NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: Please see the OOC thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=581762) before posting.

Buntings fluttered from between lamp posts in quiet suburban streets. In quaint cobbled roads, tables had been laid centrally placed along the main thoroughfare, traffic denied entry for the festivities. And festivities they were, with the 200th Anniversary of the Cypresian Accession approaching rapidly, a national day of celebration at the glorious bicentennial had been organised, with street parties, neighbourhood balls, and the all-important opening of the Lessington Season - arguably the most exclusive social season in the Mediterranean.

The Lord Privy Seal, a venerable man of some sixty-four years, had finished the hand-written letters to society families across the globe. His hand ached as he finally signed and dated the final letter. A wax seal finished the affair, the coat of arms of the nation clearly visible - unmistakably Adenian.

The letters made their way across the globe, hand-delivered by select members of the Royal Mailcoach and Sorting Corporation, characteristic in their military-style uniforms of the International Delivery Regiment. The letter would read:

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Meanwhile, in the great ballrooms of Lessington Palace, windows were being cleaned, chandeliers polished. Uniforms were being freshly tailored in their workshops, the finest materials procured for even the servants' dress. Silks, velvets, and the finest ermine were procured for the Lords', and the best cloaks and suits for the Common House of Parliament, most of whom were members of the upper classes, the strict social heirarchy shining through.

The Opening Ceremony would begin in days, a firework display planned to start the occasion in a style being classically Adenian: cultured, substantial, and yet unmistakeably extravagant.

6:28 PM, Chancellery
Falkenberg, Leistung

The off-white, almost faintly yellow parchment had somehow reached the top of Chancellor Ringkampf’s stack of papers over the course of the evening, so that by the time he was sitting down to go over the quarterly budget reports, it was rather an Adenian stamped document which stared him in the face. He ran his eyes over it lazily, picking out the words “opera” and “equestrianism” and gagging as he did so. He continued, taking a sip of his coffee and remembering with a shiver the last time he had attended a “meeting of cultured individuals.”

He would attend of course, with his wife, and he would have a smile plastered on his face for the entire two weeks as if he was attending the birth of Jesus himself. Flicking his eyes upwards, he began crafting his epically insincere response. He was curious as to who would be attending outside of ODECON, though—perhaps he would ask Evan Bachmeier, the President of ODECON to accompany him and see if they couldn’t forge some new friendships amongst the nations of the world.

“Margaret?” Ringkampf said, pressing down on the intercom button on his desk to reach his secretary.

“Yes, sir?” his secretary responded, her voice vaguely droning as she packed up her things for the night.

“Margaret, would you mind delivering a letter for me to the Adenian consulate?” Of course she wouldn’t mind—if she did, it would be time for a career change, but Ringkampf always felt more comfortable being polite to his staff.

“Not at all, sir,” she replied. “Do you have it for me now, or should I wait around?”

“A few minutes at the most. Thank you, Margaret.” He lifted his finger from the button and picked up his fountain pen, scratching out a hasty reply on a nearby pre-stamped piece of paper.

http://img211.imageshack.us/img211/4756/officeofthechancellorfk9.gif
To: Lord Oswald Statler, Lessington Palace, Lord Privy Seal's Office
From: Office of the Chancellor
Subj: Royal Débutante's Ball

My wife and I would be honored to attend the Royal Débutante's Ball. Evan Bachmeier, the President of ODECON, has also expressed interest in attending, and will in all likelihood be accompanying us.

Sincerely,
http://img525.imageshack.us/img525/4432/ringkampfta8.png
Gregor Ringkampf
Chancellor of the Federal Republic of Leistung

The Gulfstream G550 was flying at a steady height of 30,000 Feet,The sun gleamed off the bright white paint of the plane,With just "Nomani Corporation" In Black.It was Luxorious yet simple.Just right for the owner.
Mr Nomani, Or Victor to his friends, was snoring loudly,Dribble rolling down his chin and a measure of whiskey in one hand.His widescreen tv blared out a newsfeed from Brittanican Adenia.The Main news story seemed to be the upcoming Lessington Season,which seemed to be an impeccable event,filled to the brim with foreign dignitories and other businessmen.
"Just the sort of people i want to aquaint with."Nomani Had told himself earlier that day.
He was hoping to aquire a deal with some of the nations there for production of weaponry.At the very least he was going to enjoy himself and attempt to flirt with some of the younger ladies.Atleast his wife wasn't coming,That would really put a downer on events.
The Tannoy in the plane suddenly burst into life,Making Nomani wake with a start.
"Mr Nomani, We are approaching RAS Harringdon,Please put on your seatbelt for the final descent."The Pilot said.
Victor reached for the seatbelt and clipped it into place.He had a swig of the whiskey and settled back into his slumber.
The Pilot,A young ex-military man spoke into his headpiece as he approached the co-ordinates for the Aerodrome.
"RAS Harringdon,This is Gulfstream November Oscar Mike 31,Requesting permission to land."The Pilot said...

Diplomatic Communiqué
To Lord Oswald Stateler, Lessington Palace, Brittanican Adenia.
From Secretary for Foreign Affairs Edward Scissenfeld

I would just like to say that I am looking forward immensely to your event. I will be attending personally with three of my body guards and an aide. This seems like the perfect opportunity to get to know ODECON and other nations leaders and representatives.
Awaiting your festivities with bated breath,
Edward Scissenfeld


Approaching RAS Harringdon, Whiskeasian Foreign Office Jet

Edward was more than a little excited. A week of drinking, gambling, socializing and most probably sex. It was a Whiskeasian man's dream and Edward was being paid to do it, expenses paid. That said it wasn't an easy job, he had to impress quite a few of the most powerful people on Earth. He looked around the plane, his new intern and aide, Marie, was sitting in the seat at the front of the plane. God he wanted her, she was perfect. Blonde, 5ft 7" perfectly toned, slightly tanned legs. And a complete prude. She had shot him down twice before and last she threatened to go to the press, not good for him. He could wait, he could wait. His security were scattered aboyt the plane. All good men they would look after him, not that they would be needed at an event like this. He leaned back and sipped the twelve year old malt in his hand.

The seatbelt light turned on in front of him and he started to buckle up.

"This is your Captain speaking. I hope you had a nice flight Mr Scissenfeld. We will be landing shortly."

With that the plane started the move down to the Aerodrome.

Palais de Prince, Bévue

The prince looked close to falling asleep as the courtier read the letter, stumbling over the English:

"With ze gree-at-eest of antikipations, I eagerly wait yo-ar rez-ponse and loōk forward to greeting you all at ze opening of keremonies.”

The prince scowled and waved off the man, “Non, nous n’allons pas assister.”

Jean-Auguste II, the heir apparent, who had been fidgeting on the divan next to his mother as the invitation was read, suddenly burst into a tantrum.

“JE VEUX ASSISTER!! JE VEUX ASSISTER!!”

The small boy threw himself to the ground and began to beat his fists on the the oriental rug. The princess leaned down to comfort her son:

“Mon petit, nous ne pouvons pas attender. Clairement, c’est un piège lâche.”

The little heir continued to wail and beat his fists. The prince sighed.

“Il peut assister.” The prince turned to the courtier, “Le dauphin va assister avec son gardien.”

“Oui, Votre Altesse Sérénissime” the courtier said before bowing and backing out of the room.

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To: Lord Oswald Statler

Jean-Auguste II, the heir apparent to the Principality of Bévue will attend the royal ball whatsit. He will be accompanied by his trusted guardian Comte Bernard III as well as four member of the Prince’s Guard. Naturally, this is a precaution against any nefarious tricks perpetrated by your kind.

The dauphin very much looks forward to attending the whatsit and will be arriving shortly.

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Prince Jean-Auguste le Pourpre

Palais Nigaudesque, Bévue

Marquis Philippe V, the head of the House of Nigaud, read the invitation himself. By “débutantes” he was ready to have someone pack his bags for him. He rang the bell on his desk and a foppish courtier skidded into the room across the shiny marble floors.

“Oui, mon seigneur.”

“Je veux assister” the marquis said, waving the invitation in the air.

“Certainment, mon seigneur. Seulement vous?”

“Et deux gardes.”

“Oui, mon seigneur.”

“C’est tout.”

“Merci, mon seigneur” the courtier said, bowing as he backed out of the office.

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To: Lord Oswald Statler

The Most Honorable Marquis Philippe V of the House of Nigaud will attend the opening of Lessington Season. He will be accompanied by two guards.

Palais Salaudois, Bévue

The normally squinty eyes of Comtesse Marie grew wide as she read the invitation.

“Maman! Un bal! Pour moi!” She turned to a lady-in-waiting nearby, “Mets mes robes dans une valise!”

The lady nodded and scurried off to pack the countess’ many massive dresses.

Shortly, the marquise entered. “Tu vas assister, mon chéri?”

“Ouais, maman, mais ouais!”

“Pour ma belle fille, bien sûr.” She turned to one of the courtiers that had followed her into the room, “Comtesse Marie va assister le bal.”

“Oui, ma dame.”

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To: Lord Oswald Statler

The most beautiful Comtesse Marie of the House of Salaud will attend the débutantes ball in the hope of being presented. Two of her ladies-in-waiting and a guard will accompany her.

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Marquis Nicolas III

Approaching RAS Harringdon

The three Bévuesque jets, all small, corporate affairs made by Dassault, were within several minutes of each other. After an unfortunate incident when the Salaudois jet had “accidentally” almost hit the dauphin’s jet midair, the flight had been uneventful for all three parties.

As the first of jets approached the aerodrome, the pilot radioed the ground, “Hello, this is on, yes? We would like ze permission to be landing, yes?”