NationStates Jolt Archive

A new day dawned. Golden rays of sunshine raced across the ground, illuminating all in their path. They crept up walls and over rooftops.

But in a land of tall buildings streched towards the sky, there were places of deep shadows.

But one could venture there, for the land was safe.

Dawn struck the window of D'ron's bedroom. He awoke. Today is the day. The day my life will change. In fourteen hours it would be the first time in a month he had seen Lesley. That alone was enough to make him nervous, not to mention what was going to happen when he saw her.

He got out of bed. It was time to run. He slipped into his running shoes, shorts and t-shirt, as well as placing a comm on his wrist. He left silently, and began to jog away from the door, out into the grounds. It was a seven kilometer run around the lake and back.

By 0630 he was ready for the day, dressed, as usual, in black.

*************************

The sun continued westward though.

It illuminated the Garden of the Gryphon, where the wedding was to take place.

A platform floated above the trees on anti-gravs. Near it ran a broad cobbled street, lined with trees. But these trees did not interfere with the observation of the street.

The rest of the park was a study in beauty. Carefully planned to appear random, the flowers, bushes, and trees grew together in harmony.

Color was everywhere.

**************************

Lesley awoke. It was hours past dawn in Cornith. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and looked at the clock. It was two hours until a Big Buffalo class dropship arrived to get her and her parents. She smelled breakfast. She went to eat.

**************************

Federation Government and Military Internal Memos

<TO: FEDERATION of Sentient Peoples Central Air Control>
<FROM: CO FSPCAC, Colonel Jack Sharp>
<RE: CLEAR Air Corridor Today>

Assign the air corridor from the western coast of the CSP to the Garden of the Gryphon, one hundred kilometers wide, looping down to approach Griffin ITH from the South, passing over the city, as Condition Clear.

This is for the arrival of numerous International VIPs.

<Message Ends>


<TO: INTERNATIONAL Relations Directorate, Ambassadorial Personnel>
<FROM: MINISTER Johnathan Currey, IRD>
<RE: MEETING with Multiple International VIPs>

This is it people. Everyone be on station ten minutes prior to the scheduled arrival time of your VIP.

<Message Ends>

**************************

Four Peregrines lifted off from a base in the Peithan Commonwealth. They were to fly a coastal path around to the Clear Air Corridor and fly it all the way in, to test the tracking and traffic systems.

After about thirty minutes, they were high over the ocean to the west of the Commonwealth of Sentient Peoples.

High being a relative term though.

Much of the traffic could be expected from orbit.

The Peregrines were only at about 46,000 meters.

They swept in fast, top speed really, trying to simulate a space landing. Peregrines were better for the atmosphere than a bubble drive.

They flew in across the slowly being rebuilt country that used to be Why War. People were beginning to move back in.

The fields were in full bloom, and the crops were rich. Great stands of trees dotted the landscape, especially along the rivers. Rolling greenry flowed by below as the Peregrines crossed where the border used to be. It was still under heavy deconstruction as the border security items were being relocated to other locations.

As the pilots glance downward, they saw the approach of the Garden of the Gryphon, and turned southward. Curving around they lined up on an approach vector which carried them over the harbor and the multitude of ships, including a full surface battle group. Had the pilots been watching, they might have seen people staring at them, or even waving at them. The roar of the Peregrines engines did not damage the kilometer tall spires of downtown, though. The planes flew well above the level of normal aircars, and had nothing to worry about.

They dropped into the approach pattern for Griffin ITH, though and came down vertically, one by one. Once they each had landed, they took off again, and shot back northeast towards Peitha.

Landing at nearly the same time was a Big Buffalo dropship, bringing Lesley Collins and her parents to the wedding.

Of course, airlimos were beginning to arrive as well. They needed a lot of space, figuring on a large number of International Guests.

**************************

D'ron began to put on his dress clothing. High necked black shirt, with gold flashes. Not gaudy. Just enough. Black military cut slacks, gold piping down the side. Freshly polished black boots. He buckled on both his pistol belt and his sword belt as well. He hefted Kánomegil, in its scabbard, and clipped it to the belt. He checked the charge on the pistol and slid it into the holster. He hoped he wouldn't need the slug thrower, but it was best to be prepared.

Next came the cloak-like cape. Black on the outside, it layed over his shoulders when he stood still, hiding his entire form, stopping an inch above the floor. The inside was a blinding gold.

**************************

Lesley put on her wedding dress. This would happen. Everything would be right.
http://www.priscillaofboston.com/images/gowns/front/27142721FF.JPG http://www.priscillaofboston.com/images/gowns/back/27142721BF.jpg

**************************

D'ron wondered. This was the first major scale use of nano-tech, to surface the platform where the wedding would take place. Chairs and tables would be formed at need. He hoped nothing went wrong. He remembered his first experience with the nano-tech, only the day before. He'd dipped his hand in a bowl of nanites and watched as they had gloved his hand. Then, when the scientist had pressed the button, they fell back into the bowl.

It had been rather frightening.

**************************

[OOC: Your transportation shall arrive to the Griffin International Transportation Hub. Your representatives will be met and transported to the wedding by a member of the International Relations Directorate. Please arrive accordingly. Any attempt to deviate from this will result in, um, bad things occuring. If you are stupid enough to attack this event, it will be ignored. This takes place exactly a month after the conclusion of Blu and Maica's wedding.]

"Griffon International Transportation Hub, this is Diplomatic Loki-005, carrying Ambassador Kabapu of the Ordinance Enabled Karmic Hegemony of Karmabaijan, requesting appraoch and landing vectors."

http://okcac.freeyellow.com/kabapu.jpg
Ambassador Kabapu
Ordinance Enabled Karmic Hegemony of Karmabaijan Diplomatic Corps
Triumvirate of Yut
Titan

http://www.silentrequiem.net/triumvirate/images/trium_insig.gif

We would, of course, like to attend.

"Griffon International Transportation Hub, Personal Loki-24833, carrying Sky Marshal Knives of the Jingoistic States of Berserker, requesting approach and landing vectors."

http://images.google.com/images?q=tbn:KOk_52AQCmMC:meri-chan.tripod.com/knives1.jpg
2nd Fleet Sky Marshal Knives
Titan Defense Forces
http://www.silentrequiem.net/triumvirate/images/trium_insig.gif

"Diplomatic Loki-005, please follow the following approach vectors. Welcome to the Federation of Sentient Peoples, Ambassador."
<Transmission of approach vectors>
"FSPCAC, over."

***********

"Personal Loki-24833, please follow the following approach vectors. Welcome to the Federation of Sentient Peoples, Sky Marshal."
<Transmission of approach vectors>
"Please wait approximately ten seconds before beginning your approach. Thank you for your cooperation. FSPCAC, over."

[OOC: The approach vectors send the craft on the flight plan described in my first post. That will be true for every star- or air-craft that comes in."

[OOC: Bit of time-warping going on here; so from my perspective, this is just after the funeral of Zhakarov, but just before the Coronation (which hasn't happened yet thread-wise, but will take place in roughly six days).

Background: Rialla has just returned to the Empire from her first official state visit as Empress In Waiting, from Diablo, where she attended the funeral of the late Zhakarov.

Semi Ran, at the request of Rialla, is departing from his just-completed inspection of the in-construction EOTED orbital colony Vilya Elenosto.]

A pair of cruisers depart EOTED Space - one passing by Vilya Elenosto en route, and the other departing from a previously docked position with the colony of that name (and one of which slows momentarily as the occupants take a closer look) - and shift position to a geosynchronous NEO above the Federation of Sentient Peoples. A hop and a skip, almost literally.

* * *

"IDSS Glove of Fate, carrying the Empress In Waiting, Her August Self, Empress Rialla ux-Rihad, and Imperial Palace Guards, representing the Empire of The Eternal Dawn, pre-requesting approach vectors for Dropship #291. Griffin International Transport Hub, please respond."

* * *

"IDSS To Catch A Falling Star, carrying the High Lord Commodore Semi Ran, pre-requesting approach vectors for Dropship #102. Griffin International Transport Hub, please respond."

[OOC: Assuming Kabapu and Knives have already begun there approaches...]

"IDSS Glove of Fate, approach vectors for Dropship #291 follow."
<Transmission of approach vectors>
"The dropship is clear to begin its descent. FSPCAC, over."

**********

"IDSS To Catch A Falling Star, approach vectors for Dropship #102 follow."
<Transmission of approach vectors>
"Please wait approxiamately 15 seconds before beginning your descent. FSPCAC, over."

OOC:

Will Milantos be allowed to attend?

Cavile awoke. He remained still for a moment, remembering the events of the previous night, before moving silently from his bed, leaving his three latest concubines slumbering peacefully, and stepping into his wardrobe. As he did so, he pulsed a thought towards Kluy;

Make sure that the three sisters are gone by the time I finish dressing, and assemble a ceremonial guard, for a foreign wedding. Hjilp is to command in our absence.

He emerged into a vast, circular, marble-floored chamber, with a vaulted glass roof which let in the bright daylight from the two suns overhead. The perimeter of the room was lined by a single silver rail, upon which was hung a staggering number of articles of clothing, from a thousand worlds, cultures and periods. In the centre of the room was a tiny wooden pedestal, upon which sat a small bronze lamp, which seemed of extremely simple craftmanship, and much worn by the ravages of time.

Cavile approached the lamp, and gave it a brief stroke, at which
pink smoke began to pour out from it, coalescing into the heavily muscled and immaculately dressed shape of Lavareilarzayin Yyyillarklish Shallallabzin III, who was looking just a little the worse for wear after Cavile had tortured him for insulting the avatar of S.H.O.D.A.N. who had recently visited. The Djinn turned to Cavile, and bowed until his long beard nearly touched the ground.

"Your wish is my command, master."

"I will be needing garb for a foreign wedding."

As the djinn sped off in a scented blur to assemble the relevant items, Cavile sent a brief thought towards Kluy;

Has the Elentari replied to my invitation yet?

Not yet my lord.

Soon, Lavareilarzayin returned, carrying a purple silk doublet adorned with hundreds of tiny clear diamonds, as well as matching hose, and a light pink cloak, also made of fine silk. After dressing Cavile in such, he added a tiny silver ring, with a perfect diamond set in this also. Finally, Cavile buckled on a dark pink sword belt, which blended in well with the doublet, upon which was hung his rapier, and took up a silver lyre, before dismissing his tailor, and gracefully walking through his room and down the long, spiraling staircase, to where Kluy and the guards awaited, all in purple, with finely crafted silver armour, and silver swords hanging at their sides. Each warrior also held a silver instrument, some of which would be recognised by a man, and some of which would not be. Kluy himself stepped forward, holding a steel box.

"This just arrived for you."

Cavile took the box, and opened it, to reveal a piece of soil, three feet across, in a pentagonal wooden pot, containing a cluster of beautiful orchids, and a note, upon which was written the simple phrase, 'From an admirer'.

"How wonderful! It is long since I last slept the sleep of the Orchid. But such must wait until after the party! Anyway, the sleep of the Orchid is best shared."

The prince closed the box, and handed it to a nearby servant.

"Take this to my chambers. Do not open it."

And then he strode from the tower, and the guards filed out behind him, to where the Dragons waited.

A few short minutes later, those present just outside the main entrance to the Griffin International Transportation Hub central reception building were rather surprised to see five rather large Kalessin dragons pop into existance. The onlookers were even more surprised to see that their scales were a delicate pastel violet, with the normal stench of dragon being drowned out by a floral perfume, which made any elves who might smell it feel a little dizzy.

Then, Prince Cavile al Pulcherise vaulted lightly down from his elaborately decorated velvet saddle, strummed his harp and walked towards the doors, followed by his guards, who were about a score in number, including Kluy.

Cole Serway was going on a business trip to Peitha. And the fastest way to get there was by a ballistic transport from the Griffin ITH. So that is where he was.... WHAT THE HELL!?

Something large and pink had appeared in front of him. In fact, a number of somethings had. He swerved tightly around whatever it was and continued on his way. Damn military. he decided. Think they own the fricking skies.

***********************

As Cavile and his escorts dismounted, a slightly harried looking man burst through the front entrance of the ITH. He is dressed in a bright flowing cloak of red, wearing pale blue, with green boots.

He approaches Cavile and bows. After righting himself, "Welcome to the Federation of Sentient Peoples, Your Highness. I am Representative Gulick, of the International Relations Directorate. Your transportation will be arriving momentarily, for we were not expecting quite so large a party."

About ten seconds later, giving Cavile time to respond, four air-vehicles arrive. One is a short limo, while the others are what appear to escort vehicles. "Ah here it is."

[OOC: I'll let you figure out who goes in what vehicle. They could all fit in the limo, but it would be tight.]

Once Cavile and company are onboard their vehicles, they lift smoothly and leave the ITH. Once clear of the secure zone, they smoothly accelerate upto 300 kilometers per hour. They decelerate smoothly as well, coming to a stop on a floating platform, in the middle of a beautiful garden. The platform faced west.

The representative climbs out of the airlimo and gestures to the blank platform. "It would seem you are the first to arrive, Your Highness. So you may sit whereever you like." But there are no chairs visable. And then...

Chairs begin to fold out of the surface of the platform, growing like weeds. Nanotech, obviously, if one knows what it is. Quite perhaps confusing if one does not.

Gulick idly wonders as he speaks what the Kalessin dragons are doing at the ITH, while their masters are here.

Two blazingly bright coloured - ceremonial, from the looks of them - dropships hurtle out from underneath the warships To Catch A Falling Star and Glove of Fate. One takes the lead - and it's marked with the new Imperial Sigil, the Three Star Sigil with a single blue lightning bolt hurtling down between the Three Stars.

Clearly, this is Rialla's dropship. It hurtles down, punching through the atmosphere with ease - and not glowing with the heat of re-entry seen on conventional ships. Why? It doesn't touch the atmosphere - and so there is no friction involved. No friction - no heat.

Within seconds, it is on the insertion path dictated, and blaring a "We're comin' in hot, FSPCAC - you better have our LZ cleared!"

Yes. Well, dropship pilots are generally quite... loud.

FSPCAC does not respond. They feel somewhat, um, insulted by the comment. Instead, a beacon switches on, guiding each dropship in.

The dropship carrying Rialla - and her two guards - hurtles down through the air, coming to the customary rapid halt bare inches above the ground before hermetically sealing to whatever landing medium is beneath it.

* * *

Semir-randil's dropship follows, the prescribed fifteen seconds later, coming to rest a few metres away from the first EOTED dropship that came down.

* * *

One of the walls on the first dropship dissolves, trickling to the ground and reforming in the shape of a 'gangplank'.

And the two guards march out, coming to a halt an exact four metres from the 'door', and facing inwards at a smart attention posture.

They declare in booming voices, "Empress-In-Waiting of the mighty Empire of The Eternal Dawn, Her August Self, Rialla ux-Rihad!"

A man steps forward from a small shelter at the edge of the tarmac. He is obviously a soldier, dressed in the full mess uniform of the Federation of Sentient Peoples.

His rank insignia proclaim him to be a full colonel, ground forces. His cape blows softly in the light wind sweeping across the tarmac. He is unarmed except for the sword, and a suspicious bulge in his boottop.

He stops three meters from the guards, seven meters from the 'door.'

Rialla strides out through the door, halting five metres out from the door - and three metres from the SP officer. She has high, strong cheekbones, and an angular but shapely jaw. Her face manages to be softened, yet hardened; her features are a study in elegant balance. Dark, vibrant brown hair sweeps back and down, swishing about her hips; just visible are her mildly Quendi-like ears, uncommon on a Nenyan. Her eyes are a stunning fiery amber; they are vibrant, and the crest of her iris is subtly flecked with tiny green and blue arcs.

She is tall; elegantly so. Her build is slight, but hints at a powerful frame. Her legs, however, are clearly powerful; long, shapely, and with a quality that suggests she could crush ribs between them with relative ease. She is, all in all, elegant and quite, quite stunning. It is no wonder that she is loved throughout the Empire.

She wears a green, blue, and gold shift that sweeps down to her ankles - in a flowing combination that makes it tough to distinguish where each colour ends and the next begins - except the Three Star Sigil - Imperial form, with the blue lightning bolt dividing the Three Stars through the middle - which rests against her breasts. Everything is covered, but not much is left to the imagination; the shift hugs her figure almost exactly, with the exception of her pelvic region and lower legs; the material there is slack, and swishes slightly. She also wears a rather slender looking scabbard, with a jewel encrusted hilt - naturally, the jewels form the visage of the Three Star Sigil. The scabbard, however, is decorated merely with a concoction of gentle, curving lines - with tiny white specks decorating the surface. Probably symbolic of stars, or something.

She speaks; her voice is soft, lilting, and has a clear Nenyan accent - that is to say, her vowels are rolling, and sound faintly sing-song. She has a diverse voice; her tone is anything but singular, and it tends to sweep up and down through the centre of her range as she speaks - perhaps that accounts for the sing-song element.

"Greetings, Colonel. We trust We are neither early nor late?"

The Colonel bows after Rialla addresses him. Very low. He goes so far as to nearly have his left knee touch the tarmac. He uses the bow to help hide his reaction, though.

The holo they gave me for breifing told me she was beautiful, but such presence. I was not expecting it.

He straightens. "Of course not, Your Magesty. Transportation should be arriving..."

An airlimo arrives just then.


"....now."

Thank god that I got someone normal, and not the Kalessin delagation and their dragons.

It's at this point that the other dropship falls out of the sky and lands not too distant from the first.

Without pause, the 'door' does it's little bit of pomp - and down the ramp comes Semir-randil.

Rialla whirls to face Semir; and Semir's eyes lock onto Rialla.

The tension in the air is quite tangible; cut it with a knife? It's so thick that if it were real, whole nations would be suffocating right now.

Semir clears his throat. "Highness," he acknowledges, with a graceful bow.

"High Lord Commodore," Rialla returns. Neither manages to speak without their voices waivering mildly.

Rialla clears her throat, now. "We'll travel together," she informs the Colonel - although this is fairly obvious, Rialla's mind has gone somewhat blank and it's the only thing she could think of to say. She walks towards the aircar with all the dignity she can muster; and Semir follows, likewise, with all the dignity he can muster.

The Colonel tries very hard not to clear his throat. Or cough. Or do anything. His face remains as blank as he can keep it. But his mind does not. But he quickly forces the thoughts down. Very quickly.

Nenyans were reputed to be able to read minds after all.....

He opens the door of the limo for Rialla and Semir, then follows them into the vehicle.

It is richly adorned, including a holo display and a minibar. He does not expect they will need either.

As the airlimo reaches the edge of the ITH facility, it is joined by three identical escort vehicles. The four vehicles, much like the ones the Kalessin delagation was in, quickly and smoothly accelerate upto 300 kph, and arrive shortly.

As they exit from the vehicles, they might notice the ceremonial guards, dressed in full mess uniform, but holding glittering assault rifles. They look too shiny to be of any danger, but where they can fire is anyone's guess.

The colonel turns to Rialla and Semir, and the bandolier shifts slightly, causing sunlight to reflect off his unit pin. A striking Eagle, on a sword and star background. First Army, first corps, first division, first brigade, first regiment. The Presidential Guard. The 'elite' of the regular army units.

"We appear to be among the first to arrive. Where would you like to sit?"

Rialla tears her eyes away from that which they've been glancing at for the entire journey - Semir, who's eyes have been equally glued to her - in order to murmour, "I... We don't have any particular preference, Colonel."

Semir merely nods, clears his throat, and calls a halt to the distraction he appears to be suffering. Any psionics in the area would feel a faint >thrum<, like to a vibration, as Semir's mind briefly reaches out to the surrounding area - unconsciously - as a result of the lapse in concentration caused, paradoxically, by his concentrating on not losing concentration. He smiles, faintly, still, however.

Perhaps this wasn't the best time for Rialla and Semir to meet face-to-face for any meaningful period of time for the first time, after all...

The Colonel ignores the minor slip ups. He knew the way D'ron and Lesley had reacted around each other, so he was used to important figures acting strangely.

"Very well," he mumours. He leads them to the second row of seats. As Rialla and Semir are seated, he says, "I must excuse myself, Your Majesty, Lord Commodore. I have other duties to tend to for the wedding. I will meet you again after the ceremony."

He bows, and vanishes. The two Nenyans will notice, as they sit, that the chairs appear to shape themselves to the body of the occupant. And are quite comfortable. Soft even.

The advantage of Nanotech furniture.

To the sides of the front platform, a number of men and women in Full Mess Uniforms suddenly appear. The platform appears to be a most complex creation.

[OOC: There are hidden methods of transport, and stairs, in the platform and underneath. No one is acting like Kalessin's dragons here.]

TAGZ0R!!!

Nathicana sits aboard The Tempest, her personal shuttle, and awaits clearance to land. Revelling once more in the feel of oneness with her ship, she flexes slightly, giving the idling engines a tiny boost.

Lets hope this wedding at least will go off without a hitch, she thinks with a wry grin.

She had come alone, not wishing to be hampered by overzealous guards, nor be reminded particularly of relatively recent events involving them. Frankly put, she wanted to relax.

Recieving clearance, she resumes course, making an acceptable landing. She takes a moment to gather herself, shutting down the controls, and jacking out reluctantly. Rising, she smooths her simple black dress, bends down gracefully to retrieve her bag.

She walks with a confident air, exiting the shuttle, and making her way down the ramp as she casting about for the 'welcoming' committee.

http://home.mchsi.com/~ketri/wsb/links/nathidress.jpg

Emperor Gorrm would like to attend this wedding with a detachment of his personal guard. His 'dance card', so to speak, is free. He will arrive aboard the Monitor class shuttle Tortuga.

Dancing with the Sakkra... heh heh heh.

***

"I wonder if it's not too late to send someone?"

"Well, we do have Nameless Delegation #1 there."

"Can't be everywhere simultaneously..."

The Republic of Sunset would like to send the newly appointed Ambassador to the Triumvirate - Adm. Richard Jameson. This will be his first official visit to Sentient Peoples, and what better occasion than a wedding to begin his assignment?

He will be arriving with his wife aboard his private launch.

[OOC: *points to the open invites to the Triumvirate members* I'm going to go with everyone from the point of landing, to get this sped up a little.]

Nathicana sits aboard The Tempest, her personal shuttle, and awaits clearance to land. Revelling once more in the feel of oneness with her ship, she flexes slightly, giving the idling engines a tiny boost.

Lets hope this wedding at least will go off without a hitch, she thinks with a wry grin.

She had come alone, not wishing to be hampered by overzealous guards, nor be reminded particularly of relatively recent events involving them. Frankly put, she wanted to relax.

Recieving clearance, she resumes course, making an acceptable landing. She takes a moment to gather herself, shutting down the controls, and jacking out reluctantly. Rising, she smooths her simple black dress, bends down gracefully to retrieve her bag.

She walks with a confident air, exiting the shuttle, and making her way down the ramp as she casting about for the 'welcoming' committee.

Who she would notice immediately. A young man standing about 5 meters from the shuttle, dressed in a loose dark blue jumpsuit, overwhich he wore a black cape, lined with maroon. A jeweled dagger rested upon his right hip. He steps forward, extending his hand.

When she took it, he bowed from the waist, cape fluttering in the breeze, and lightly kissed the back. "Welcome to the Federation of Sentient Peoples, milady. I am Bruce Reynolds, Under-secretary for Triumvirate of Yut relations."

"Your transportation should be arriving momentarily."

A airlimo rounded the corner just then and pulled to a stop about a meter and a half away. He opens the door and allows her to get in, then follows her into the limo.

Emperor Gorrm would like to attend this wedding with a detachment of his personal guard. His 'dance card', so to speak, is free. He will arrive aboard the Monitor class shuttle Tortuga.

As Tortuga grounded, and the Emperor disembarked with his guards, an young woman stepped forward to greet him. She was wearing a long, floor-length gown of deep green.

"Welcome to the Federation of Sentient Peoples, Your Majesty."

She curtsied. "Transportation should be arriving..."

The airlimo pulled to a stop a meter away.

"...now." She opened the door. "Shall we?" She follows the Emperor and his guards into the limo.

"I wonder if it's not too late to send someone?"

"Well, we do have Nameless Delegation #1 there."

"Can't be everywhere simultaneously..."

The Scolopendran delegation is met by a middle-aged man in a navy-blue business suit. "Welcome to the Federation of Sentient Peoples. Our transportation should be arriving..."

Yet another airlimo pulls up, just a meter or two away. How many does the Federation government have?

"...now." The Scolopendran and the Federation man enter the limo.

The Republic of Sunset would like to send the newly appointed Ambassador to the Triumvirate - Adm. Richard Jameson. This will be his first official visit to Sentient Peoples, and what better occasion than a wedding to begin his assignment?

He will be arriving with his wife aboard his private launch.

The Admiral and his wife are met by a young Commander, Space Naval Force. He snaps to attention and salutes the Admiral. After holding the salute long enough, his arm snaps back to his side. "Welcome to the Federation of Sentient Peoples, Admiral, Mrs. Jameson. Your transportation...."

Once again the airlimo pulls up with its customary timelyness.

"...is here." He allows them to enter first, and climbs in behind them.


*************************

Each air limo pulls away from the landing pads, and as it leaves the ITH grounds is joined by three escort vehicles.

They accelerate up to 300 kph and proceed to the wedding's location, where the passengers may disembark.

"Why, yes. Let's." The Emperor is sporting the red and black Imperial Mantle, with an underlayer of a blue ceremonial wrap. His Imperial Guard are in light armor and carrying their standard Mass Driver rifles.

As Emperor Gorrm steps into the waiting limo, he looks about the interior. Quite resplendent. My compliments to your automotive industry."

One the Colonel is gone, Semir remarks to Rialla with a wry grin: "It's good to see that others have a love for a sense of timing, also."

Rialla smiles broadly. Under her breath, she murmours, "If I were feeling particuarly arrogant, I'd even go so far as to suggest that they copied us."

Soft chuckles emanate from both.

"Well, that's nice. We got anyone free?"

"Hm. Quagnon and Sabolom are just back from Sakkra. How 'bout them?"

"Sure, if they'll accept. Get 'em on a shuttle or somethin'."

(OOC: I do have someone deployable!)

Diplomatic Officer Magnus Hesche, commandant of the Scolopendran Diplomatic Corps, sits smartly in his blue-on-black uniform, occasionally peering out the window with a smug little smile beaming from his rugged face. Rubbing a chin that could crush diamonds, he grins. "Nice place ya got here. Sorry no one higher up could make it, but we've got some troubles at home."

"A pleasure, my dear," she says, smiling warmly, clasping her hands over his and giving them a brief squeeze. "Thank you for such a pleasant greeting."

A charmer ... and rather pleasing to look at as well. Excellent.

She slips into the limo gracefully, again smiling as he joins her. Along the drive, she makes pleasant small talk about this and that, complimenting him on the fantastic transportation and the beauty of his lands, what little she's seen so far.

On arrival, she allows herself to be helped out, then extends her arm in a silent request for an escort to Bruce.

"Shall we then, my dear? Or do you have other duties that will keep you?"

{bamp?}

As his guards took up station in the corner of the room, where they began to produce a strange, alien music unlike anything previously heard within the land of Sentient Peoples, and caused any elf who heard it to feel slightly unwell, Cavile gracefully strode over to where the Dread Lady Nathicana was standing, having just entered the room, and, bowing low before her, took her hand to kiss. As he rose, smiling gently, he addressed her in smooth, well modulated tones;

"Greetings my lady. I am Prince Cavile al Pulcherise. I do not believe that we have been introduced..."

Meanwhile, the hovercar drivers were feeling somewhat strange, due to the waves of pleasure which had been washing over them throughout the journey. The dragons, of course, had vanished in a puff of perfume as soon as Cavile had left the area.

OOC: Sorry for the delay in posting, been busy here.

THe Diplomatic Loki touches down with all the grace of a 30,000 ton converted piece of military hardware and Kabapu exits with a small breifcase. He walks toward the welcome delegation with the strong, purposeful stride of a seasoned diplomat.

http://okcac.freeyellow.com/kabapu.jpg
Ambassador Kabapu
Ordinance Enabled Karmic Hegemony of Karmabaijan Diplomatic Corps
Triumvirate of Yut
Titan

Nathicana blinks, her attention drawn away from Bruce for a moment to look with interest on the unique individual before her.

Not an elf, surely ... at least, not of a type I've met thus far. Quite the toothsome dish as well ... how intriguing. She allowed herself a private grin at those thoughts, her face still a proper mask of polite pleasantry.

She smiles pleasantly at the respectful greeting, her hand lightly resting in his for the kiss.

"A pleasure, your highness. Nathicana D'Aquisto dal Lupo of the Dominion," she says inclining her head politely, bending slightly at the waist. "Enjoying the party so far? I've but recently arrived."

Breaking a mildly tense silence that appears to have fallen over the two EOTED representatives, Rialla leans closer to Semir and murmours into his ear, "That music is... entirely vile, is it not?"

A response to Rialla leaning so close is not undue; Semir shivers, impulsivley, and tilts his head to reply in a hushed tone, "It scrapes upon my ears as iron upon bone."

Vivid.

Rialla merely nods. Returning to her previous permission - and hoping her effort not to blush at the proximity to Semir - she suggests in a more normally audible tone, "High Lord Commodore... perhaps we ought to mingle, as opposed to merely sitting here and hogging each others attentions?"

Semir bobs his head. "As ever, you are most wise, Lady - however... I will remain here, for now, if your Ladyship does not bid otherwise."

Rialla shrugs, and stands, eyes searching the crowd for a viable distraction from the intoxicating presence of Semir-randil. She decides, after a moment of thought, not to seek, however; that is for others to do. It is her place to be found - not to find.

[OOC: Damn first day of classes! This is gonna be a bit rushed.]

"Well, that's nice. We got anyone free?"

"Hm. Quagnon and Sabolom are just back from Sakkra. How 'bout them?"

"Sure, if they'll accept. Get 'em on a shuttle or somethin'."

The shuttle is met by a delagate, Senior Diplomatic Officer Jack Frost, from the International Relations Directorate, and the delagates, after a brief welcome, exactly similar to that of all the other delagates, are loaded into an airlimo that arrives as promptly as all the others.

They head off to the wedding in a similar manner as well.

Diplomatic Officer Magnus Hesche, commandant of the Scolopendran Diplomatic Corps, sits smartly in his blue-on-black uniform, occasionally peering out the window with a smug little smile beaming from his rugged face. Rubbing a chin that could crush diamonds, he grins. "Nice place ya got here. Sorry no one higher up could make it, but we've got some troubles at home."

"We are no stranger to internal strife in the Federation. It is a natural occurance in the life of any nation. I apoligize, but I quite forgot to introduce myself earlier. I am Isaiah Strobel, senior diplomatic officer."

A pause.

"And yes, the Federation is very nice."

"A pleasure, my dear," she says, smiling warmly, clasping her hands over his and giving them a brief squeeze. "Thank you for such a pleasant greeting."

A charmer ... and rather pleasing to look at as well. Excellent.

She slips into the limo gracefully, again smiling as he joins her. Along the drive, she makes pleasant small talk about this and that, complimenting him on the fantastic transportation and the beauty of his lands, what little she's seen so far.

On arrival, she allows herself to be helped out, then extends her arm in a silent request for an escort to Bruce.

"Shall we then, my dear? Or do you have other duties that will keep you?"

Taking her arm, he says, "No milady, I'm yours for the remainder of the eveni....event." He blushes slightly at the slip up.

As the Kalessin Prince approaches, he carefully remains on guard. All the escorts had been told to watch the Prince and his 'musicians' carefully. But he tries to let no external sign show. And none does, except for a slight tensing of the muscles.

THe Diplomatic Loki touches down with all the grace of a 30,000 ton converted piece of military hardware and Kabapu exits with a small breifcase. He walks toward the welcome delegation with the strong, purposeful stride of a seasoned diplomat.

The man waiting near the foot of the ramp blinks quickly at the briefcase, but says nothing about it.

Instead, "Welcome to the Federation of Sentient Peoples, Ambassador. I am Terry Freeman, Second Under-Secretary for Triumvirate of Yut Relations."

They are whisked off to the wedding's location in a similiarly effiecent manner as all the other guests.

[OOC: I'm assuming Bers is occupied as well, so....]

Sky Marshal Knives is met by a Commander Stephen Ford, Space Naval Forces. He greets the Sky Marshal in a similar manner as the others, saluting, then a formal greeting, followed by a personal introduction, then transportation to the wedding.

[OOC: Anyone else planning on showing is at the wedding. Start your posts from there. I'll give you an escort when I see your post. Assuming of course anyone else is coming.]

Nathi smiles, and replies to Bruce in a low voice, "Well then, I am very pleased to hear that, mi'lord."

She lightly lays her other hand over his forearm, giving it a slight squeeze as she feels him tense at the Prince's approach.

A ... problem here? I've little enough information on Kalessin, outside intel concerning the Melkor war ... something to look into.

"Let's see... The Dread Lady?" Jameson whispers to his wife. "Not if you want me to kick your ass, honey." she whispers back. "Hmm, well then it will have to be... Sky Marshal Knives."

Jameson and his wife Angela walk over to the Sky Marshal, cutting around several groups. "Sky Marshal Knives, I'm Admiral Jameson, and this is my wife Angela. I'm the ambassador for the Republic of Sunset. It's a pleasure to meet you..."

As Emperor Gorrm and his guard exit the limo and arrive at the entrance to the hall, they stop to take in the scene around them. Gorrm stands at a Sakkran average height of 7'4", and his guards are slightly taller. His deep-green scales have taken on a bluish tinge around their edges. He cocks his head at the sound of the music playing, and claps his mouth once, a sign of approval.

"It is a grand occasion. Look at all the dignitaries! I haven't seen so many in one spot since attending the Silver City's sport event." His spines on his neck rise and waver slightly.

The guard is also looking about, for a different reason. They remain two steps behind and to the sides of the Emperor at all times, watchful for any signs of suspicious behavior.

Cavile smiled warmly;

"If I must be honest, the party so far has been a bit tedious, but with your arrival, I see a vast change for the better. Truly, no party is worth coming to without a truly beautiful woman in attendance. Now, I see, this party is worth coming to!"

His smile widened slightly as he noticed Bruce tensing.

By this point, the platform is almost full. Besides the international guests, there are many from the Federation as well. There are probably 200 people in attendence. (203 if anyone bothers to count, not counting the uniformed personnel.)

Soon after Cavile stops speaking, enough time later to allow the Dread Lady a response, one of the uniformed guards approaches the Prince. "Excuse me, Your Highness, milady. But the ceremony is about to begin, and we request that your musicians not play for the duration of the ceremony, if this is acceptable, Your Highness." His tone, while respectful, fully indicates that it damn well better be acceptable.

"Why, how very kind of you to say, your Highness," she replies, her eyes glittering slightly.

Smooth bastard ... very smooth. Watch out for this one.

As the guard arrives and makes his announcement, she looks to both the men, smiling pleasantly, and says, "Shall we, gentlemen?"

She gestures with her free hand to where the guests are being seated, and waits for Bruce to take the lead.

All the escorts lead their respective guest to seats. Once all the guests were seated, and the Kalessin musicians had stopped their music, the band struck up their song.

First, a quiet rendition of the Federation National Anthem, Seventeen Come Sunday, during which a Colonel, who had not been seen before, escorted Mrs. Marie Collins down the aisle, moving to the left side and sitting down. And then, the Colonel who had earlier escorted the Empress-in-waiting and the High Lord Commodore escorted Jessica Smith down the aisle. They went to the right side and sat down.

That being done, the band progressed into the next song, Die Walküre. The best man proceeded down the aisle, accompanying Cortana, the maid of honor. That theme complete, the band moved into the next song, Conquest of Paradise, the song of Vanderhill, to which Johnathan currey escorted the next bridesmaid down the aisle. Another man escorted yet another bridesmaid up the aisle. The process repeated with Under Cover of Night, to which John-117 escorted a bridesmaid, and then yet another groomsman with a bridesmaid.

While this was going on, the Federation Military Choir filed in as well. Silently.

And then, D'ron came in. To the full fledged march of Seventeen Come Sunday, repeated quite loudly. His cape fluttered slightly behind him as he walked, and the metal work of his outfit gleamed, nearly blindingly.

The preist walked in through the front, as silently as the choir had moments before.

And then, the people in the back started to rise. Soon the whole crowd was standing, following the example. Lesley, a shimmering flame of white, stood at the back of the aisle, on her father's arm. And then, slowly, for the entire length of the song, Conquest of Paradise, the anthem of the Commonwealth of Peitha, she advanced down the aisle.

Her father left her at the front, with D'ron. They faced the preist together.

D'ron watched Lesley intently as she walked down the aisle towards him, the pure white of her dress cutting through the assortment of colors in the audience. Things near the edges of his vision began to grow fuzzy, as he could only see Lesley.

The speed at which she walked the aisle allowed him plenty of time to study her approach, filing every detail away. It had been a month since he had seen her in person.

Fortunately he was not required to speak at this point, for he was struck dumb by the sight of her.

*********

Lesley, though she was not aware of it, felt much the same way. D'ron's presence, incased in black, couldn't have been more offsetting of hers. And he just screamed vitality and strength as the metal and leather work gleamed. She memorized every detail of his form, and his face, and noticed he looked about how she felt.

Overwhelmed, and trying to hide it.

Rialla smiled softly at the manner in which bride and groom were viewing one another; her eyes gleaming gently, moistened slightly - impending tears, are, no doubt, not entirely unlikely.

Semir, for his part, watches stiffly, eyes on the ceremony but mind far away. A tiny inaudible sigh rattles between his lips.

Their hands not far apart, Rialla and Semir sit close together, unconsciously leaning towards one another - and, without even realising it, their nearest hands reach out... and fingers interlock, clasping gently.

Neither notices, so smooth and unconscious is the movement.

Nice music, eh?
Well, I prefer Moxy Fruvous, but that's not really appropriate for a wedding.
Maybe your wedding.
I do like the outfits though.
Yeah. Kinda reminds me of Battlestar Galactica.
Everything reminds you of Battlestar Galactica.
Shh, I think they're going to start now.

Nathicana of course, rises gracefully with the rest of the crowd, watching the proceedings with a little smile that for some reason, fails to reach her eyes on occasion.

She thumbs the band of her ring thoughtfully, not for the last time pondering somewhat recent actions, their implications, and of course, missing both the reasons for it all. The corners of her eyes tighten somewhat, though she continues to watch with a smile.

"She looks beautiful," she murmurs softly, "And he matches her brilliantly."

May they both be able to find the peace and serenity that seem to elude so many of us.

[OOC: Battlestar Galactica? Why?]

Then the priest spoke.

"We are gathered here, in the sight of the Holy Father, and of the Sun-star life-giver, in commence a union of two lives into the bond of most holy matrimony. In this joyous time, may Peace watch over us."

"Who presents this woman to be given to his man?"

David Collins rose from the front row. "I do."

"And by what right can you present this woman?"

"I am her father."

D'ron grimaced internally. This was the most foolish part of the ceremony, but it was traditional, so it had to happen.

"And who is it you present?"

"My first born daughter, Lesley Ann Collins."

"Very well." The priest inclines his head, and Collins sat down. "And who presents this man to be given to this woman?"

Jessica stood. "I present him."

"And by what right can you present this man."

"I am his only living family member." Normally it would be the mother who did this, but that wasn't possible in this case.

"And who is it you present?"

"My eldest brother, D'ron Christopher Smith."

"Very well." He pauses. "This couple wears the colors of purity. Do any here dispute this claim?"

No response. As it should be.

"We are here to wed to souls of Lesley Ann Collins and D'ron Christopher Smith in an eternal bond, blessed by the Holy Father and the Son. Does any one here have reason these two should not be wed? Speak now or forever hold your peace."

[OOC: Battlestar Galactica? Why?]
OOC: White clothes, and the fact that Quagnon is obsessed with BSG. At least, that's the main bit. Now then, carry on.

A voice, quiet and beautifully smooth, spoke into Nathicana's mind, sweeping through her consciousness like silk, and sending ripples of pleasure down her spine;

Quaint isn't it? This archaic concept of 'marriage'. Of binding yourself to one and only one lover. To me, and my bretheren of the Empire, it has always seemed like restricting yourself to one rose, which will wilt and die as it eventually bores, instead of having an entire garden, which renews itself constantly, new blooms replacing old year after year. But now, seeing this, I do find it faintly touching. Maybe this, not just the idea, but the ceremony, the ritual, helps to increase the joy of union. Wed the souls says the priest. Can such a thing truly be possible? A true and perfect joining in spirit as well as body?

Nathicana shivers in spite of herself at the voice.

Who ... no, not one I recognize ... perhaps ... She allows her lips to curl slightly into a wry grin, briefly, then slips back into the practiced, pleasant smile as she watches the ceremony.

Quaint? Perhaps ... oftimes foolish in some cases. It serves its purpose for some. For others, perhaps such things are best left alone. The ceremony indeed seems central to many. A contract, reaching to the divine rather than temporal. For those who value such arrangements, I would think it is a neccessary component.

As for joining of both spirit and body ...

She pauses for a moment in that line of reasoning, thinking instead of Jaime, their own quiet wedding, the vows spoken that night, and until quite recently, upheld. Which brought her to Devon, and their tempestuous past become present ... and from there her thoughts turn to the strong emotions both names elicit for wildly varying reasons.

On the one hand, there was the thirst for something more than what her life has been, to be seen for simply a woman, to allow herself to be needed, and need in return. Perhaps even attain that spark of purity and blessing the priest spoke of?

And on the other, her most base nature was satisfied, the reality of who and what she was, accepted without comment, nay in fact, appreciated and encouraged. A kindred spirit indeed, though far from anything one could call divine.

It matters little. Perception, after all, is reality. If two people choose to see it so, then for them at least, it is.

[OOC: Wedding at 2, philosophy at 3? Interesting. Glad I can provoke such thoughts.]

Seeing, once again, no responses, the priest continues. "Very well. Who among you can speak as to the character that these possess, in order that they might fulfill the vows they are about to make?"

A man near the back of the platform stood. "I can."

Another man stood, to the leftside, stood. "I can."

A woman, closer to the front, on the right side, stood as well. "I can."

"I can as well" came from an older woman near the center aisle.

The priest nods. "Very well." The people in the audience sat back down.

He looked at D'ron, and then Lesley, and smiled briefly. All the questions had been strictly pro forma, but they had a real bite to them.

A positive or negative answer, depending on the question, was a very bad thing. It'd ruin your whole day, in fact.

"As none challenge your claims to each other, let you now be joined."

"Do you, D'ron Smith, take this woman as your wife, wedded in the sight of the Holy Father and the Son-Star Life-giver, to love, honor, cherish, and protect her, in ill fortune and good, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, and holding only to her, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do."

"And do you, Lesley Collins, take this man as your husband, wedded in the sight of the Holy Father and the Son-Star Life-giver, to love, honor, cherish, and protect him, in ill fortune and good, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, and holding only to him, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do."

Suddenly, with a flourish of light, D'ron drew Kánomegil. He grimaced slightly as the blade, Elven-honed steel, as sharp as the day it was forged, sliced the thinest layer of flesh from his hand. Blood coated the blade.

D'ron extended the hilt to Lesley, blade in his hands. "This one is bound to my service, as long as I lead. I am bound to you until my death, and as such, the protection of the Sword of the Commander extends to you." Lesley placed her hands on the hilt. "Do you accept this service?"

"I do."

"Then may Kánomegil serve you as it has served me."

Lesley lifted the sword, then placed it back in the sheath. It had to be sheathed while the blood remained wet upon it to complete the bond.

D'ron and Lesley returned their attention to the priest, and D'ron clenched his right fist, preventing the blood from flowing.

How intriguing. Self-mutilation as proof of love? How...barbaric! Yet it is a strangely powerful gesture.

Sub-sonic rumbles pass between the Sakkrans.

It is quite different from our Mating Ceremonies, yes?

Yes. It is charming, but different

When will your Ceremony take place?

When it is time, not before.

"Eh, I hope that thing was sterilized."

Through clenched teeth: "Shut-up, Sab!"

[OOC: That was not part of the Wedding, in case people are confused. Kánomegil is an elvish sword, containing powerful magic. It is said that once the protection of Kánomegil is placed on someone, they cannot die while wielding the blade. It isn't true, but the blade can fight on its own, nearly. One's skill with a sword, assuming Kánomegil is bound that one, is increased twenty-fold while wielding Kánomegil. That piece of the ceremony was to extend the protection of Kánomegil to Lesley, as the blade can only protect the National Leader, his direct subordinate, and their families...... Magic. Not that I actually expect anyone present to recognize the ceremony.]

The priest appears slightly shocked at the amount of blood, but he had known that that was coming, and so was not surprised completely.

He cleared his throat, and then continued.

"As the Holy Father showed us the true example of love, and as the Son-Star Life-giver did, you bind yourself to each other. Though one hopes that you should never have to demonstrate your love in a similar manner, it is the standard by which all love is judged. The willingness to gove one's life for another."

"You have the rings?"

D'ron and Lesley, seemingly magically, produced the rings in their unjoined hands, D'ron's of which had stopped bleeding.

They slipped the rings onto each other's left ring finger, saying, "With this, I thee wed."

The priest smiles. "You may now kiss the bride." D'ron lifted Lesley's veil and kissed her soundly.

"I present to you, Mister and Misses D'ron Christopher Smith."

D'ron and Lesley turn to face the guests, beaming.

The guests begin to stand, as the band once again strikes up the theme, Seventeen Come Sunday.

D'ron and Lesley walk down the aisle, arm in arm, still smiling. They pass through three sets of guards at the end of the aisle, whose swords are raised and crossed, in arches.


As the couple passes under the first arch, the wedding party begins to file out behind them, followed by the families. During this, if a foreign parties escort had dissappeared for any reason, they reappear, and then lead the foreign dignataries to the rear edge of the platform, following the couple and party.

The rear edge of the platform faces a broad avenue, lined with trees, which do not obstruct the view, from the angle of the platform.

The Colonel, once again, escorting Rialla and Semir-randil, whispers into the air. Only one with exceptionally good hearing would hear the single word. "Now."

It is quite clear a command. And then....

A sound as if the very sky itself were ripping silences the softly mumouring crowd. A full squadron of Peregrine Advanced Tactical fighters roars over head. Where they had come from, it wasn't quite clear.

The shockwave rolled over the gathering, and then the sound of the engines caught upto the audience.

As the sound died away, the music rose up in a spiral of glory.

Few would recognize the seldom heard theme of the Presidential Guard, or at least, as that being what the music was.

Parade of the Charioteers.

Then the charioteers themselves appeared. While nearly.

The entire first rank of the Presidential Guard dropped their active camoflague as one. They were precisely one hundred yards away.

And then, drifting over the music, softly, though it was probably actually as yell, "Forward March!"

As each successive rank reached the magic spot exactly one hundred meters away, their active camo dropped. It spared no one, not the infantry, nor the heavy armor.

The left foot of every infantry man lifted and came down together. Then their right foot. Each was in full battle gear, coated in the deepest black, weapons loaded and ready to bear; helmets displaying everything around them.

Once enough space had begun to clear, the IFV's begin to drift forward, then the Main Battle Tanks and the Light Tanks.

The vehicles shimmered slightly in the sun, as the shields were fully active.

Each platoon of infantry, as they drew parallel to the platform, turned their heads and saluted, slapping their right fist to their breast, in the Roman style. Weapons were carried left handed on parade.

As each rank reached one hundred meters past the platform, they once again disappeared into the cloaking effect of their active camoflague.

[OOC: Well, I'll assume pre-arranged-ness, SP.]

From the sky above come fifteen gentle glints of white light, rapidly growing - but not too rapidly. After some time, they rapidly morph into the profiles of the needle-like X# fighters - and all bear both the Three Star Sigil and the FSP flag on their sides, side-by-side.

Locked into a tight formation, the aircraft wheel in a dizzying splash of acceleration - only a dull hum vaguely noticeable announcing their existance - and fly off towards the south.

Two or three seconds pass, and the X#s come roaring back again - well, roaring with pace, but not with sound - this time in a tight claw formation. Each fighter rotates and realigns again, and again, before dim lasers lance from between each aircraft, linking up and forming the letters

FROM EOTED, CONGRATULATIONS TO THE NEWLYWEDS

The fighters slow to a crawling pace, just thirty or forty knots, and ease their way past overhead. About halfway across the sky, the laser image shudders and vanishes. The X#s form up into a circular formation; several dart forwards, whilst the remainder whirl around them. Exquisite rolls and near-misses clearly choreographed to be just so follow; the deft fighters whirl into a veritable tornado-shape, and...

...fall into a flat delta formation, ascending slowly and departing sedately.

* * *

As the troops vanish, Semir-randil remarks quietly to Rialla, "Do you see my meaning? Machine mimics even the nature it has not yet observed. Yet it is not as effective, as ever."

Rialla nods. Their hands have long-since parted; but somehow they are each calmer than before.

[OOC: Anyone feeling a desire to add to the parade should go right ahead.... Nothing too big, now....]

As the X# fighters appeared on the horizon, the Kalessin musicians standing behind Cavile began to play, and their music, while still strange and alien, blended perfectly with the military band’s theme of Parade of the Charioteers, raising the anthem of the Presidential guard to new heights of beauty and splendour, and changing the overall effect from one tune, into two complementary themes, each supporting the other, while still being very different, each changing the other, while each still retained its own individual flavour.

And as the musicians began to play, at first softly, and then with greater power, rising up to join the Sentient Peoples band, the hard, military features of the X# fighters changed. Their cold metallic hulls took on a gentle pink glow, and the sharp edges became more rounded.

Then, the air was filled with the delicate scent of wild flowers, and the sun dimmed, just a little, so that the stars could be seen, and they too had taken on a soft pink tinge, so that the light that suffused the area was all of that same hue, reflecting off the solemn black armour of the guards and off the tough hides of the Sentient People tanks.

Finally, a barely audible, yet perfectly modulated voice whispered in the the minds of D’ron and Lesley.

May your love endure long after all these ancient stars, which now twinkle in the heavens, have flared one last time, and died. May it not fall to strife, to weakness, or to that most terrible thing of all, boredom. May it last forever.

And as they turned their eyes upwards, a small, yet widely scattered group of stars began to glow more brightly than the others, until a single gigantic symbol could be discerned, and that symbol was infinity.

D'ron had, of course, known about the parade ahead of time, being the Command-in-Chief of the Armed Forces, but the X#s surprised him.

More over, he was surprised by their color, and the fuzziness that occurred in them.

Must be a natural cause of the MI drive's interaction with the atmosphere. But it is odd.

Then he saw the sun fading, and the land turning pink about him. And the music began to register.

Cavile and his magic...

And then the voice struck his mind. He abruptly straightened, and shot a glance at Lesley, who appeared just briefly in shock. He knew who it must have been, but he could not look about, standing in front of everyone, to confirm it.

So instead, he thought, focusing nearly all his will on bringing it to the front of his mind. Thank You. He hoped the message got through.

As the last of the troops disappeared from view, and the aircraft flew away.

He turned to the gathered crowd and said, "Well, now that is over with, let's have a party."

When the crowd would look back upon where they had be seated, they would now notice their chairs to be gone, and tables of food and drink lining the edges of the platform. Something that looks suspiciously like a dance floor filled the middle of the area, and their were smaller tables with a few chairs in the unoccupied corners.

Before Cavile could wander into the party, D'ron approached him, Lesley on his arm. "Firstly, I'd like to apologize for that unfortunate misunderstanding at the Elf Party. Also, your music is welcome, just try not to bother the elven guests with it, please."

Watching the proceedings quietly, Nathicana gives a barely perceptible nod at the blade portion of it all.

Appropriate. I think I like it, though I don't understand all of what's going on there ... more of the mystical? Il Dio, but that sort of thing almost seems rampant outside the Dominion.

The parade and aerial presentation is of course, outstanding, and she watches in appreciation of it all, smiling.

Having been seated near Cavile, she takes the opportunity to greet the new couple when they approach.

"Congratulations to you both - I hope you have many years of peace and happiness together."

After Cavile responds, and they hear the Dread Lady, D'ron and Lesley turn to Nathicana. "Thank you, Dread Lady," Lesley responds. D'ron is busy staring at the top of Lesley's head.

She pokes him. "Ah, yes, um, thank you, Dread Lady. Glad you could make it."

Lesley smiles even wider. Almost as an aside, she says, "I assure you, we can talk more later, Nathi." Louder "But now it is time for dancing." D'ron grimaces quickly. He may love Lesley, but he hates dancing.

Lesley nearly drags D'ron out onto the dance floor, and as the music swirls around them, they dance the first dance. After about a minute, other couples begin to join them on the floor.

Soon the first song ends, and Lesley's father cuts in to dance with her. D'ron surrenders her, not without reluctance, and dances with Lesley's mother.

There are few unattached people at the wedding, so Jessica quickly becomes bored, having no one to dance with. She gets a finger sandwich and leans against the railing of the platform, eating it, appearing supremely bored. Her expression begs someone to talk to her.

Cavile smiled benignly at D’ron;

“It is already forgotton. As for my music, well, one can never account for taste of some races, but I shall inform my little ensemble that they should take pains to tone down their efforts so as to make them more in tune with Young Kingdomer minds.”

As Lesley hauled D’ron out towards the dance floor, Cavile bowed elegantly to Nathicana, and offered her his hand;

“Would you care to dance my lady?”

Nathicana looks him over speculatively, then gives a quiet nod. She lightly places her hand in Cavile's, and politely excusing herself with an assurance to return to her escort.

"It would be my pleasure."

With a demure smile, she gracefully follows his lead onto the dance floor.

Rialla seethed.

She could smell it. One of those... animal-minds from Kalessin had yet again proved an annoyance to the great Empire - and she would yet again be forced to tolerate it.

She smiled, amiably, but a finger on her right hand - the index one - flicks downwards slightly.

The mildest, tiniest signal of irritation; but for one looking, perhaps quite plain.

Semir merely smiles calmly - the pinkness of the X# disturbed him to the point of unbridled desire to rip the animal-mind... that claimed to be ancient... limb from limb.

OF course, mere fantasy. Semir was no fool. Animal-mind or not, it was sure to be mightily powerful with a sword - their ships and military assets were symbols of individual might, not group prowess.

Semir gingerly took Rialla's hand and openly leaned his head to one side, drooping it to whisper into her ear, "My lady, I trust my hand upon thine was not altogether unwelcome - do not answer here - so let us think of such, instead of the insult to our proudest achievement in public, hmm? Pleasant thoughts, Highness... pleasant thoughts."

Rialla smiles and nods, stating in a normal tone as Semir straightens, "As ever, your choreography of flight is impeccable, High Lord Commodore."

Her hand is proferred to be kissed, knuckles tilted to the highest degree of respect - ease of reach to discomfort of wrist.

Semir caresses her knuckles with the merest of kisses, straightens once again, and declares quietly, "Your praise, as ever, is welcome, Highness."

Eyes meet. Silently, the pair both declare to the other that they are well aware the pleasantness of mood is - at this point - quite, quite false.

That damned animal-mind, Semir murmoured in his mind...

Cavile, naturally, proved to be a superb dancer, and seemed to be highly proficient in every dancing style ever created, and whenever he began a dance, his musicians seemed to begin a new theme, exactly in time to his movements, at the precise beginning of the dance.

As they began the first waltz, Cavile whispered softly into Nathicana's ear.

"What was the parade like? I should have paid more attention to it, but with you present, how could I concentrate on such an inferior spectacle?"

Nathicana does her best to match his movements, pulling it off suprisingly well - albeit aided with her augmentations. Some of the styles are unfamiliar, and she finds herself on occasion relying on her enhanced reflexes to give the illusion of grace and style in place of skill and finesse.

Still, she moves with a fluid grace, and at his comment, she shoots him a ravishing smile.

"I see you're as smooth in your step as you are with your tongue, my dear," she whispers back softly, a teasing edge to her tone. "We politicians play far too deep a game to have our minds wandering in such a manner. I would suggest you find your focus, boy, before someone takes advantage."

Her eyes glittered with a touch of mischief. Clearly, she was enjoying herself.

After a number of songs, and perhaps twenty minutes.

Or was it longer? Between the music and general happy feelings in the air, very few of them knew exactly how long...

But it was time to cut the cake.

D'ron and Lesley went over to the wedding cake.

It was of gleaming white, columns rising into the sky. Flowers of black and gold adorned the sides.

The cake was huge. It would easily feed a small army.

D'ron smiled at Lesley, and arched his eyebrows. She smiled small at him.

He drew the sword again. The blade, sheathed in blood so much earlier was now clean. Lesley placed her hands on the hilt, with D'ron's, and they made the first cut into the cake. They then licked the cake and icing from the blade.

Not the approved use of the Sword of State. After D'ron reseathed the sword, covered in sugar and such, they finished cutting the cake with a regular cake knife, and ate the first piece.

Then?

Cake for everyone.

The cake is placed in front of Gorrm. "What is this confection before me?"

Thress takes a whiff of it, and hers as well. "I believe it is called "cake". A sweet dessert meant to be served at momentous occasions, such as this."

"Cake. Fascinating!" He slides a piece into his lipless mouth, and seems to stare into space for a moment. "It is sweet. Very sweet! Oh, I may go into shock!"

Elegant dancers the pair, Semir and Rialla are unpolitically oblivious during the music - only the cake withdraws them from silent distractions.

Their eyes locked throughout their dances; minds interacting subtly - but on a conscious level. Gentle interactions - the underlying developing language of the Nenyan society-

A thousand instants stretch to eternity for a while, and the world spins away-

-and the music stops.

A unity of thought is found;
Cake?

Both ignoring Cavile with the obvious nature of one who is paying attention to someone obviously - but only when they aren't paying attention with their eyes - they examine the cake.

Out of empty air steps a soldier; Imperial Palace Guardsman - in fairly bulky... stuff. Looks like a simple flak jacket with a vast array of equipment, really - grey. Matte grey. The Imperial Three Star Sigil rests upon his shoulder; and he pulls out some sort of spherical object - metallic - from his pocket. If he wears a weapon, he isn't showing it.

He coldly runs the device over the taken pieces of cake in a vaguely bored, detached manner.

"Really," Rialla protests with a sniff.

Semir states, loud enough to be heard - intentionally - by all but quietly enough to be polite, "Of course, there's no need, Highness - but protocol to a hilt with the IPG. Damned fool attitude - some times. - Withdraw, soldier."

The scanner is replaced into one of the myriad pockets in the soldier's gear, and the IPG vanishes.

If D'ron is looking, he would catch Semir attempting to shoot him a deeply apologetic glance.

Cavile smiled back, just as cheerfully, his blue eyes sparkling nearly as brightly as the diamonds which adorned his clothing;

"We politicians? I have no need for politics. I would fall prey to all the lies and deceit which saturate that arena in moments. But then your mind is obviously as exceptional as your beauty. I feel like a foolish child before you."

As the cake was served, Cavile reached out with a single slender hand, and two pieces floated sedately away from the table, one landing in Cavile's hand, and the other ending up hovering just beside Nathicana;

"Would you care for some cake?"

As he spoke, he sent a thought wafting gently into Semi-Ran's mind;

Soldiers! such boors. No sense of propietry. It's all that black and grey they wear, a bit of pink added to their armour would do them the world of good. I do trust that you and your beautiful companion are enjoying the music.

Nathicana takes it all in stride. Of course, it is a bit ... disturbing to have floating plates of cake hovering within one's reach, but - she has seen some damnably odd things since getting out and about, and refuses to let her suprise register on her face.

"Why, thank you my dear," she says, giving him a sly wink. "Silver-tongued devil that you are. A child, is it? Then let us hope you regain your wit, for I've never been one to play nursemaid."

Reaching out to delicately take the offered treat, she slices a small piece off with her fork, bringing it to her mouth, opening just enough to take a bite without it touching her lips. She savours it with a satisfied grin.

D'ron catches the look that Semir shoots his way, and blinks, confused.

He hadn't seen the Guardsman, after all. He had someone much more interesting to look at, even if his eyes did sweep the platform every few mnutes.

As he finished a second piece of cake, having split the first one, after all, he whispered to Lesley, "My sister looks a little bored to you mind if I give her the next dance?"

"Of course not." That was one of things she loved about him. An overwhelming commitment to family. "I need a break from all the dancing." She smiled knowingly at him, knowing he hated to dance, but felt the need to make sure his sister didn't get left out.

Lesley also knew that this would mean a drastic change for Jessica. She'd no longer be the only female in D'ron's life. Well, that had been true for some time, but it was very different now.

She watched silently, sipping a glass of wine, as D'ron stepped with Jessica on to the dance floor, just in time for the next song.

A fast song. D'ron hated fast dances. Lesley laughed lightly to herself as D'ron whirled about the dance floor, clearly showing his concentration on what he was doing.

Jessica, on the other hand, had an expression of pure delight on her face. She loved dancing.

Lesley smiled, sensing the joy around her. Only at times like this, when the emotion was so strong, could she sense it, but now she saw it like a tangible presence around them, everywhere on the platform.

She glanced towards the pair from EOTED, and her eyes widened. Their joy was not quite the same as everyone elses, that was for sure. In her enhanced empathic state, she could even faintly make out the Guardsmen watching over the Empress, because of their such out of place perfessional paranoia.

It clashed horribly, but she began to notice it around most of the 'honor' guard put in place from the Federation's military as well. Oh, well.

Cavile and Nathicana were having an excellent time as well, she noticed. They were certainly an odd pairing, but then, most of the guests had come attached. Those two had not.

She sat, quietly sipping her wine. All seemed well.

Having stood aside to rest legs a moment, Rialla held the flexi that Semir had dropped moments before before her, staring at the contents - the contents which were quite familiar, somehow, but not exactly familiar either...

"I wrote it for you," he was explaining anxiously, "but it's not quite finished so it doesn't quite make-"

"Semir." Rialla sounded surprised - the merest tremble of tone.

"-sense, so if you just hand-"

"Semir." Calm, now.

Oblivious, he continues, "-back, I'll finish it up." Blinking ensues as he finishes; his facial expression - eyebrows slightly up, forehead more creased than usual - clearly says, 'I missed something?'

Semir, for once, it would seem, is caught off-balance. Now, that does happen every now and then, of course - Semir is only Nenyan, after all. But... what is rare, however, is the little fact that he is displaying it.

"Did you say something?" Semir's blinking slows as he speaks, and composure returns (externally - the thudding of his heart in his chest is quite tangible to him) - and a smile slides into place.

Were it for Rialla, she would be insulted. She isn't, however - because it is clearly his 'politic smile'.

Her own variety slips into place as she draws out a PDA and a spare flexi.

Quietly, through barely parted lips, Semir asks, "What are you doing?"

Faint irritation sets in as the ticks - and tocks, for that matter (one oughtn't discriminate, after all) - slide by, and no answer is forthcoming.

And then-

Rialla thrust the flexi into Semir's hand. "Read it," she half-ordered flatly - but her now-gently-gleaming eyes smile.

It takes Semir several long seconds to tear away from that gaze-

He frowns down at the flexi. "I don't get-"

His voice trails off. "Ah," he agrees after several seconds, tapping his finger against a portion of the flexi.

He pulls out a small 'pen', complete with his own ever-carried spare flexi sheet, and scrawls on said flexi sheet rapidly.

"They fit," he murmours a few moments later.

Rialla nods. She is, after all, reading it as well.

* * *

[OOC: I'm including these for interest purposes - they will be revealed publically and ICly at a later date, however. Nobody knows, of course, what Rialla or Semir were looking at or reading or writing. It is, however, possible that someone might overhear and conjur up some reasonable explanation for the hushed conversation. 'Tis how rumours are started, after all...

Semir's Poem:

O peaceful smile
O wonderous trial
No waiting awaits, the wait before past.

Sleepless nights
Those lies, in which to hide
That was shrouding the candle
In futures lost
The future, a fountain of dreams;
Musical sound...


Rialla's Poem:


O false joy of mine
Ended at last
No fearful sleepless nights
Nor spreading of that bile,
A shadow that was
In murk and gloom
Peaceful sorrow.

And now my future's found;
A heart dwelling in a melody unchained, in
Glorious surround.


The Completed Prose/Poem:

(Bold type is from Rialla's poem, italics are from Semir's.)


O peaceful smile
O joy of mine
O wonderous trial
Ended at last
No waiting awaits, the wait before past
No fearful sleepless nights, nor spreading of the bile
Those lies, in which a fate to hide
A shadow that was shrouding the candle
In murk and gloom.

O peaceful sorrow
In futures lost
And now my future's found;
The future a fountain of dreams;
A heart dwelling in musical sound...

A melody unchained, in glorious surround.]

Cavile grinned cheerfully as he ate his cake in a suitably fastidious fashion;

"I am only a child in comparison to yourself my lady."

He glanced briefly at Semir and Rialla;

"Is it just me, or are those two writing love-notes to each other? What a wonderfully quaint idea!"

"Love notes?" she asks, suprised. "I wouldn't have thought. Still, weddings can do funny things to folks, even seemingly, the most publicly reserved it would seem."

"Now then, while we've managed to banter a bit, and have a lovely time dancing, I'm afraid I know little enough about you, my dear. Tell me of yourself and your nation. I'm woefully ill-informed. I'd like to change that."

She smiles warmly at him, tilting her head in an expression of interest - one she doesn't need to fake.

Cavile only just managed to hide his surprise at Nathicana's words;

How bizarre. Straight from normal small-talk to asking me about Kalessin? What is she up to here? No normal woman ever wants to talk about anything but herself! Fascinating!

"I once believed that the view from atop my tower, looking out over both land and sea as the sun sets over Kalessin, was the most beautiful sight ever to grace this world. At a thought, the oppressive clouds become insubstantial and transparent, allowing the dimming sun to shine down upon my lands. I can look down across the thick, dark forest, pregnant with mystery and unknown horrors, and see the endless ocean beyond, or I can gaze out from the other side of the tower, and see the foaming waves dashing themselves against the cliffs below. I can watch the soft firey glow of the sun reflecting off the sea, which remains still at my command, basking in the warmth and kindness of the orb which gives heat and light to all without complaint or any need for thanks, and then I can watch the last rays die behind the horizon, as the shadows rise slowly up the face of my hope, casting it into a sinister aspect. From wonderous grace, to dark and threatening elegance. Yes, I once thought it to be an unsurpassable sight in all the mortal realms, until my eyes first alit upon your perfection."

Nathi smiles as he speaks, casually looping her arm through his, seemingly unaware of how she suggestively brushes up against him in the process.

Of course, it is all carefully planned, timed to his phrases, his looks, his gestures as he speaks.

My, what a one for romantic talk he is. Still, he does look rather fine ...

She'd eyed him rather closely before, and she did so again now, head tilted slightly, a slightly mischievous twist to her mouth as she watches him from the corner of her eye.

Definitely has possibilities, she thought, giving his strong arm a gentle squeeze. Feeling the musculature there, the firmness of his form underneath all the seeming frivolity of his dress, her smile broadened.

Definte possibilities.

"It sounds beautiful, Cavile, truly awe-inspiring. Perhaps, one day, I'll have the pleasure of seeing it for myself, preferably in your most pleasant company."

Cavile smiled back, running his hand over the curve of Nathicana’s hip, feeling the silky skin under her finely made black dress. As her hand tightened on his arm, he appreciatively noticed the firmness of her grip, and the well toned muscle that that skin concealed.

“Truly your presence in your lands would do for them what one of the bright gems of Kalessin, retrieved from the heart of a mountain and infused with the brilliance of a thousand pure souls, does for a finely wrought gold ring, magnifying its beauty so that it ascends beyond mere aesthetic attractiveness, rising up towards perfection. And why should you only contemplate such a visit as a vague possibility, far away in the future? My lands are but a few short minutes journey, as the Dragon flies.”

Nathi gently presses back against his wandering hand, smiling softly, close-lipped.

"My dear, if only I did not have other responsibiities to attend to, I would be delighted to run away with you to see the beauty you so flatteringly compare me to. Alas, but business before pleasure, I fear. Still, no reason why we can't enjoy the time we have here, yes?"

Dragons? Oh surely not ... riding them? Good god, the things these strange people do. So much to adjust to. The more I meet, the more odd the world seems to become.

And, of course, more interesting ...

"What exactly might you have in mind my lady?"

What an interesting opportunity. A short visit ... a closer look at one of the Arda nations and its leader. A much closer look, she thought with a private chuckle. It's been a while since I simply indulged for the pure pleasure of it, and he is a rather exotic toy. Shame to let such an opportunity go to waste.

"Dragons, you say?" she says, brow arching slightly. "And but moments away?" Her face takes on a carefully crafted look of weighing, and cautious consideration.

"You have referred to yourself as a child more than once tonight. Perhaps it's time you were ... educated." Her hand lightly trails from his wrist up along his arm, suggestively, turning to lock eyes with him, her blue orbs sparkling with mischief. "Let us hope by the end, as charming as childlike can be, that you're able to show me just how much a man you really are."

Withdrawing then, her eyes still on his, she smiles. "If you'll pardon me, there are a few things I must attend to. And then ... 'an it please you, I think I shall take you up on your offer after all. It's been far too long since I did something ... impulsive."

She makes her way to where her gifts have been stashed, and brings them forth to D'ron and Leslie with a little courtsey.

"I hope they suit," she says, gesturing to the case over by the wall. "Assorted wines from the Dominion - my private lable, and personal vineyard. May you savour them in health, peace and prosperity." Holding out to each of them smaller cases, she smiles. "A matched set of daggers. I had them comissioned from the same weaponsmith who forged my own sword. Each is damascus steel, and has been etched with your names and this date on the crossguard, and the motto of your nation along the blade. I thank you again for the invitation, and wish you both the best."

And with that, she withdraws. Moving to Bruce, she thanks him for his escort for the evening, and expresses her hopes that she might have the pleasure of his company when she returns. Perhaps on a more leisurely visit.

She quietly finishes making her rounds, making quiet goodbyes, and returns to Cavile's side, quietly looping her arm through his, settling in comfortably at his side.

"Now, about that ride ... realizing of course, I'll ah ... need a ride back tomorrow?" she says with a smile. "I'm rather looking forward to this little jaunt, Cavile. I truly hope you can show me a bit of what your country has to offer in the short time available." She tilts her head slightly, giving him a sidelong glance.

"Shall we?"

"Thank you for the gifts, Dread Lady. May you travel well, and may your life be full and rich." D'ron smiles at her, "Thank you for attending."

Lesley smiles a knowing smile, and comments, "Have fun in Kalessin, Lady Nathicana."

D'ron turns to her and blinks, as Nathicana walks away. "Lesley!"

"It'll be alright, Dar." D'ron smiles at the use of his special name. "She's definitely going with Cavile." D'ron looks up as Nathicana and Cavile depart.

Cortana walks up, and says "I noticed the gifts have started." D'ron nods. "Well in that case, allow me to present the Forbidden Honor."

D'ron blinks, as a roaring sound pierces the air. A black starship is descending from the sky, wreathed in flame.

http://people.vanderbilt.edu/~darion.c.smith/fhonor.jpg

Cavile, his arm linked with Nathicana's, strode over to D'ron and Lesley, where he bowed elegantly before presenting the bride with a single white rose, which appeared as if from the empty air in his hand;

This rose shall live as long as your mutual love. If your love begins to die, the rose shall wilt. If not, it shall bloom for all eternity.

Then he produced a silver flute, engraved with images of dragons in flight, wrapping around it with their wings outstretched, and gave it to D'ron.

"I give you this as a token of my friendship, and hope that you will gain some modicum of pleasure from playing it."

Then he bowed again, before leading Nathicana to the edge of the platform, where he wrapped one arm around her waist before leaping off, and swinging the Dread Lady up behind him onto the back of the large purple Dragon which had appeared below.