was the peculiar habit of passing into a comatose state from rather minor injuries, but he didn't add that.

He turned on his heels, barking a few hasty commands out the door. Some moments later a cleaner appeared with a rag which he put under the unfortunate monarch.

"I promise you." she answered Cato smoothly, "Once I am restored to power I will annul the marriage and shoot you if you annoy me too much."

The Commisaar did kick her then, although it was aimed at her leg and wasn't very hard, "Silence!" he barked ferociously.

"I have been told." she continued undeterred, "That I have been ruled mentally unwell and placed in the guardianship of some random desk jockey which means I don't have to agree to a marriage. Got to love democracy in action."

The Commisaar kicked her leg again, "Silence!" he repeated, although in a distinct tone of resignation.

"If you live long enough, how do you plan to mobilize your supporters? They are nothing, and you will shortly be of no importance," Cato intoned loftily. "There is not need to strike the poor woman Commissar," and indeed every time the man had done so the Prince noticeably cringed and turned a paler shade of white.

"If we are to speak in generalities you are mentally unwell, terribly unstable, a danger to society," he laughed slightly at that. "If you are going to make a habit of kidnapping and execution then I do not see how you could possibly be a stable monarch, or indeed a person. In the old country the Church would burn people like you alive. I wonder what they do here? If you are naughty you will find out; allow me to assure you of that." It was apparent by wavering tone and stuttering speech that Cato was failing in his acting role and the hollow laughs that punctuated his speeches served to put even himself off. "Consider those my vows. Commissar when is this expected to take place?"

"Oh I don't have to mobilise anyone." she had adopted the familiar away with the fairies look, blinking vaguely at the room, "People mobilise themselves if they truly believe in something or someone."

"Whenever it pleases your Majesty." the Commisaar bowed, not kicking the Tzarina despite her spouting out the kind of fighting talk he was supposed to be suppressing, "I might add the sooner the better as it gives less time for the Royalists to mobilise and descend on this town in force."

What he didn't say was that a division of Junta troops from the 'Tzarina's Own Benjian' had encamped outside the city of Agua Sucia, blocking the motorway to all travel bar registered commercial vehicles, cutting them off from reinforcements in the event of a Tzarist push from the North. It seemed the Junta were perhaps showing their hand at last, although they were being typically cautious. He also didn't mention that spies had indicated a Royalist build up even before the Tzarina made her appearance.

"Of course not Your Majesty," Cato was slightly relieved by this and though he still hadn't he faintest idea what was happening or what would it seemed better if there were royalist troops on the ground, "all you have to do are clap your hands and stomp your feet and your enemies shall come tumbling down." He waved a hand dismissively at her as if he was tired or displeased with what she was saying.

"You are correct commissar as well; we mustn't waste any time; I have my own reasons," he templed his fingers hoping this was the malicious sort of thing to do. "I am unaware as to how this process works but if you will be so good as to arrange it," a small nod towards the Tzarina, "I believe I am prepared."

"As your majesty wills." the Chekist hurried to remove the Tzarina.

The afternoon would pass with an aura of hushed preparation. People here wanted to get things moving, but their were procedures that had to be followed if everything was going to be legitimate...

By the evening still nobody had bothered to inform Prince Cato what exactly they were up to, although finally someone did arrive to notify him of what Parliament had planned. It was another Chekist (no surprises there). This one was a woman, and would probably have been attractive were it not for the long scar up her left cheek, a blow which had also taken the eye which was now covered with a black eye patch.

"Chief Superintendant von Braum, don't get up." she introduced herself as she entered, completely uninvited, "I am here to notify you of proceedings. At 0900 hours tomorrow you will rise and get ready for your wedding at 1100 hours tomorrow. This will be held on palace grounds for security reasons. At 1400 hours the Tzarina will be executed and you will be Tzar. Is everything understood... and acceptable."

The 'acceptable' seemed dragged out and was pronounced painfully and with a minimum of respect.

A 'von'. Cato felt he would rather marry this woman; his head was still hazy, and even this little reminder of home brought a smile to his face. "Get up?" He knitted his eyebrows before nodding to the woman as she finished her speech. "in theory this is ideal. The execution may have to be prolonged for some hours, naturally on the same day, however there may be some other business that requires attention before such an hour."

He snapped his fingers a few times as if trying to remind himself of something, "I will be needing some items of course for the marriage; if you could arrange for someone to manage them. I had four guards with me at the airport, they have been left behind thus far, but as for a best man and witness we shall be needing them. Are there any specific religious items needed for the ceremony, any customs that will be adhered to? That is all, thank you, I will be going to sleep shortly, this day has been rather tiresome. Oh," again he snapped his fingers absentmindedly, "do you happen to know what happened to an... Inspector Davies? Was it Davies? Yes probably Davies?"

"Some other business?" the woman frowned, then both eyebrows raised, "Oh I see, yes, important I am sure from a liturgical perspective."

Her tone left the listener in no doubt that she didn't think a great deal of the 'liturgical perspective'... "There are no religious items necessary. Do you have a person in mind for best man, or can one be provided? I will send immediately for your staff." she continued, quite clearly implying she thought appointing one of Cato's staff to be the way of finding a best man that least inconvenienced her.

The mention of Davies drew a fierce scowl from the woman, "You are I assume, referring to Caitlin Davies? If she has wronged you, I regretfully inform you she has escaped custody after viciously murdering a Government agent. In light of her treason though, we have arrested her sister, Patricia Davies. Her trial is scheduled for this evening."

Apparently the Davies tribe had seriously annoyed Parliament. Although the demeanour of von Braum suggested a deep seated resentment for that family, far too deep seated to be born simply out of loyalty to Parliament.

"Fine fine." He nodded slightly. It was a common practice in Waldenburg and entire families were often shipped to concentration camps until their luckless relative confessed and then were generally executed anyway. "It is no matter tomorrow I shall be well revenged. Thank you Commissar von Baum," he relished saying it, "I will sleep now and in the morning we will see what we can do in righting these problems of yours. If my staff could be here when I awake that would be most ingratiating."

--
The night would be a troubling one Cato knew; the bed was soft, the sheets cool, but his mind raged. All the shock of the day had saved itself up and broken loose when he climbed under the covers, and within a few moments after being left alone he was shaking violently. After some time the tremors subsided and Cato was left to think. In the morning he would be married to a woman he had barely met, who had held him at gun point, and everyone described as an insane and dangerous person. After that his imagination, such as it was, could fill in the details. In the morning he suspected a coup; Royalists dashing from house to house, dragging firstborns from their beds, large women in chenille dresses slapping revolutionaries...

Perhaps not. Even so, Cato hadn't the faintest idea of the morning or what it would bring and if half of what he had heard had been correct there would be a coup and Parliament would certainly get a good talking to if not a purging. And though Cato had met some rather unpleasant supporters of Parliament throughout the day, his knuckles flexed slightly at recalling the bleeding Tzarina, there was some questions of morality surrounding the whole affair.

After many hours of rolling amongst the blankets and half hearted attempts to fall asleep Cato recalled his laptop and began to fumble about his bedside table, in a manner that sent a drinking glass clattering to the floor, he pulled out the silvery rectangle and by the light of the screen sat up in bed to click through his messages. There were 213 of them. Most of them were the usual offers from corporations to endorse something or say something on their behalf however a line of censored messages from the Ministry of Imperial Affairs were blinking red. Cato clicked into them and began to read, and read some more.

After some minutes the laptop was turned off and set reverentially on the table. For a few additional minutes the young Prince just stared at the opposite wall and tapped his two front teeth pensively with a thumb. Finally, on the behest of a bone tired body, the Prince lay down. Still swimming with the events of the day the fact he was a notorious sleep walker and mumbler escaped him. Hopefully it wouldn't matter.

'Ingratiating' was clearly not something one would usually call von Braum. She grunted, "I'll see what I can do." she conceded grudgingly.

The night was easy. Everything seemed dead quiet. No fighting, nothing. Although the next day would prove very different, for as much as Parliament was trying to pretend it had eliminated the Royalist threat in it's arrest of Patricia Davies and several others, the reality was they had not diffused anything.

Dmitri Tomashenko and Thidrek Vasa were two big names that were still free and causing trouble. In fact, as the night drew on, it became known that Tomashenko was moving South with his forces and by morning time had encamped on the outskirts of the city. With the certainty of battle, all forces that were sure to be loyal to Parliament had moved into the inner city. Despite the obvious posturing the populace went about life as normal. This was nothing new in Dyelli Beybi.

It was really too quiet. 5 am was when the commotion broke out...

Cato wasn't quire sure why he woke up, especially after only an hour or two of uncomfortable sleep. He didn't jump out of bed and sat silently listening for anything; Inspector Davies warnings of assassins and secret threats. There was something far off, on the edge of hearing but nothing the Prince could find in his room.

With careful feet the Prince slid out of bed and set his foot directly onto the water glass on the floor and despite himself the Prince let out a loud yelp before slapping a hand over his mouth. Cato's eyes darted to the shadows of the room, looking for some sort of movement. Still not finding anything he dashed to his dress uniform where a sword hung limply from a sash. With a practice movement the sword was out and the blade tested; it was quite dull.

Dashing across the room the Prince took up station, his dressing gown hanging open, against the door, the sword aimed at chest height for anyone who would enter. On thinking about the subject the Prince felt that his sprinting was perhaps a little unnecessary, but there was a little spark that insisted the sword remain out.

OOC: Sorry for being away so long. Have numerous reasons of varying legitimacy which I will not clog up the thread with :P

Nobody seemed to have made an attempt to locate or hunt Cato down, and as the minutes ticked by it would become clear nobody was. There was gunfire, but it was some distance away. It was of course focused on the person of the Tzarina. Unfortunately for anyone seeking to avoid battle it was decided within a few minutes to move her to the Palace where security was tighter...

von Braum decided that now was about the right time to reappear, bellowing loudly that, "Your highness has no need for concern!" tactfully, just before stepping into the room.

She had had the forsight to gather the rest of Cato's men at some earlier time so they were here now.

"Your highness should stay here." she more ordered than insisted before trying to pretend nothing had happened "There is nothing to worry about, it is merely Diwali fireworks."

Which was funny since it wasn't Diwali and there were no Hindus in Dyelli Beybi to start with...