NationStates Jolt Archive

Four candidates are competing in a special election for the position of People’s Representative (Minister) for Foreign Affairs & Human Rights. Incumbent Violeta Bi Bere called the election when protesters began to denounce her foreign policy.

Tanah Burung is governed by an 11-member collective presidency composed of six provincial governors and five “people’s representatives.” This election will not affect the overall policy of the collective presidency, controlled by a slate backed by the cooperatives that dominate the national economy, but it will set the direction for foreign policy.

There are no political parties, although each candidate has backing from various factions in the country.

Anyone is welcome to ask questions or back a candidate, although foreign campaign contributions are not permitted.

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Violeta Bi Bere. The incumbent is a very elderly woman who has directed Tanah Burung’s “independent and active” foreign policy for many years. While supporting continued membership in the International Fair Trade Agreement, she favours good relations with all countries. Her campaign slogan is “Through Open Doors,” expressing her desire for an active and non-aligned role in international affairs based on conciliation.



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Markus Rumbiak. A former member of the collective presidency attempting a come-back, Rumbiak was a powerful figure in the “Revolutionary Old” faction that led Tanah Burung until the global recession forced a change in government. He fought in the war of independence from Knootoss, was a leading supporter of the IFTA, and has represented Tanah Burung at two developing nations conferences. His campaign slogan is “Solidarity and Liberation,” reflecting his desire to make Third World liberation and anti-colonialism the core of foreign policy. A stromg nationalist, he would concentrate on solidarity among developing nations.



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Lily Santos. A rising star at the Sunny Tanah Burung Tourism and Trade Bureau, she is backed by several of the cooperatives and wants foreign policy devoted to the creation of prosperity for the nation. She claims that Tanah Burung has lost revenue through a “leftist” foreign policy and wants a major push for foreign tourism and a “balanced” foreign policy with closer relations with capitalist countries. She supports the IFTA “but only as long as it makes us money.” Her campaign slogan is “Prosperity for the People.”



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Mari Alkatiri. The son of a minor tribal nobility, he believes the biggest problem in international relations is the hegemony of large corporations and their compliant governments, and wants Tanah Burung to seek a new international economic order in place of the present capitalist world system. Under the slogan “Change the Terms of Trade,” he would seek new structures and new alliances designed to contribute to the end of capitalist relations of production. He plans to intensify connections with IFTA countries and promote “working class internationalism.”

Voting for old lady just because she's old. *snicker*

While the Shire have always had a soft spot for Mme. BiBere, we are always in favour of change and Violeta will probably need to put her feet up for a while after the Lavenrunz *coff*conference.

Let it be Mari Alkatiri.

En paz y amor

Felix Jethoscopes (http://www.benovision.co.uk/NS/FJethoscopes.jpg)

Shiree Herald to the UN

A welcome from the DotF, we support Lily Santos although we wish the candidates were a little younger.

ooc: could TB please post his campaign finance laws? SeOCC, as always, has no interest in interfering but others don't quite have such a spotless track record.

ooc: seocc, you're a sanctimonious wanker.

IC: We hail any candidate who chooses to move from the EVILS of bolshevism to the clear light of the true path! Thus we urge support for Mme. Santos in the strongest possible terms.
Heil the True Path!

~Great Leader Shelford

ooc: seocc, you're a sanctimonious wanker.

IC: We hail any candidate who chooses to move from the EVILS of bolshevism to the clear light of the true path! Thus we urge support for Mme. Santos in the strongest possible terms.
Heil the True Path!

~Great Leader Shelford

OOC

That wasn't very nice :shock:

We in Ilek-Vaad believe in absolute neutrality when it comes to other nations processess of choosing their leaders. We have never and will never share any prefence for one cadidate or the other, we do not believe in attempting to sway voters in sovereign nations by applying diplomatic pressure.

Minister of Foreign Affairs, Ilek-Vaad

we will support Lily Santos.

What stance do the candidates hold on foreign policy?

The Druid government support Markus Rumbiak because of his more prominent facial hair.

OOC:
Kryzerkia: you could, like, read the descriptions. :roll:

IC:
Small, perhaps not entirely representative, opinion poll done in Knootoss of Knootian citizens eligible to vote, by a student international relations:

-Has a favourite: 35% of the adult population.
-Don't know about the elections / not sufficient information: 65% of the adult population.

Of those that have a favourite:
-Support for Bi Bere: 59,2%
Many of the left and centre in Knootoss remember Bi Bere positively, and would support her re-election. The Knootian people remember her contributions. She probably also has the advantage of being the sitting candidate. Has support of the liberal elite as well.

-Support for Markus Rumbiak: 0,6%
Comments: perceived as anti-Knootian to many, and as a rebel to some.

-Lily Santos: 39,3%
Perceived as the best partner for Knootian-Tanah Burung relations by many, especially commercially. Many middle class citizens polled believe that she may open up trade with the DDR, something which Bi Bere has so far failed to do.

-Mari Alkatiri: 0,9%
Has the support of some on the extreme-left. Regarded by many as an actual danger to Tanah Burung.

While certain elements of His Majesty's Opposition's leadership covertly support Mr. Rumbiak, his anti-colonialism and stance on the East Gallaga Company make him politically untenable.

Ms. Bi Bere, through her roles in the Third World Conferences, has accumulated a soft spot in the minds of Iansisle’s Foreign Affairs Ministry, which tends to focus on good relations while often laying ideology to the side.

Officially, however, the most popular candidate is Ms. Santos. Her stance on free trade, especially to a country no doubt regarded (and properly so) as “capitalist,” and the publicity photo of her waving a Larkinian flag consolidated the majority of politicians at #1 Jameston Place behind her.

It should be noted that the Iansislean Democratic-Socialists, junior member of a liberal coalition government with the Tharian Secessionist Party, balked at the government’s official offer of support to Ms. Santos. Claude St. Jacques, the Democratic-Socialist leader, made a speech on the Combined Parliament floor attacking TSP leader and Prime Minister Alfredo D’Carlonia of “pandering to the reactionary members of this house.” He continued, holding up Ms. Bi Bere as “a perfect example of the wonders that moderate liberalism can bestow. [Bi Bere’s] actions over her previous term have proven that she is a friend both of the working man and the Commonwealth.”

The Earl of Dirwisham, leader of the Conservation Party and official spokesperson for the conservative Opposition, counter-charged that “[Bi Bere’s] continued pandering to leftist power-blocks drains any scrap of credibility as a champion of peaceable relations. Certainly, none of the candidates are ideal ... [but] only Ms. Santos offers the real chance of improvement in Shieldo-Burung relations.”

Pundits wonder if the break of the Democratic-Socialists from the coalition line is indicative of a deeper gash growing with in D’Carlonia’s government. D’Carlonia insisited in an interview after the session that “I have spoken with Mr. St. Jacques and worked everything out. I’m glad to have the Democratic-Socialist party as a member of my government, and Mr. St. Jacques assures me that they are glad to be a part of it. This disagreement stems from the fact that I simply may have been premature in releasing Ms. Santos as the government’s favored candidate.” St. Jacques wasn’t available for comment.

A welcome from the DotF, we support Lily Santos although we wish the candidates were a little younger.

Thank you for your regards. Respect for the elderly is deeply engrained in Tanah Burung society, which is why many of the candidates are of a certain age. Some of a very certain age indeed.

ooc: could TB please post his campaign finance laws? SeOCC, as always, has no interest in interfering but others don't quite have such a spotless track record.

Certainly. There are strict campaign spending limits in place. No candidate may spend more than 100,000 loonies on their campaign, although the relatively low limit is offset by the provision of an equal number of free spots on the national television and radio networks given to each candidate.

As stated, no candidate is allowed to accept foreign money, and domestic third-party advertising is limited to duly constituted cooperatives, churches and other interest groups.

What stance do the candidates hold on foreign policy?

Well, the opening post attempts to answer that, but in bullet points:

Violeta Bi Bere: good relations with all countries, non-alignment
Markus Rumbiak: support other Third World countries, oppose colonialism
Lily Santos: use foreign policy to promote tourism & trade
Mari Alkatiri: fight against capitalism

Happy to answer any more specific questions....

ELECTION UNDER WAY

Early polling showed revolutionary hero Markus Rumbiak and incumbent Violeta Bibere in the need, based on name recognition if nothing else. As a gesture, the leading campaigns allowed their lesser-known rivals to kick off campaigning first.

CAMPAIGN LAUNCH NEWS

Matebian -- Mari Alkatiri launched his campaign today at the Hall of the Revolution, where the flag of Tanah Burung independence was raised for the first time, more than half a century ago, followed by a march through the streets of the old city.

"Independence is only half complete," he declared to a small crowd of loyal supporters. "Look -- there are people begging in the gutters, simply becasue they cannot afford to join a good cooperative. Is that independence, is that what our parents fought for? And it's just the same in foreign affairs: no country is fully independent, until the choke hold of international capitalism and neo-imperialist globalization has been shattered, once and for all!"

Alkatiri has been running well back in early polling, but was bouyed by the indication of support from one of the heralds of Watfordshire, one of a dozen countries with embassies in Tanah Burung. "I spoke of destroying capitalist hegemony," he said. "The Coalition of Anti-Capitalist Economies is one such structure. Is it any accident that so many of our friends are members of that alliance? Together with the working people of Watfordshire, i will fight for human freedom from the slavery of capital!"

---

Tiga Burung -- Overnight, buildings throughout this island city were given a fresh coat of paint: bright yellow, the campaign colours of Lily Santos. The city, home to the Sunny Tanah Burung Tourism and Trade Bureau, was awash in Santos posters. The Bureau has invested to the maximum spending limit in the Santos campaign.

"My friends, what is foreign policy for?" Santos asked a large rally in Tiga Burung, many of them there to see the legendary calypso singer Bere Imbiber. "It is for prosperity. We need to improve our standard of living, and we can do that through earning more foreign exchange. And how do we earn more foreign exchange? Why, we can earn foreign exchange through tourism. Tourism and trade. And what does that mean? Why, it means bigger economic pies! More for everyone."

Santos has been attacked as front for some of the wealthier cooperatives who would abandon diplomacy in favour of the pursuit of wealth. "That's not true," she said. "Not true, not true. My campaign for prosperity is striking a nerve from coast to mountains. Why, look at all the support from foreign countries. Would they support me if i wasn't what they liked? And if they like me, it stands to reason they will send more tourists. Just imagine how many Knootians might come to wallow on our pristine private beaches! And that will mean bigger economic pies for all!"

Asked by one reporter about rumours she would seek increased trade with Knootoss and the "free-trading paradise" of Iansisle, Santos stood silently for 30 seconds before answering: "I'm not an expert on trade policy. Um, don't we trade with Iansisle already? I would, ah, promote the creation of wealth. After all, i've met a payroll. Anyway, i thank Prime Minister D'Cartoonia for his support, and i also thank the good people of Jeruselem."

*Watfordshire News Desayuno*

Several Military Dancers, supporters of Mari Alkatiri, on diplomatic service in Tanah Burung were held in custody after a spate of re-painting / or 'vandalism' as its' known outside Watfordshire, hit the island settlement of Tiga Burung. The yellow paint of the Santos party had barely enough time to dry before the team of Shiree, operating throughout the night, re-painted many of the buildings a deep red hue.

The Shiree offered accepted culpability immediately and turned themselves in to the local authorities, while Ambassador Gudrun Kahma, Herald to Tanah Burung offered official apologies to the Santos camp.

MARKUS RUMBIAK LAUNCHES CAMPAIGN

Revolutionary hero Markus Rumbiak launched his political comeback here amidst question over whether he was a political "has-been." The colourful politician served on the first governing council after independence and then was Governor of his native Loro Sae province for decades before being defeated in the last national election by rubber tapper boss Mau Tarak. Rumbiak was the guiding spirit of the "revolutonary old" faction that governed Tanah Burung until recently.

With rivals Alkatiri and Santos out to a flying start, Rumbiak had to face some hard questions. He faced them with his customary fervour. "I may be an old man, but i am no young fogey," he told a crowd of half-naked Loro Sae tribsmen wearing red bandanas (hs campaign colour). "My blood still sings with the fire of youth. For it is the New Emerging Forces of the world that i speak for," he shouted. "The colonized peoples who have no voice, the developing nations ground down by poverty and neo-colonialism. The peoples of the Third World lack armies, but they have in abundance the weapons of their faith and their determination. Solidarity, my brothers! Liberation, my sisters! Human rights, my children! Freedom, freedom, freedom!"

Rumbiak has received little support from abroad, and none from other developing states. He welcomed the support of the Druidic peoples, saying "the earth, we must protect it too, the earth is also a New Emerging Force!" But he was incensed at the news from Iansisle.

"My brothers in Iansisle have made a grievous error. It is insult enough that they have mistaken our sacred flag for the flag of our friends in Larkinia. It is injury enough that they still have colonies, that whole nations are held in thrall by the East Gallaga Company, that remnant of an age that should long be dead. My friends, i have been to Iansisle and i hold it in high regard. There are many good men in Iansisle. But some of the King's ministers serve him poorly when they speak of supporting Ms Santos, who would sell our birthright for a visit from Shieldian ships to her precious port. I am pleased that not all of the King's ministers are so short-sighted."

*Watfordshire News Desayuno*

Several Military Dancers, supporters of Mari Alkatiri, on diplomatic service in Tanah Burung were held in custody after a spate of re-painting / or 'vandalism' as its' known outside Watfordshire, hit the island settlement of Tiga Burung. The yellow paint of the Santos party had barely enough time to dry before the team of Shiree, operating throughout the night, re-painted many of the buildings a deep red hue.

The Shiree offered accepted culpability immediately and turned themselves in to the local authorities, while Ambassador Gudrun Kahma, Herald to Tanah Burung offered official apologies to the Santos camp.

"I'm sorry, but we're going to have to put you on the next blimp out of here," the police officer said to the Shiree diplomats. "It's a shame really, because i actually agree with you about Mbak Lily. She's a sly one, but all talk, no substance. I agree with you, Bapak Rumbiak is the one to back!"

The Shiree explained that they were supporting Alkatiri. The cop laughed.

"Oh yes, Mari the martyr. You should have checked with me first, me young hooligans! His colours are black. Like his hair used to be!"

He laughed some more, and then had a thought. "You know, maybe i could switch places with one of you. I've always wanted to see the anarchist paradises up Aperin way. Of course, we couldn't tell anyone..."

The Shiree explained that they were supporting Alkatiri. The cop laughed.

"Oh yes, Mari the martyr. You should have checked with me first, me young hooligans! His colours are black. Like his hair used to be!"

ooc: how embarrassing

ic: the Military Dancers laugh about their mistake as much as the cop

He laughed some more, and then had a thought. "You know, maybe i could switch places with one of you. I've always wanted to see the anarchist paradises up Aperin way. Of course, we couldn't tell anyone..."

"Should you choose to accompany us back to Watfordshire, we can make you very welcome"

Hell Bovines would like to express its support to Markus Rumbiak. While we hold Bi Bere's "non alignment" policy very high, as its very similar to our policy, we acknowledge the fact that the welfare of the third world and the end of colonialism are more important goals.

Many countries in the third world are still under the opressive iron fist of the developed country, and the evils of imperialism, colonialism and neo-colonialism still lurk in the dark parts of our world, in the shady sweatshops, in the puppet coups, in the offices of corrupt officers that want to fill their pockets with the blood of inocents.
Countries like Hell Bovines or Tanah Burung have been freed from foreign opression, but there's still a lot to do. Many countries still haven't achieved their well-deserved freedom and, while we are also on very good relations with Iansisle, Krowemoh or other first world countries we still think that, with a friendly approach, the problems of colonialism can and ought to be solved.

Nevertheless, no matter which candidate wins, we hope it serves to the welfare of Tanah Burung, a long-standing ally of our nation we will always be loyal to.
Best wishes,

Saturnino Vacuno, ministry of foreign affairs, The Grand Duchy of Hell Bovines

POLLS RELEASED

Surprising results were released in the initial polling in the race for people's representative for foreign affairs and human rights.

Bi Bere 30%
Rumbiak 28%
Santos 22%
Alkatiri 20%

The results show more parity than expected, with the younger candidates have apparently boosted by strong campign starts. They, and Rumbiak, are off to fast starts. The Bi Bere campaign still sits immobilized while she attends a summit meeting on mediation in Lavenrunz. Her son and campaign manager Constancio Matebian (on leave from his usual position as ambassador to Larkinia) said she would return "as soon as her duties permit" but added: "The irresponisible accusations of the other candidates would take this nation down the road to ruin. Already, Mr Rumbiak has insulted a friendly government. Is this the sort of man we want running our foreign policy?"

Betting in Mau Slurp's House of Gambling, often used as another gauge of the "smart money" as well as the preferences of foreign tourists, showed a different picture. There, Bi Bere maintained a slim lead over Santos, with betting on Alkatiri running surprisingly strong. Few peple have bet on Rumbiak, although a recent wave of Bovine bets on the fiery orator are reported. Mau Slurp today issued the following odds:

Bi Bere 5-4
Santos 2-1
Alkatiri 3-1
Rumbiak 4-1

Although the senior figures of the Praesidium kept silent on the topic of the Burungian elections, as is customary in the case of a non-aligned nation with which the People's Democratic Revolutionnary Republic maintains friendly relations, the same is not true of many lesser figures, who have come out in support of Alkatiri, viewed as the candidate of 'true' anticapitalism.

Jeruselem Government News

Tanah Burung poll in the balance

In the competition for the position of people's representative for foreign affairs and human rights in Tanah Burung, Bere and Santos are in the lead with Alkatiri just behind and Rumbiak last. Earlier in the poll, Santos was lagging in 3rd, but a surge in voting pushed Santos into equal 1st.

Count Richard I (Foreign minister and Regent of Jeruselem) said the poll was too close to call with 3 candidates in the running.

Violeta Bi Bere
30% [ 14 ]
Markus Rumbiak
10% [ 5 ]
Lily Santos
30% [ 14 ]
Mari Alkatiri
28% [ 13 ]

Just a quick ooc note of clarification. The foreign voters poll will not necessarily reflect the votes when finally counted. I am however using them as a guideline: this is why Santos and Alkatiri, originalyl fringe candidates, are doing better than expected in my report of internal polling.

Presidential Palace, Golden Agate

Takeo nodded softly as he read the morning edition of the Larkinian Tribune. He'd been worried that Bi Bere would have to face her critics sooner rather than later, and was doing what little he could to shore up support for her. He didn't know if Bi Bere's facing down of SeOCC, including trade sanctions being levied against Tanah Burung, had led to this.

Of course, the trade talks, he'd almost forgotten.

He punched a button on the desk (No, not that button, that one sends the missiles to China... :P ).

"Aiana, how are the plans for the talks with Tanah Burung coming?"

A young woman's voice lilted from the other side of the intercom. "We're working on preparations now, I'll let you know as soon as they are finalized."

Takeo closed the line as he sipped his coffee. He'd known both Rumbiak and Bi Bere from the Developing Nations Conference he'd chaired those years ago. While he liked both of them personally, he'd thought that Bi Bere's policies would help more for Tanah Burung's immediate future and planned to make a foreign policy speech to the Parliament in support of her policies. This had clashed with his younger brother and advisor, who had thought of Rumbiak as a, what was the phrase again.. 'Righteous Dude', but that's why he was the president, and Javin was currently sitting at an archaeological dig where he could do limited damage.

He picked up his folio and walked out of the office to put the finishing touches on his speech.

(aka tagged ;) )

Justin Fletcher, senior Ambassador from Iansisle to Tanah Burung, received instructions from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs that he was to “apologize at once to Mr. Rumbiak for the flag mix-up.” Inwardly, he shuddered. For a post holding diplomat, he was amazingly junior, and there had been little subtly about why Mr. Fletcher had been chosen for Tanah Burung Station. As Fletcher hailed from the Dominion of Gadsan, he was the most-senior full ambassador of a non-Shieldian stock. No doubt Sir Archibald would have preferred someone of Gallagan or east-asian descent, but not many of them made it high in the MoFA’s ranks.

Now, Justin felt the full weight of his youth and inexperiance in the telegram he held. Attempting to talk face to face or even over the phone with Mr. Rumbiak was out of the question; the revolutionary hero’s quick, if sometimes less than eloquent, wit would cut him to pieces. No, there was only one way to settle this: with pen and paper.

Quickly, Justin sat down. His hand flew over a sheet of paper as he composed an apology for mixing up the flags of Tanah Burung and Larkinia; he picked a name at random from a nearby paylist for a scapegoat. After quickly proofreading it, he sent it forward to his secretary and hoped it would be enough to pacify the fiery orator. After all, it wouldn’t do for Iansisle to lose what favor it had managed to curry among the general populace of Tanah Burung!

Meanwhile, in the downtown Ianapalis headquarters of the East Gallaga Company, Executor Edward Tedders was downright livid.

“The nerve of that Rumbiak, slandering the Company so!” he bellowed in the protection of his acoustic tiled office. “I ought to have the doddering old fool shot!”

His assistant shifted nervously. “Well, Executor, I’m fairly certain that assassination is illegal in Tana--”

“Of course it is, you idiot!” Tedders stormed. “I wasn’t being serious. Now, think, man, think! We can’t bribe him, we can’t shoot him, and we damn sure can’t let the whole bloody country be poisoned by his rhetoric! What ought we to do?”

“Well, sir, we could always, um, advertise?” half-whispered the assistant timidly.

“Speak up!” barked Tedders.

“We could, ahm, advertise, sir,” the man repeated.

“What, you mean for Santos? No, that wouldn’t do at all. You’ve seen the Tanah Burung election laws; they’re rock solid! Damn it, I pay you for gold, and all I get is horse s-” started Tedders, throwing his arms up in disgust. He was extremely surprised when the man cleared his throat and interrupted his expletive.

“No, Executor, I mean for the Company. You know - tell them all the great things we’ve done for Gallaga during our administration. Like the St. Walburg-Nusheld-Fort Ash rail line, or the irrigation; that sort of thing!” That both the projects he mentioned had in fact been undertaken to increase the Company’s tax base and facilitate the movement of goods rather than in the best interest of the Gallagan people didn’t seem to stem the optimism of the assistant. “Show them how well we treat the citizens and all,” he continued, warming up to the topic as it didn’t appear Tedders was about to shoot it down. “And I’m sure that the Company is one of the largest producers of raw opium shouldn’t hurt either - I hear Tanah Burung’s drug laws are almost as liberal as the Commonwealth’s!”

“Say, that’s actually not a bad idea,” mused Tedders, his earlier rage gone without a trace. “Tell you what, Roberts,” he started to order, not showing any indication that he could read the man’s security badge, which read S. Rogers “- get on the line with whoever’s in charge of the mass media in Tanah Burung. And then get down to Publicity; they might have a job in front of them!”

(hmm, foreign advertising.... tries to decide if that's allowed or not, and figures anything not specifically banned is probably allowed)

TIGA BURUNG -- Each newspaper in the country is an independent worker-run co-operative. But, truth be told, some cooperatives were not quite as independent as others. In the city of Tiga Burung, where the co-ops running hotels and private beaches tended to have ties closer than was strictly encouraged with the Sunny Tanah Burung Tourism and Trade Bureau, a good few of these publishing co-ops saw the chance to earn a few Ians as something not to be passed up.

In the T&T Bureau's offices, Lily Santos got wind of what was happening in some of the smaller publishing houses. Or rather, campaign manager João Lash got word of it. "Lily," he told his candidate, "the East Gallaga Company is looking to take out some advertising. I was thinking that some glossy magazines might feature something heroic about the age of sail, the benefits of trade, that sort of thing. Can we authorize it?"

"Well, what do you think?"

"I think it's a good way to get around the campaign-finance laws."

"OK. No meddling from Prime Minister D'Cartoonia though, right?"

Lash put his head in his hands, briefly. "That's D'Carlonia, Lily. Please, try not to make mistakes about the names of the leaders of friendly nations."

"Oh. sorry. OK, let's go ahead with it. As long as they're paying."

---

UKUN RASIKAN -- Constanctio Matebian is on the phone to Violeta Bi Bere, still at the conference in Lavenrunz. "Mother, how goes the meeting?"

"Oh good lord. Don't even ask. We may get a deal out of this, but some people don't seem to be able to understand compromise."

"A shame. But mother, we need you to come home soon. The arrows are flying from all sides. We need you to come and campaign!"

Bi Bere pauses briefly. "All right. Soon. In the meantime, announce that the talks are going well here and that we may be laying the structure for an organization that will end war forever. Get some people to ask your cousin Lily if she plans to allow trade with Knootoss or not. Oh, and get some peple to ask Alkatiri his intentions about joining the CACE. Let the people see they're both extremists."

"And what about Runbiak?"

"Oh, you just leave dear Markus to me."

"All right, mother. Any reply to Larkinia?"

"Ah, dear Takeo." Affection enters Bi Bere's voice. "Ask him to wait a day or so. They musn't look like they're interfering. But do let them know how much i appreciate their offer."

UKUN RASIKAN -- A crowd is gathered for the launch of Violeta Bi Bere's campaign for re-election. Loud speakers face out on to Independence Square, in front of the Green Palace, formerly the seat of a long-dead Sultan, now the office of the ministry for foreign affairs & human rights.

Suddenly, the doors to a third-floor balcony are thrown open. A voice through the loud speakers bellows: "Through open doors!" To the strains of the provincial anthem Mate ke Moris Ukun Rasikan (Independence or Death), Bi Bere emerges on to the balcony.

"Children of Ukun Rasikan, i am returned," Bi shouts. "Returned from doing the real work of diplomacy! It is good to be home." The people of her home city cheer rapturously. Here, at least, the incumbent has lost none of her popularity.

"I am an old woman. Too old to stump the villages as i once did. But i bring you some news. In the far-away land of Lavenrunz, ancient enemies have assembled and agreed to form a council for the peaceful mediation of disputes. A step has been taken away from war! On your behalf, i was there. And that is not all. From the great land of Larkinia, an offer has come for many teachers to come and work at the Third World University that is being built in the mountains of Matebian. Through these open doors, good news comes to us. Some of my opponents in this election would close these doors. Ask yourself this: would you close these doors?"

---

TIGA BURUNG -- Mari Alkatiri is campaigning among the auto workers. "Brothers, this is not your country," he tells a small gathering on their lunch break. "Your country is the working people of the world."

"What, all of them?"

"All of them. Vote for me, and i'll bring us closer to all of them, and forget this nonsense about befriending the bosses and the countries that oppress working men everywhere."

"So are you planning to take us into the CACE?"

"If elected, i will hold a referendum on that, yes. I would hope that the people are smart enough to vote yes."

---

BURUNG-YANG-MEMBUAT-DUNIA -- Lily Santos is outside the Maglev station, stumping for votes among the passengers bound for day trips to Oglethorpia. "This is not just a transport line," she says. "It's a line of hope. It's a lifeline of prosperity. It's like an oven that can make bigger economic pies."

Some of the travellers nod enthusiastically. Others are less certain. A young man steps up to her and asks: "You mean you want to open trade with Oglethorpia?"

Santos looks flustered. "I want what will make us more prosperous."

"What about Knootoss? Will you trade with Knootoss?"

"It's all about bigger economic pies. And prosperity!"

"Yes, but are you planning to trade with Knootoss?"

A man in a dark suit steps between the candidate and the questioner. "Ms Santos has answered the question." The campaigners form a circle around Santos with their bodies and beat a hasty retreat.

Freeport Station, Business Wing, Vortex Corporation

The blue paint on the sign was still drying at the Arasaka Advertising Agency, formerly known as the Larkinian Advertising Agency before it had been privatized, when the phone rang.

Kyan Myers picked up the phone, "Hello? Kyan Myers' office."

"We'd like to hire your agency to put together an advertising campaign for the elections in Tanah Burung," the voice on the other side of the phone said.

"Political campaigns? Yeah we can put one together..."

"No, not a political campaign," the voice said, "The East Gallaga Company is interested in running ads promoting our company's ... goodwill towards people, and if they can cast capitalism in a better light, then all the better."

Kyan nodded and sipped his cup of bitter coffee. "Of course you would. I think you have a bit of ground to make up, given Mr. Rumbiak's comments. However, we'd be willing to put together a package for you. You know our standard rates?"

(Iansisle, I'm working on it now, let me see what I can come up with ;) )

"You know our rates?"

"I know the rates, and we accept them," the voice said. "We look forward to working with your company on this, sir. And remember, if we've seen a ten percent increase in our polls in Tanah Burung inside of three months, there will be a sizeable bonus for you."

(sweet, thanks dude!)

(Anytime dude. A ten percent increase huh? No pressure or anything there :P )

(Edit: Go ahead and TG me some more info about the EGC, so the ads will look less like, "We really enjoy conquest and pillaging the land." ;) Ya know, it might be easier selling the idea of meat eating to the Hell Bovinians...)

(Tanah B, did you want me to start a seperate thread for all of these wonderful... ok ok, :lol: stop laughing. ;) ads? Or I can TG them to you and you can add them where you want to)

(You may as well post them here .... i'm sure looking forward to seeing them and working up some righteous indignation!)

(Oh dear, I was actually trying to avoid the righteous indignation angle, but with the EGC, that's a tall order)

((daggnabbit!!))

((heh, I'm sure you'd do a much better than any of the publicists working for Executor Tedders could have. ;)))

(*Cries as the forums erase his post*)

(Well, that's one of the goals, if I can keep Tedders out of the spotlight, then it might work out. *looks at ad campaign ideas* So this is what it feels like to sell your soul. I always thought it would be worth more. *crosses fingers* Here we go.)

Kyan sat at his architects desk, sketching out the final ideas for the first ad campaign before zipping across his office to work on the computer for the layout of the campaign.

"A little blue here..." he muttered to himself as one of his assistants walked into the office.

"You wouldn't believe how hard it is to buy advertising at the papers in Tanah Burung!" she said with a tired smile as she walked in. "Each paper is seperately co-op owned!"

"Well, don't worry about the money. Remember we're not spending our money," Kyan said with a boyish wink.

"But we've asked about buying full-page ads opposite each story written regarding Rumbiak's campaign," she replied, "Wherever he looks to read about his campaign, there will be an ad."

Kyan nodded and finshed the work on the computer, printing out the first of the ads and handed the sheet to her. "Well, what do you think?"

-----

The ad begins (from the top) with a picture of a schoolroom, through the windows the sun can be seen illuminating the clouds. Seated at desks in the room are young Gallagan children, eagerly taking notes, reading their textbooks and asking questions. At the front of the class is another Gallagan teaching the class, and behind her are historical notes on the blackboard. On the textbooks, on the backs of some of the desks and above the teacher and blackboard on the wall can be seen the very small logo of the East Gallaga Company.

As you look down the ad, the view changes from a schoolroom to several other smaller pictures, ones of those Gallagan adults now. Doctors treating other young Gallagan children in offices, lawyers arguing before judges, people speaking and scientists working in labs.

Under those pictures is the phrase, running at a slight angle, heading slightly upwards.

"East Gallaga Company: Preparing for the Future Today!"

(*Oooooooh! These evil, evil forums!*)

(... So this is what it feels like to sell your soul. I always thought it would be worth more ...)

(Sorry; I'm just one of the cheaper devils :P)

--snip ad--

(I like it man! Especially in the whole just-tell-enough-truth-to-get-by sort of way ;))

(Sorry; I'm just one of the cheaper devils :P)

(So is there the option to trade up at a later time? Or maybe you can trade me for a PR Flack to be named later? ;) )

(I like it man! Especially in the whole just-tell-enough-truth-to-get-by sort of way ;))

(Good Lord man! This is advertising we're talking about! We have to use as little of the truth as is necessary! :P )

:lol: :lol: Only you two could come up with an idea as hillarious as this one. Good work, Lark and Ian! :D

(Edit: Go ahead and TG me some more info about the EGC, so the ads will look less like, "We really enjoy conquest and pillaging the land." ;) Ya know, it might be easier selling the idea of meat eating to the Hell Bovinians...)

I don't think so. The last itme a Mc Donalds tried to settle was burn down to rubbles.
However, you gave me an idea:
Advertising + Vegetarianism = Hell Bovinian "Ban Meat Eating" ads. :P

I don't think so. The last itme a Mc Donalds tried to settle was burn down to rubbles.
However, you gave me an idea:
Advertising + Vegetarianism = Hell Bovinian "Ban Meat Eating" ads. :P

(Well yeah, trying to sell the good side, such as it is, of colonialism to former colonies ranks up there on the difficulty chart with trying to convince the Duque to have a big ol' rare steak with a side of Hamster fries ;) )

(Give me a shout out, I'm sure I can work some ads out for ya!)

(Ah, a little chatter in the outfield eh? Well, helps to make up for the ballot box stuffing. :wink: )

BURUNG PARADIS -- Sweat is pouring off Markus Rumbiak's ample frame. He had shaken more sweaty palms today, and greased more babies ... no, that wasn't right. I can't even think straight, the fourth-place candidate mused.

"Break time," he told his campaign staff. "I'll be soaking in that stream." He headed for the cooling, almost leech-free waters, poured himself a cup of jasmine tea, and started to read the big-city newspapers. Still getting the coverage. They lap up the backwoods guerrilla schtick. His eyes fluttered across to the opposite page.

Ah, Gallagans. Must be a travel feature.

Markus choked on his tea.

He bellowed in rage. He ran back into the village, a naked, shouting, quivering mound of flesh. "The East Gallaga Company! How dare they! Adik-adik, hear me! Colonialism is striking back like a rich viper with bloody fangs! Come with me! We march on the embassies in Ukun Rasikan!"

---

TIGA BURUNG -- Mari Alkatiri read the newspaper ads. His brow creased thoughtfully, and his frown turned into something unusual for him: a hint of a smile. The contradictions inherent in capitalism were manifesting themselves. Just as predicted.

He looked out the window at the city, festooned with banners in yellow, red, and black. None of Bi Bere's blue colour, he noticed. This election was coming down to region: if he could hold his own Matebian, take one of the provinces without a candidate, and steal Tiga Burung away from Santos on the strength of working-class votes, he would win this election. What an upset, for the man dismissed as a bloodless technocratic ideologue.

It all came down to exploiting the contradictions.

(*Whistles innocently and winces at the next ad*)

(this is where I insert the disclaimer that neither Iansisle nor I actually back these or what they represent (I think I'm safe speaking for Iansisle here) but, ya know well it makes for interesting RP.. that's our story and we're sticking to it! :P )

The second ad in the series (of god knows how many ;) ) starts off with a picture from the seat of a train going through the Gallagan jungle. It shows a young Gallagan couple sitting close together looking dreamily out the window.

Then it shows the couple walking off the train in their hometown, a couple of pictures of them in their home, one in the evening at dinner and another of them getting ready to go to work the next day.

It ends with the two of them walking into a building with the East Gallaga Company logo emblazoned above the doors.

"East Gallaga Company: Working for Everyone!"

(this ad would be followed up by supportive letters to the editors of the local papers from Gallagans working at the EGC)

*grumble forums grumble*

Ambassador Fletcher added a dash of whiskey to his shot glass, then considered it. And added another.

He had seen the newspaper ads. And knew what Ianapalis' immediate response would be. A telegram, telling him to bend down on both knees and kiss Marcus Rumbiak's ass as hard and often as possible.

Fletcher didn't know what the East Gallaga Company thought it was doing, who it thought it was messing with. Mr. Rumbiak was no push-over, even if the current administration in Jameston was. He threw back the double shot, but the liquor did little to calm his nerves. So he tried to pour another.

But the ambassador's hands were shaking, with a mind all of their own. Whiskey flew everywhere, over his deck, on his papers, stained his minature Cross of St. Patrick. He didn't know why he kept the flag; everyone would know they'd walked into the Iansislean embassy from the moment they saw the manual typewriter his secretary used.

When Mr. Newman, his aide, walked in with a telegram from Sir Archibald, he found Fletcher sprawled out in his chair and the bottle of whiskey lying on the floor.

Surely Mari Alkatiri should get the vote . . . down to earth and doesn't mind being photographed shortly after the incident involving the tube of superglue when he stuck his hands together.

Mari recently visited our nation and attended a short course of how to write with his feet.

A dedicated person.

Ern

(Heh heh, Iansisle, wait until I start the radio ads... :twisted: )

"East Gallaga Company: Preparing for the Future Today!"

((This is so going to backfire. TB was ruled by the VOC for decades, which is the "East Knootoss Company", so to speak. But hey, maybe they like the reference to colonialism. After all we did build roads, schools etc there. Well, we had schools build by Tanah Burung people at any rate.
~Knoot refusing to log in))

Typical of the capitalist hegemony on modern life that honest free fair elections are being hijacked for these purposes.

Our government wishes Mari Alkatiri success in the elections, in order to realise a truly enlightened policy in dealing in world affairs.

Jamahiriyah Chairman Kreijo

(Well yeah, trying to sell the good side, such as it is, of colonialism to former colonies ranks up there on the difficulty chart with trying to convince the Duque to have a big ol' rare steak with a side of Hamster fries ;) )

(Give me a shout out, I'm sure I can work some ads out for ya!)

(What the hell, why not? :wink: )

The Royal Palace, Moo Moo Farm City:

The duque Mooo IV was sitting at his couch, besides a huge pile of newspapers. He loved to read newspapers from all over the world on his free time, to keep in touch with reality and the events of the world.
He was reading a tanah burungian newspaper when his bovine eyes suddenly stopped at a huge ad. "What on earth!?! Iansisle advertising colonialism? In Tanah Burung!?! I tell you honey, The world is crazy, crazy!", he says to a beloved hamsterian duquesa, sitting at his lap.

"Saturnino!", he calls. The Foreign Affairs minister, Saturnino Vacuno, came from the next room, where he was busy writing a letter to another nation.
"What's wrong, Milky?"
"Have you seen this ad?!"
"Oh, yes. It's insolit. Iansisleans advertising their own colonialism. Free Market policies are always surprising me."
"Yes, it might be funny, but it also may ruin Rumbiak's campaign. Remember how he critised the country."
"Oh, I agree. But we can't do anything about this, sadly."
"I might have a small idea. We could promote vegetarianism and, at the same time, a small counter-colonialism message. We would be convincing people to stop barbaric practisises and, at the same time, helping Rumbiak."
"How? tanah burungians laws don't allow foreign interventions."
"No, but they allow advertising from corporations, state owned or not. (ooc: I hope this is correct!) I was thinking about advertising our own lettuce brand, "Lechuga La Libertad" (Liberty Lettuce). Officially, the pourposes of the ad are to advertise the lettuce, but we could also have a message like "Defeat imperialism! Eat lettuce!", or something like that"
"Hmmm? You mean, making anti-meat eating ads?"
"Why not? Everybody advertises nowadays, we might hop into the train of competiveness too. Come on, Call this agency. We will start advertising on tanah burung, but we may expand to other countries in the future.", he said, giving Saturnino a small card with the phone number of Larkinian advertising agency."Call here. I heard these larkinians are good at this."

(If this bothers you, TB, tell me and I'll just delete this post. :wink: )

(HB, how could i posisbly be bothered by an ad saying "defeat imperialiam, eat lettuce"? :wink: )

UKUN RASIKAN -- In polls taken just before the recent outburst of advertising, a tight three-way race is emerging. Violeta Bi Bere continues to top the polls, but her lead is shrinking as the other candidates continue to assail her policies. The Alkatiri and Santos campaigns are close behind. Rumbiak has lost ground, but hopes to make it up now that colonialism has been injected as an election issue.

Violeta Bi Bere 28%*
Markus Rumbiak 19%*
Lily Santos *25%*
Mari Alkatiri *26%*

Alkatiri has pledged if elected to work for a ban on foreign advertising. "This is none of the their affair," he said, refusing to comment on the actual ads taken out in newspapers across the country.

Santos attacked that as an infringement of freedom of the press. "Listen," she said. "It isn't up to the government to interfere with the free market."

Regional breakdowns showed each candidate with the lead in their home province:

Tiga Burung -- Santos tops the polls, with Alkatiri showing unexpected strength in second.

Ukun Rasikan -- Bi Bere looks set to cruise to anotehr easy victory in the diplomatic centre of the country, where all foreign embassies are located.

Loro Sae -- Although defeated as Governor of this province in the last elections, Rumbiak continues to hold a slim lead over Santos here.

Matebian -- Alkatiri leads the polls in the mountainous "heartland of the revolution," but Bi Bere is also strong -- and has been helped by her work on the Third World University, now under construction here.

Burung-yang-membuat-dunia -- Santos was leading here, but a recent disastrous campaign stop in which she fled tough questions now has this province up for grabs.

Burung Paradis -- The inland province with heavy rain forest cover is a toss-up between Bi Bere and Rumbiak.

Iansisle advertising colonialism? In Tanah Burung!?! I tell you honey, The world is crazy, crazy!", he says to a beloved hamsterian duquesa, sitting at his lap.

((Well, technically, it's not Iansisle per se, but a large independent corporation operating under Iansislean jurisdiction. Oh, and I'd like to say that, yes, Lark was speaking for me when he said we don't support imperialist, private or private, in any way, shape, form, or incarnation. Someone has to play the bad guy, though ;) (and that's one thing the EGC's good at!)))

"Defeat imperialism! Eat lettuce!"

(( :lol: I love it!))

(HB, got the telegram and getting to work on it ;)

Knoot, they probably won't like it, but, ya know, what the heck. Who knows, Rumbiak could get a boost from it. *who, me? Mess with an election??* :P )

((Well, technically, it's not Iansisle per se, but a large independent corporation operating under Iansislean jurisdiction. Oh, and I'd like to say that, yes, Lark was speaking for me when he said we don't support imperialist, private or private, in any way, shape, form, or incarnation. Someone has to play the bad guy, though ;) (and that's one thing the EGC's good at!)))

(I know that the EGC is not Iansisle. But when the duque says Iansisleans, he refers to the nationality, not the country.
Anyway, I agree with you, someone has to play the bad guys. And, let me tell you, It's a pleasure that you are that one. :P )


(( :lol: I love it!))

Thanks! :P
Great to be back at the good old Iansisle-Tanah Burung-Larkinia-Hell Bovines RPs! :D

(I know that the EGC is not Iansisle. But when the duque says Iansisleans, he refers to the nationality, not the country.
Anyway, I agree with you, someone has to play the bad guys. And, let me tell you, It's a pleasure that you are that one. :P )

((Oh, ok. Sorry if I was kind of blunt; there's been quite a few people in the past (no one present, though) who have had trouble telling the EGC, RM&M, etc. from the Iansislean government. Sorry if I offended you; that wasn't my intention.

And I'm not quite sure if I should be insulted or complimented by that last part! ;)))

Thanks! :P
Great to be back at the good old Iansisle-Tanah Burung-Larkinia-Hell Bovines RPs! :D

((Isn't it, though? I just wish Ziobia were still about...I suppose we could always be the "Freedom Four" (though, Iansisle might not fit in quite as well to the whole 'freedom' qualifier ;))))

[/outfield chatter]

((Oh, ok. Sorry if I was kind of blunt; there's been quite a few people in the past (no one present, though) who have had trouble telling the EGC, RM&M, etc. from the Iansislean government. Sorry if I offended you; that wasn't my intention.

And I'm not quite sure if I should be insulted or complimented by that last part! ;)))

(Come on! I'm not offended at all, pal! :D
Of course the last part was a compliment, BTW :wink: )


Thanks! :P
Great to be back at the good old Iansisle-Tanah Burung-Larkinia-Hell Bovines RPs! :D

((Isn't it, though? I just wish Ziobia were still about...I suppose we could always be the "Freedom Four" (though, Iansisle might not fit in quite as well to the whole 'freedom' qualifier ;))))

[/outfield chatter]

Yeah, I also wish Ziobia was here too. :(
Besides, Freedom Five sounds so much better than Freedom Four :D

((Isn't it, though? I just wish Ziobia were still about...I suppose we could always be the "Freedom Four" (though, Iansisle might not fit in quite as well to the whole 'freedom' qualifier ;))))

[/outfield chatter]

Yeah, I also wish Ziobia was here too. :(
Besides, Freedom Five sounds so much better than Freedom Four :D

(well, that may be freedom three after I get done with the posts in another thread ;) )

Arasaka Advertising Agency, Freeport Station office

Kyan put the phone down and grinned as he sipped his coffee. Two big accounts, same market, different messages. Maybe the agency should think about opening a branch in Tanah Burung at this rate.

"Jenica, can I talk to you a minute?" he asked as he walked over to his assistant's office.

"Sure boss," she smiled, "What can I do for ya?"

He stifled back the first smart-ass comment to come to mind, "Well, we have another account for advertising in Tanah Burung, and it's clashing with our other account."

She nodded as he continued, "So I need you to call back all of those papers you'd called before.." she'd started to wince, "... and buy full page ads opposite our EGC account, and around the Rumbiak stories."

"You know," she started, "It sounds like you're actually trying to get Rumbiak elected..."

Kyan just winked at her and walked back to his office to get started on the ads.

(You guys kill me, i can't tell who is double-crossing who any more)

Free-time political radio broadcast by Markus Rumbiak.

Kakak-adik, my dear countrymen. I speak to you today on the gravest of all possible matters. We had thought the evil of colonialism banished from our country. It is not.

We had thought the colonial days were passing, that the exploiters of other peoples did not dare to show their faces in public. We were wrong.

We were certain that that most evil of all creations, the corporation that claims whole countries as its "property" and holds entire peoples in slavery, was banished forever. It is not.

My sisters, my brothers. We knew the lash of the Veerenigde Knooter Oostindische Compagnie. We fought against that vile creation. We freed ourselves, my brothers! We drove them out, my sisters!

But today, a viper has entered our country. The East Gallaga Company tries to defend its vile ways, its criminal exploitation of another nation. Yes, my children, criminal! That imperialist company is a festering pustule of slavery that pollutes the earth by its existence! And they dare to come here?

My uncles, my nephews, let's flock together against this modern slavery, this criminal conspiracy that calls itself a company! Join me next week in Ukun Rasikan, where we shall make the city shake. Let those slave traders feel the wrath of a people united! Down with colonialism! Down with colonialism!

(LOL, that'd probably be Colonel Mustard, in the Conservatory with the... I mean, me, in the Office with the computer. :P )

Kyan listened to the replay of Rumbiak's message with a frown.

"What?? What kind of 'political message' is this?? It't nothing more than a veiled attack on our client! I don't care what kind of political campaign this chuckling blowhard thinks he wants to run, this is ridiculous, and we need to prepare to demand for either a retraction or a change to reply," he exclaimed.

"Ummm," Jenica started, "I don't think the stations of Tanah Burung will be too receptive about us taking up their airtime..."

"Then that should make their choices easy. If he wants to attack a candidate, I don't care."

Edit; Working on the Liberty Lettuce ad tonight, should be up tonight or tomorrow.

“Feeling better, your excellency?” Newman pulled up the blinds.

“Ugh...” moaned Justin Fletcher, trying to roll over. His chair didn’t provide a lot of wiggle room. “Worse. Do we have any opiates?”

“Yes, your excellency, but you’re not having any,” said Newman matter-of-factly as he straightened up the office. “You brought this hangover on yourself, and you’ll suffer through it naturally. Maybe it will even teach you something about excessive drinking.”

“Damn it, man, I’m the senior man on this post,” grunted Fletcher. “If I want a painkiller, I’ll have one!”

“Mr. Fletcher, we need to have you back to full strength, not wallowing about with drugs in your system,” replied Newman, setting a cup of coffee on the desk. “Drink that.”

“Newman, don’t make me assert my authority!” It hurt to yell; Fletcher decided he wasn’t going to do that anymore.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard the news?” asked Newman, ignoring the previous comment.

“No.” Fletcher was so surprised by the new intensity of his headache and Newman’s flat refusal to be intimidated that he forgot to continue the argument.

“Marcus Rumbiak just went on the air. He’s rallying support for an anti-imperialist march on Ukun Rasikan.”

“Wait...we’re imperialist,” said Fletcher after a moment’s consideration.

“I don’t think he has any specific problems with the Empire - yet. His speech only singled out the East Gallaga Company, not the Iansislean crown colonies.”

“That’s what I meant to do,” thought Fletcher out loud. “Newman, I want you to call - what’s his face - Ashtonbury, the EGC attaché to our office - and have him come down at once; we’ve a few things to discuss.”

“I already took the liberty, your excellency. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.” Newman surveyed his boss. “You might want to clean up - it looks as if you spent all last night drinking.”

“Shut up,” grumbled Fletcher. He tried to stand up, but that didn’t quite work. Maybe he’d just keep sitting there, but button up his shirt.

OOC

This poll is on the knife's edge. So damn close.

Chuckling blowhard? :lol:

UKUN RASIKAN -- Violeta Bi Bere sat silently at her desk, staring out the window at the row of foreign embassies stretching out to the west of the Green Palace along Canal Street. This campaign was in danger of spinning out of control, as the names of friendly countries were dragged through the mud by her opponents.

Time to issue a statement.

I welcome the vigourous debate on foreign policy this campaign has brought. But we must not lose sight of the fact that foreign policy is meant to promote friendly relations with all nations.

Certain candidates in this race are trying to hold our foreign relations hostage to their own agendas. Let me nip this in the bud.

Ms Santos speaks of prosperity. The biggest boost to prosperity this country has ever known is the International Fair Trade Agreement. We have invested tremendous resources into the IFTA and a trade mission to Greenfields and Aperin is currently expanding those trade ties. Ms Santos might sweep all that away, for the chance of trade with less reliable partners. And shouldn't our highest representative to the world be able to give a straight answer, and know the correct names of foreign leaders?

It is the policy of this government to remain active members of the IFTA.

Mr Alkatiri speaks of solidarity. Yet he might take us into the CACE, a closed alliance that refuses to even maintain diplomatic relations with some of the most important countries in the world. Yes, these countries are close friends, and that is why we have a trade mission visiting many CACE countries soon. But do we want our foreign policy dictated from another continent?

It is the policy of this government to maintain an independent and non-aligned foreign policy.

My friend Mr Rumbiak is ranting against the Iansislean adminstration of Gallaga. Of course, the whole country is against colonialism. But do we want to enter a war of words with our developing nation friends? Better to work alongside Gallagans for greater freedom for their homeland. I fear that Mr Rumbiak may launch intemperate attacks on other friendly countries.

It is the policy of this government to work along with other developing nations for a world free of colonialism, not to undertake confrontations with our closest associates.

---

TIGA BURUNG -- Cameras flash as Lily Santos enters the television studio for an exclusive interview with Sam Saleh of TBTV1. Santos looks composed, ready to take on the world.

Saleh: With us today is Lily Santos, currently in a three-way dead heat in the race for people's representative for forign affairs & human rights. Ms Santos has been coming under fire for refusing to answer questions about the specifics of her platform. Lily, are you planning to pull out of the IFTA?

Santos: I intend to create more prosperity for the nation. If the IFTA is the way to prosperity, then i will stay part of it.

Saleh: But do you want to trade with Knootoss? Or with Iansisle? Isn't that a contradiction?

Santos: Listen Sam. What we need are bigger economic pies. I'm not a trade expert. I just know that we need prosperity.

Saleh: Lily, can you give a straight answer to a straight question?

Santos: I'm glad you asked that question. It's an important question, and i think there can be no doubt that the answer is yes.

Saleh: In that case, maybe you could answer mine. Are you planning to open trade with non-IFTA nations?

Santos: I'm a practical person. I've met a payroll. I believe in prosperity. If elected, that is what i'll deliver.

Saleh: Well, i'll leave it to the viewers to decide if that was a straight answer or not. Let me try another question. Your opponent Markus Rumbiak is trying to make colonialism an issue in this campaign, based on advertising taken out by the East Gallaga Company. That advertising appears mostly in newspapers linked to your organization, the Sunny Tanah Burung Tourism and Trade Bureau. Are you making common cause with a foreign company?

Santos: Where's Gallaga? What has it to do with us?

Saleh: I believe the issue is over the larger colonial question.

Santos: I know that Prime Minister De... The Prime Minister of Iansisle will agree with me when i say it's none of our business. Anyway, the company's not all bad. They build roads, right? They opened schools. I bet they gave the people a common language. Ianilese or something.

Saleh: Would you say the same thing about the VKOC that used to govern this country?

Santos: I... I'm glad you asked that question. It's a very important question. But i think the real question is which candidate is best placed to lead this great country to prosperity.

Saleh: All right. What about the connections between the Tourism Bureau and the newspapers running these ads?

Santos: I have not broken any campaign laws.

Saleh: Lily Santos, thanks for your time.

Chuckling blowhard? :lol:

(Well, in Takeo's words... "At least he didn't call him 'slappy'..." ;) )

"Perhaps, Mr. Ashtonbury, you would care to tell me just what the hell your Ianapalis office thinks it's doing?" Fletcher's voice was low and dangerous; low because of the hangover, and dangerous because of Ashtonbury's company's actions.

"Pardon me, Your Excellency?" asked the Company man, though his eyes showed no confusion.

"You know damn well what I mean, man," continued Fletcher without averting his eyes. "Those newspaper advertisments your company is running. I don't know what sort of schoolyard game Executor Tedders thinks he is playing, but Tanah Burung is one of Iansisle's oldest and dearest allies."

"Of course, Your Excellency," smiled Ashtonbury, "and I can assure you that the office of the Executor would never do anything to upset tha..."

"Save your bull plop for the press," said Fletcher dryly. "I suppose you know that, even as we speak, Marcus Rumbiak is marching for the city, with God knows what intention?"

"I had heard reports to that effect," replied Ashtonbury cautiously.

"I have no intenton of protecting either you or the Company," continued Fletcher, standing. "Iansisle has always tried to maintain its imperial activities on a low scale, especially in former colonial states. Your company's reckless action has endangered our long-standing - and very profitable - relationship with the government of Tanah Burung."

Ashtonbury said nothing.

"I'd suggest you get to a speechwriter at once." It wasn't so much a suggestion as an invitation to vacate the Iansislean embassy at once. "You'll need it if you're to exchange verbal blows with Marcus Rumbiak."

"I promise you, the Company won't soon forget this insult," said Ashtonbury quietly. "After all we've done for Iansisle - for you, you have the nerve to throw me out of your office? I can assure you - Ianapalis will be hearing of this."

"I have no doubt," replied Fletcher. "Now - get out!"

((OK... you guys play along. *sniffle* If its a RP for you four...))

(ooc note: my next few posts will be setting up the various candidates for the rally in Ukun Rasikan, where all foreign embassies are located. Anyone with an embassy in Tanah Burung -- and that definitely includes you, Knoot! -- is welcome to have someone either in their embassy watching the rally, outside mingling with protesters, grabbing a megaphone and shouting at them, or whatever. And if you have any particular characters you'd like present at the time (coughJavinKatanacough) then that is more than fine.)

BURUNG PARADIS -- Markus Rumbiak took a long swallow of Burung Bud Brew and laughed at the joy of it. He couldn't have asked for a better villain than the East Gallaga Company.

"Lafa! Come here!"

His faithful assistant ran into the hut, clutching a notebook bound (quite illegally) in crocodile skin. "Yes, Bapak?"

"Start telling everyone the plan. We are marching on Ukun Rasikan to form a human chain between the embassies of Iansisle and Knootoss. Call it, oh, let's say the Freedom Chain. Tell them that each link represents one poor opressed Gallagan. And get some pictures of Gallagans for people to hold. Preferably starving Gallagans, or Gallagans that have been maimed in some way. Tortured Gallagans, if you can find any photos of that. And make sure those remarks by the Knootian ambasssador about how we'd be better off if we took their advice on how to run a country start getting reported again."

"Yes, Bapak." She starts to leave.

"Lafa, one more thing."

"Yes, Bapak?"

"Send a bottle of gin to Ambassador Fletcher with my compliments." He throws back his head and laughs again. He may be last in the polls, but he has never enjoyed himself more.

And if you have any particular characters you'd like present at the time (coughJavinKatanacough)

OOC: Oh dear, you didn't say who I think you said, did you? ;) Oh lord, do I want to dust him off? Oh yeah, and you can connect to his webpage from geocities.yahoo.com/larkinia The site's still under development (Javin's, Takeo's and jeff's pages are the only ones you can connect to from the main page *this has been a thinly veiled plug for the website in progress* :P )

(that gives me "page not found" errors. anyways, just an idle thought...)

LORO SAE -- Mari Alkatiri shrugged off his black jacket. He'd had a hard day in Rumbiak territory. Alkatiri hated the big crowds, the shouting and the colourful banners that typified elections in Tanah Burung. Yet quietly, talking to people one at a time, he had moved to the top of the polls.

The universe, he mused, was unfolding as it should. If things continued to develop as they were, he would be the first Muslim elected as a member of Tanah Burung's collective presidency. Not that he was a devout man, by any means. To him, religion was little more than an excuse to build community. He parted ways with Marx on this, not believing that religion was only "the opiate of the masses," but no one could call Alkatiri a believer.

Alkatiri had his foreighn suporters, but they were quiet, and never uttered a word without repeating "non-interference." The closest thing had been a subtle signal by junior diplomats from Watfordshire.

The campaign seemed to be moving in a new direction, now that Markus Rumbiak was moving anti-colonialism to the centre of his campaign. Well, let Rumbiak gather the crowds in Ukun Rasikan. Let him bellow. Mari Alkatiri would be there, a diminutive figure in black, moving through the crowds, convinving one voter at a time.

He began packing his bags for the protest.

(Here's (http://www.geocities.com/larkinia/main.htm) the link...we're just missing a '/main' ;)

I'll have another post up tonight, sooner rather than later, hopefully.)

(*D'Oh! :oops: Sorry guys, it's the night from hell at work tonight, I can barely remember which way my head's screwed on right now :wink: Thanks Iansisle)

“A telegram, you Excellency,” said Newman, hurrying into Fletcher’s office.

“Sir Archibald again?” sighed the Gadsani, holding out a hand in resignation. He had never responded to the last one.

“Don’t you know it. You..may wish to read it, however.” Fletcher eyed Newman with a sense of distrust. He didn’t like just how insubordinate the other had become in the past few weeks. True, Gadsan had never been known for its strict discipline or stuffy morals, but Fletcher still liked to maintain a sense of order in the workplace. Especially if that workplace was His Majesty’s embassy in Tanah Burung.

Regardless, he flipped the letter open and skimmed through it. It may have come from the foreign affairs ministry, but the note definitely wasn’t Sir Archibald’s.

“So the Company’s decided to twist a few arms in Ianapalis,” sighed the ambassador, tossing it aside. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have been quite so harsh with Mr. Ashtonbury,” said Newman quietly. Justin gritted his teeth.

“I think that’s quite enough, Mr. Newman.”

“Shall I get Mr. Ashtonbury for you, sir?”

“Damn.”

“Your Excellency?”

“Yes, Newman, yes!” With a loud sigh, Justin waved the man away. Then he withdrew a cup and considered the bottle of gin. Dammit, from Rumbiak or not, he needed a drink.

OOC: Wow! nice site, Lark. I like the pic of Javin Katana, kinda reminds me of someone. :wink:
Seriously, I like it. I can aid you with writing the hell bovinian ambassador's bio, if you want.
anyway, I like the site. good work! :P

(Very nice page Lark. I'll have to go back and clean up mine at some point....)

MATEBIAN -- For Lily Santos, things were going from bad to worse.

Lily was trying to give a speech outside the Hall of the Revolution in Matebian. The crowd, mostly made up of poor people from the city slums, was turnign ugly. As she said "bigger economic pies" for the third time in her speech, she was hit in the slouder by an over-ripe fruit. A rain of rotten vegetables began. Her make-up ran from the juice.

Lily fled inside. At least the Hall of the Revolution was open to her. Although its securuity guards seemed to be laughing.

"Sorry Lily," her campaign manager said.

"I thought this was supposed to be in the bag, Lash! What happened to my coronation?"

Lash is silent. What can he say? It's plain that the people of Matebian are not her friends.

"Well, what's the news on the advertising front?"

"It seems to be backfiring. That demagogue Rumbiak is planning to march on Ukun Rasikan."

"So, what are we going to do about it?"

"I think we had better be there to speak in opposition."

Lily wipes tomato pulp from her cheek. "Well, anywhere is better than here."

The new ambassador

Magda Vogels stepped outside to take a stroll over the embassy grounds.

The gracious woman with brown hair had just been appointed as the new Knootian Ambassador to Tanah Burung, replacing the old ambassador Horst van Leur after an unfortunate diplomatic incident (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=107319&highlight=) Her distant relation to the former Prime Minister was shown only a bit in her features. Mingled European blood.

“The Knootian Embassy must be the nicest in Tanah Burung”, she thought, stepping onto the lawn. The old colonial building was nestled in between the Iansisle embassy on one side and their ambassador's residence on the other. The palatial grounds and the lush manicured lawns were littered with peacocks and waterfowl. It's easy to forget you are in Ukun Rasikan, because it is the peaceful sound of birds chirping that you hear as you stroll across the verdant grounds, not the cacophony of the traffic on a nearby road., she reminded herself.

The embassy, which the Knootians had occupied as a government building since 1890, until independence was declared. The Knootian East Indies Company (VOC) inscription that once adorned the face of the building had been removed though, destroyed by the revolutionaries.

As she strolled over the lawn she noticed a red bright flower springing up. She bowed over and admired its exoticness. ”Everyday this country holds a new fascination for me.”, she thought. All the little things sparked her curiosity, but sometimes it was very difficult to understand … ”there is always this component of mystery to Tanah Burung.” she thought. An elderly white man wearing Tanah Burung clothing entered the Embassy grounds, greeted by the two soldiers who were standing guard. Well, not exactly standing. They were leaning casually to the wall. One soldier was smoking. All in all it was pretty relaxed.
Another immigrant, Magda Vogels thought. Funny how these people want to return here despite all that they went through. Tempo doeloe must be a strong feeling

In the distance she heard some shouting disturbing the chattering of the birds.
“Whats that?”, she asked one of the soldiers.
“protests, probably,” replied the man standing near the entrance sturdily. “and they appear to be coming this way.”
“Aren’t we supposed to be notified when such things happen?”, wondered the woman.
“I guess they ‘forgot’”, answered the soldier. “But I’m sure they informed the media.”
Magda frowned ”What have I gotten myself into.”

As the shouts became louder the soldier stood up, no longer leaning against the wall. Attentive.
“Here they come.”

(lovely! technically Ukun Rasikan is not the capital, but it is home base for the foreign ministry & thus for foreign embassies, so it may as well be for our purposes here)

UKUN RASIKAN -- Violeta Bi Bere watched the crowds beginning to form below. It was a carnival atmosphere, but here and there angry young men moved through the throng, whispering angry young remarks.

Violeta's campaign workers had been careful to line Canal Street with blue banners. But the crowd was dressed mostly in red and black. Those that were dressed, that is: many of the Burung Paradis and Loro Sae protesters wore almost nothing: a loincloth or kilt here, a few strategically placed feathers there. A few carried spears. These were mostly symbolic. But they kept them sharpened anyway.

Constancio Matebian opened the doors to Violeta's office. "He's here, mother."

The old woman sighed. "All right, let's get this under way."

Markus Rumbiak strode in, grinning. "A fine turn-out, don't you think, Violeta?"

"Oh, dear heart, i wish it had not come to this," she answered quietly. "You can't win, you know."

Markus collapsed into a couch. "Oh, this is only a taste. The people united can never be defeated. Or so we shall be chanting in a few minutes."

"My dear, you'll wreck everything we have worked for."

"Seeds of the new society, kakak Vi. Shell of the old. Now did you have a proposal for me?"

"Not yet, Markus. Not yet."

"Well then, selamat tinggal." He stood and headed for the door.

"Selamat jalan," Violeta said to the man's back. "Go with God."

She hit the intercom button. "Constancio, would you make a call to the embassies for me? Tell me this protest does not represent the policy of the people's representative for foreign affairs. Tell them i still make foreign policy for this country. For a few more days, at least."

(Thanks y'all, and now for the next eagerly awaited ad, across the page from the EGC Education Ad)

The scene starts in the plains, with a group of Hell Bovinians meekly cultivating the land under the harsh whips of an unknown overlord. One Hell Bovinian gets shoved down to the ground roughly. In the next frame of the ad she looks down and sees that there is lettuce growing where she landed.

She picks up the lettuce and hurls it at the overlord, knocking him off of his horse. The scene quickly shifts as the Hell Bovinians stand up and start to fight back against the overlord and his minions by hurling heads of lettuce at them. The last frames shows a cowed overlord and his men fleeing a group of Hell Bovinians chasing them, pelting them with heads of lettuce. Through the last picture of the ad, of a group of Hell Bovinians eating lettuce with triumphant looks on their faces, a Hell Bovinian fist is clenching a handful of lettuce, and is appearing to punch through the frame. Under the fist is the phrase

Fight back! Lechuga La Libertad!!!!

(no heads of lettuce were harmed in the making of this ad :P )

Presidential Palace, Larkinia

Takeo Katana sat in his office, reading the latest reports on the elections in Tanah Burung. It was a tight race, with Rumbiak pulling up the rear and counting on the issue of colonialism to bring him back into the elections.

He was reading about the protests nervously, he hoped the staff at the embassy was ready for them, there was nothing like a Tanah Burungian protesting... Unless it's a Hell Bovinian armed with a head of lettuce, he thought with a chuckle. He loved the ad and was wondering who in the heck had run it.

He tapped the intercom, "Aiana, who else, other than Jameson, do we have on staff at the embassy in Ukun Rasikan?"

"We have Jameson, the regular assistant ambassdorial staff and Special Envoy..." she replied, pausing suddenly.

"Special Envoy who?" He asked. He was confident they could handle the situation with two diplomats there, plus Javin was at a Archaeological dig, nothing to worry about.

"Ummm, no one sir."

"Aiana?" he asked a little nervously. He was answered with a sharp pain to his left buttock, a familiar pain in the ass.

"Oh dear god... no," he said, very nervously now.

“Here they come, your Excellency,” said Newman quietly as he listened to the protesters shouts grow louder.

Newman, Fletcher, and Ashtonbury were standing at a street-facing window on the embassy’s second floor. Newman had his hand against the old, sage green drapes, holding them ever so slightly open.

Fletcher could see the young, inexperienced guards brace themselves just outside the closed gate. Hell, he could almost smell their fear from here. They were as green as the grass in front of the embassy; with the rapid wartime expansion of Iansisle’s armed forces, much of the manpower had been drawn from the guards service.

“They haven’t been given live ammunition, have they?” asked Ashtonbury quietly. Newman shook his head.

“No, Mr. Ashtonbury. Well, at least, not in their guns. Though their cold steel is sharp.”

“It shan’t come to violence,” said Fletcher. “I may not be the most experianced man on station, but I like to think that I’ve come to know at least one or two things about a Tanah Burung mind.” The others, each easily ten years his senior, and Fletcher shook his head. “They’re a moderate people; peaceful, and often willing to compromise...”

“I would be careful, Mr. Fletcher, about drawing such dangerous stereotypes,” said Ashtonbury. “Don’t forget, this is Markus Rumbiak we’re talking about. Any other man, and I’d agree with you whole-heartedly. But Rumbiak’s that most dangerous of all things - a revolutionary who has outlived his time; an old soldier unable to accept that the war is over.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about the man,” replied Fletcher dryly, “considering you’ve never met him.”

“Met him? No, I haven’t that. But I am familiar with his career, and I was there at the last Winter Gala.” Ashtonbury smiled at the look on the young ambassador’s face. “I’m sorry, your Excellency, didn’t you receive and invitation from the High King? No? Such a shame.” Fletcher’s eyes burned, but there was nothing he could do; not while he held that telegraph from Ianapalis. “At any rate, I was fortunate enough to witness a discussion between Mr. Rumbiak and that galler Dhawan. Let us just say that Mr. Rumbiak raised some - controversial issues.”

“Controversial, Mr. Ashtonbury?” asked Fletcher, narrowing his eyes.

“Controversial, your Excellency. Rumbiak all but called for the overthrow of the Company and an armed insurrection in Gallaga.” Ashtonbury crossed his arms. “This isn’t, contrary to public opinion, the first time the Company and Mr. Rumbiak have crossed swords. Nor, I fear, shall it be the last.”

“What,” asked Newman suddenly, “do you suppose our neighbors are up to?” The other two men followed his finger to a woman, obviously not a guard, standing in the edenesque lawn of the Knootian embassy. “Don’t they know there’s a protest on?”

Fletcher frowned. “It is directed against u- against the Company, Mr. Newman,” he started with only a brief stutter. “Perhaps they simply feel no reason to retreat.”

“Or perhaps,” replied Ashtonbury coldly, “they, much like our own Ambassador Fletcher, have such a perfect understanding of the Tanah Burung paradigm that they simply cannot contemplate that there may be danger.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Fletcher could only grit his teeth.

“Here they come,” whispered Newman again, his attention fixed back on the road. Below them, the young guards hastily retreated inside the heavy cast iron gates, then swung them shut.

TVTB news ticker .... Libertad Lettuce futures soar .... "Anti-colonial" protest begins in Ukun Rasikan .... Knootoss calls another election, war feared imminent .... Trade deal reached with Hell Bovines in Moo Moo Town, Auto Coop to make "cars for the ample Bovine frame" .... Libertad Lettuce futures soar ....

--------------------------
Knootian embassy
Ukun Rasikan
Not the Capital
--------------------------
Magda saw her new neighbours in Iansisle through their window and waved before she went inside. There, she received a phone call from Constancio regarding the protests. With a resolute voice she answered: “Thank you for informing us. We will be fine. If anything goes wrong I still hope to count on the local police.”

”Oh, I do hope they wont trample on the garden. Its so lovely.”

One of the soldiers, Magda hadn’t remembered his name yet, approached the her: “Madam Ambassador, I recommend we close the gates and arm ourselves. Just in case.”

Magda nodded: “Well, we don’t know yet what kind of protest it is. It might be a harmless passing of the time. After all, these people like to protest against us as a national pastime.” The soldier grinned: “Perhaps we should stage protests against Lavenrunz every odd day. We were, after all, dependent on them a long time ago.”

Magda smiled vaguely to the young lad, more amused with the soldiers attitude then with the joke. “But it is a good idea. This Rumbiak fellow is dangerous. I do hope that he will not win these elections.”
The solder asked again, impatiently, “Arms, madam?”
She didn’t need to think that one over. “Oh, no, lets not bring back bad memories of Knootians holding bayonets.”

She raised her voice to that both soldiers could her. She was now the mother goose, protecting the embassy. Her Embassy. “Close the gates. Everyone inside.”

One of the soldiers had a bright idea, and put a sign on the front post of the gate.

"CLOSED FOR THE HOLIDAYS"

---

Knootoss calls another election, war feared imminent
LOL!

UKUN RASIKAN -- There were more than enough protesters to form a human chain between the embassies of Iansisle and Knootoss -- especially since, as Rumbiak had forgotten, the two embassies stood right alongside each other. Instead, protesters marched up and down Canal Street past the 20-odd foreign embassies.

"Join us," they shouted as they passed some of the embassies -- Watfordshire, Hell Bovines, Larkinia, the austere SeOCC mission. "Solidarity! Solidarity!" They were in a grand mood. A sombre stillness passed over many as they passed by the vacant Ziobian embassy, but not for long: it was too nice a day, too fine a cause, too comradely a crowd. They hissed at the Knootian embassy, but seeing it closed, walked past.

"Smash colonialism! Eat lettuce!" In fact, vegetable sellers along the street were doing a brisk business. Lettuce sales were especially high. The acrid sweetness of marijuana smoke pervaded the air. "Don't be a dope! End colonialism!"

A cherry-picker pulled up in front of the Iansisle embassy, leaking coconut oil. Markus Rumbiak was hoisted into the treetops. His voice amplified through loud speakers along the street, he began to do his very favourite thing: deliver a speech.

"My sisters! My brothers!" The masses cheered ecstatically. Truth be told, they were not a hard crowd to please.

"For decades, we have had freedom!" The protesters shouted back "freedom, freedom." Rumbiak beamed at them, and went on. "Yes, freedom! But is it enough that we are free?" A few people looked confused, but they soon got the hang of it. "No! No! No!" they shouted back, some of them eating their vegetables, others just holding them. For later. A few juggled heads of lettuce.

Rumbiak took hold of the lapels of his green-and-orange plaid jacket, smoothed out the folds of his purple pliad trousers. "No, it is not enough! How can we be free when other suffer under the yoke of colonialism? And not just colonialism. They suffer under the rule of a private company. Yes, my friends, that most evil creation: a corporation that rules a country! Who do i speak of? Why, the people of Gallaga! Oppressed, oppressed, oppressed! Shall we let this stand?"

Amidst a chorus of "No, never!" he climbed down and approached the gates of the Iansislean embassy.

"Comrades," he said, "may i have a word with His Excellency the Ambassador?"

Justin Fletcher had been in Ianapalis during the Riots; capitalized because they were the single greatest domestic disturbance in Iansislean history. Tens of thousands had turned out to oppose a conciliatory stance towards Imitora, and they had quickly panicked when overflown by modern fighters. The protesters had trampled their way out of the open, and in the ensuing chaos, only the rule of the mob had triumphed east of MacDunn Street. He had cowered in the relative safety of Jameston Place and watched as the industrial sector burned. Now, the people of Tanah Burung may be individually much better educated, no small bit more reasonable, and infinitely more easy-going than the sprawling mass of the Shieldian proletariat, but Fletcher knew that the larger group, the more it became unstable.

Ashtonbury, in the meantime, cut the end off and lit a cigar. Soon, Fletcher and Newman could smell the distinctive flavor of fine Gallagan tobacco burning. It mixed with the protesters’ marijuana, but soon lost out against the powerful aroma of the crowd.

“How can you think of smoking at a time like this?” asked Fletcher quietly. It wasn’t so much a question as an accusation.

“I find it helps to calm my nerves,” replied the Company man airily as Rumbiak harangued the crowd. He tapped some ashes from it to the floor, much to both Newman and Fletcher’s disapproval. “Would you care for one, your Excellency?”

“No!” said Fletcher forcefully. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d put yours out!” Ashtonbury took another deep breath and blew out a cloud of smoke as if he hadn’t even heard the ambassador.

Meanwhile, down at the gates, the guards were becoming increasingly nervous - well, those who weren’t starting to feel a little light-headed from the smoke that is - at the the size of the crowd and their shouted message. When Rumbiak made his request of a chubby little major from the Royal Iansislean Army Corps (Ambassador’s Own Guards Division), the man just about fainted. He managed at last to say that he would take the request to Ambassador Fletcher and be back as quickly as he could.

That turned out to be a relative phrase, as the man vanished for nearly fifteen minutes. The rank-and-file of the guards shifted more and more uncomfortably in the face.

At last the major returned. He replied that Ambassador Fletcher was willing to talk to Mr. Rumbiak, but only Mr. Rumbiak, and that he would not be considered a representative of the government of Tanah Burung.

(A representative of the government? Good lord, i should hope not!)

Province Hall, Ukun Rasikan -- Violeta Bi Bere was shouting, something she almost never does. "We need some security out there, Inês! You've got to send in the police, or we'll have a riot on our hands!"

Inês Lobato sat stony-faced. "You want me to get the police to defend those embassies? No, i don't think i'll be backing your campaign."

"Inês! Governor, it's your duty!"

"I do not need a lecture from you. Your time has passed. You and all of the Radical Old."

Furious, Bi Bere left the building and headed towards Canal Street.

After a few moments, the doors opened again. Lily Santos walked in. "You sure told her, Governor."

"I hope this doesn't blow up in our faces, Lily. It's a dangerous game you and I are playing."

---

Canal Street, Ukun Rasikan -- Fifteen minutes is not all that long. When a pumped-up crowd is waiting for an answer, it seems like an eternity. So while the crowd waited to hear if Rumbiak would be allowed into the embassy grounds, their mood grew uglier. A few started to climb the fence around the Knootian compound, until Rumbiak waved them back. "Focus, brothers!"

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed those around him and followed the major into the embassy building. The gates swung shut behind him, to chants of "freedom, freedom."

Rumbiak walked up to Ambassador Fletcher. "Comrade Ambassador!" he said expansively, his arms stretched out as if to hug the young diplomat. "You hear the people's voice: Gallaga should be freed. What is your answer?"

OOC: OMG, you put the SeOCC and Knootian embassies in the same STREET!
Consider a trained sniper to be on the roof at all times. :P Just to be sure.

IC:
A few started to climb the fence around the Knootian compound, until Rumbiak waved them back. "Focus, brothers!"

--------------------------------
Inside the Embassy
--------------------------------
Magda peeked through a close curtain, the local captain standing beside her.
"My god, they are climbing the fence", whispered the woman.

"I will keep them off the lawn, Madam." replied the captain. He waved to two of the soldiers, who were sitting at a table playing cards.
"Get them boys. Be careful."

He grabbed his rifle and swung it on his back, followed by the two soldiers who got theirs from a very dusty closet. The three stormed outside, only to find that the crowd had already given up on climbing the fence. They looked around, a bit confused, scanning the garden to see if someone had already come in.

((I can imagine the crowd notices this.))

-----------------------------------------
Ministry of Foreign Affairs
Office of the state-secretary
-----------------------------------------

Galadriël Táralóm nos Cirdan hummed along with the sound of the fax machine printing out a telegram. When she heard the fax she was always very pleased with herself. “Getting Ybe to reroute all important incoming messages to this fax was a smart move”, she chuckled. ”It may not be standard procedure bit I am as informed as the secretary-general of the Communist Party." She chuckled over the comparison of herself to a communist apparatchik and continued humming.
“[I]Hey… what’s this.”


To: Ministry of Foreign Affairs
From: Tanah Burung diplomatic mission

[Diplomatic seal, registry number, etc]

Rumbiak now calling openly for action against Gallaga during protest..
Recommend government statement at this point.
~Ambassadrice M.Vogels

On the outside, the elf looked as impassionate as a Vulcan but on the inside she was annoyed, very annoyed. Ever since independence been generally annoyed with the country. Half-baked Knootians can’t even suppress a bunch of old men with even older guns. Bah. Had I been in charge of this country then, instead of running my business I would have shown them..

Being as old as she was, she had the mixed blessing of having been through the entire decolonisation process personally.
“And look at them now. ‘Independent’ CAGE ((intentional)) wannabe’s. Pfft. Especially if that Rumbiak wins. Hrrrm.”

The elf suppressed the burning urge to invade if Rumbiak would win, and put the message on her desk. ”After all, van Mierlo won’t be running this ministry for long with the present polls.”

Rumbiak walked up to Ambassador Fletcher. "Comrade Ambassador!" he said expansively, his arms stretched out as if to hug the young diplomat. "You hear the people's voice: Gallaga should be freed. What is your answer?"

.Fletcher met Rumbiak in the Embassy’s parlor. The room antiquated, one might even say quaint, in the most Victorian sense of the word. A great grandfather clock ticked off the seconds slowly in one corner of the room and fire crackled peacefully in the corner.

Rumbiak may have taken a second to wonder why the fire was burning at all, given that the windows were shut and the drapes drawn. There had never been a central air conditioner installed in the building - the foreign ministry simply hadn’t had the funds - and it was oppressively hot. But Fletcher had wanted to convey the proper sense of atmosphere; to remind Rumbiak that Iansisle, for all intents and purposes, lived in a very different time compared to Tanah Burung. That the revolutionary Rumbiak may also see the gestures as a reminder of Tanah Burung’s colonial past never crossed the Gadsani diplomat’s mind.

In the room, one could hardly hear the chanting of the crowd outside, which was another reason why Fletcher had closed the windows. Now, as the major led Rumbiak in, he stood with a small smile on his face. Granted, the smile could do little to disguise the churning in his stomach, but Fletcher was determined not to let Rumbiak push him around.

That got off to a bad start at once. Fletcher had been going for a handshake, but Rumbiak’s outstretched arms forced him back a step awkwardly. Even in Gadsan, which was among the more socially liberal of the Commonwealth’s states, physical contact between unmarried people, and gentlemen in particular, was strictly limited to a handshake, or, in the case of a lady, a kiss on the tip of the fingers. Somehow, Fletcher was less than willing to touch his lips to any part of Markus Rumbiak’s body.

It was also customary on the Shield to start things off slowly; one talked of social nothings for a half hour, someone stopped by to serve tea, and only once everyone had been satiated did any actual business get started. Fletcher was more than taken aback by Rumbiak’s direct approach; he had known that question would be coming, but the suddenness with which it appeared sent him reeling.

Fletcher probably would have stood there flapping his lips without words for an hour or two had not Ashtonbury stepped in.

“Mr. Rumbiak, I’m afraid that’s not a question you can put before poor Ambassador Fletcher,” he said quietly. “Nor is it a question for the government in Ianapalis. William Ashtonbury, attaché from the Office of the Executor.” He stuck the cigar back in his mouth and held out his hand.

“Now then, you say we can hear the people’s voice?” Ashtonbury indicated the muffled chanting outside. “I put it to you, sir, that we are in Ukun Rasikan, not Nusheld.”

OOC: Sorry about my inactivity. I've been very busy lately....
Lark: Good job! :D I love, really love the ad! I was cracking on the floor of laughter after reading it! :lol:

IC:
***Hell Bovinian Embassy, Ukun Rasikan

Ambassador Horacio Grassmoker was looking though the window, seeing the events that were developing outside, in the street.
"Rumbiak may be losing, but, damn, that man really seems to enjoy the campaign".
"Yes. I personally admire him. Someone had to have the guts to tell the truth about imperialism", replied Bimba Thintail, with an sparkling tone.
"I think he's over-reacting just to make campaign. Iansisle is not that bad. I hate imperialism, but their company did some positive things in Gallaga.", Horacio told her young assistant.
"Well, I don't care. Imperialism and colonialism are bad in all forms. Every nation has the right to choose its own path", Bimba replied. Suddenly, her face changes as she makes an impulsive decision:
"You know what? I'm tired of this crap, I'm gonna join the protest"
"Are you insane?! You're not going anywhere! You are here in Tanah Burung as a diplomatic assistant, not as an activist. Besides, Ianisle is our ally. You could cause a diplomatic mess. And believe me, the duque already did enough with that ridiculous ad.", Horacio Grassmoker replied, his eyes red with fury.
"Bimba, you're young and naive. Believe me, you will be making harm, instead of helping."
"I don't care", the young assistant said and with a decided step went towards the door of the embassy.

"I won't let you go out." Horacio said and stomped his hoof on the floor.
"You're not my boss"
"Actually, I am"
"Then, I quit. You're not my boss anymore. HA!", Bimba replied and, having said that, left the elegant spanish-style ranch house that served as an embassy.

Horacio litted up a cigar and looked though the window, where Bimba, his ex-assistant, was joining the crowd of protesting tanah burungians.
*How impertinent!......I really admire her*, Horacio thought as a small grin appeared on his bovine faccions.

Canal Street -- Mari Alkatiri is amongst the protesters as they proceed along the row of embassies. It's odd, he thinks, how the old colonial mansions facing the city of Ukun Rasikan across the canal became foreign embassies. Most countries scattered embassies throughout the captial. Here, the country had no capital, but the embassies were all on the one street. It was just as well, he reflected, that no bitter enemies had been placed within firing range of each other.

As the protesters pass by the Hell Bovines embassy, they cheered to see Bimba Thintail rush out, looking full of defiance. A few tried to left her on to their shoulders, but thought better of it once they considered how much the Bovinian diplomat must weigh. "Cows against colonialism!" some people shouted. "Lettuce be free!"

As Rumbiak disappeared behind the gates, Alkatiri walked over Bimba and reached out to her. "Madame, welcome to the streets. It's not a side of this country we show too often. You honour us by joining in. Tell me, are the rumours true that your country has been placed on alert because of threats of a 'safari' against your people?"


Outside the Knootian embassy -- As the protesters waited for Rumbiak to return, a few started to sing and play guitar. Others dance. And many more chanted slogans.

One of the boys chanting the loudest was Sebastian Gomes. He had tried to scale the fence earlier, but been talked down by Rumbiak. Now, there is no one to convince him to be sensible.

Sebastian chanted for a while, then started to get bored. Seeing the Knootian guards emerge, he shouted angrily at them. "Guns in our country? You've no right!" He took a run at the fence. Up and over.


Inside the Iansisle embassy -- Anyone watching would have thought Markus Rumbiak rude. Coming straight to the point was simply not something that was done. At the very least, a compliment on the decor would have been de rigeur, along with expressions of eternal friendship. There was evern an old saying: "The more awkward the topic, the more kind words beforehand."

But he'd ignored all that. It looked, in fact, as if he was enjoying breaking every rule taught in Tanah Burung's diplomacy training school. Certainly, he did not imagine his approach could do anything but catch Fletcher off guard.

Rumbiak was caught off gaurd himself as Ashtonbury emerged from the shadows, the very picture of a cigar-smoking plutocrat. He had to stop himself from exclaiming in surprise at the sight.

"Were we in Nusheld, my lord Ashtonbury, i fear that your Company would have trained guns on any such protest," he scowled. "Or have you granted the franchise, that the people's voice may be heard in Nusheld?" Turning back to Fletcher, he asked: "Brother, who runs your country anyway? The king's ambassador, or this vampire growing drunk off the sweat of honest Gallagan toil?"

Larkinian Embassy

Everyone's favorite All-Larkinian boy, Javin Katana was sitting out on the terrace enjoying a cigar while taking a break from the latest archaeological dig that Takeo had sent him on to keep him from getting into trouble. It didn't matter to him anyway, he'd always preferred working at a dig than having to kiss diplomatic ass. It was just as well, he hadn't shown his more sparkling side when he was here last time at the Third World Conference. Like he'd cared, although he had to wear a disguise to get out of the airport and to the embassy in one piece...

Javin heard the protest starting, then heading toward the Iansislian embassy. He walked to the gates with a grin, a cigar in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other hand and watched as the protest roared in the streets.

Still fuming, Violeta Bi Bere climbed into her car, one of the first hundred in the city since cars had been re-legalized. She had her bodyguards lower the top. It may have been one of the worst days of her life, but still, it was a very lovely day: the sun at a pleasant glow, the gentle breeze off the ocean, the omnipresent birds for which the country was named singing.

She would have be dole out quite a few apologies for today's protest to some of the foreign embassies, but in the meantime, why not enjoy the weather? Her car moved through the traffic-free streets and over the canal to embassy row.

In most normal situations, an Iansislean would have shrugged off a reference such as ‘my lord’ as being merely a mistake - after all, the phrase had very specific connotations in the social hierarchy of the Shield, and was not to be used lightly - and especially so in a diplomatic situation, but Ashtonbury was prepared to give neither quarter nor mercy.

“While I am glad, Mr. Rumbiak, that you attempt to show the proper respect, I should inform you that I am not of a noble clan,” the man said, almost conversationally, as he took another puff on the cigar. “As such, I will have to take any further references to myself as ‘my lord Ashtonbury’ as the most severe insult to my king and my lord.

“Furthermore,” he continued, flicking ashes upon the floor. “I must protest when you say that the Honorable Company would turn fire-arms upon its citizens, for whom Executor Tedders and myself have naught but the most paternal love.” Ashtonbury’s accent - slower than the clipped tones of an East Shielder, but still more dignified and refined than the near-drawl of a West Shielder, and without the heavy rolled ‘r’s of a North Shielder - identified him as being from either Vesshampton or Eastern Wyclyfe. “I realize that, in Tanah Burung, such accusations might be made with impunity, but, if only we should be in Iansisle instead, I would have no choice but to demand that you take your defamatory and utterly baseless accusations about me and my generous employer to the field of honor.”

Rumbiak’s next comments might have been directed at Fletcher, but Ashtonbury quickly stepped in and intercepted them before the bewildered ambassador, obviously out of his oratory league in a world where titans clashed, could do a thing.

“I wouldn’t say, Mr. Rumbiak, that Ambassador Fletcher rules anywhere, save perhaps those few square feet upon which he stands,” Ashtonbury said with a patronizing smile. “If I may presume to answer your intended question?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “On the Shield, in the Dominions, and in the Crown Colonies, His Majesty James III by the grace of God and his ministers by the will of the People rule. However, by a Royal Charter, the Executor of the Company rules in Iansislean Gallaga.

“As for that last bit, I would suggest that perhaps ‘the blood of innocent Gallagans’ might better complete your charming metaphor. Again that we might be among the green hills of the Shield! so I may better answer your slander and insults!”

-------------------------
Knootian Embassy
Tanah Burung
-------------------------


Outside the Knootian embassy -- As the protesters waited for Rumbiak to return, a few started to sing and play guitar. Others dance. And many more chanted slogans.

One of the boys chanting the loudest was Sebastian Gomes. He had tried to scale the fence earlier, but been talked down by Rumbiak. Now, there is no one to convince him to be sensible.

Sebastian chanted for a while, then started to get bored. Seeing the Knootian guards emerge, he shouted angrily at them. "Guns in our country? You've no right!" He took a run at the fence. Up and over.


As soon as the young lad (?) landed on the grass of the embassy garden one of the soldiers, a man with orange hair and some fading freckles, aimed for him.

*click click*

The gun loaded and pointed dangerously at the Tanah Burung citizen.

The captain, standing behind the soldier, laughed with a deep voice projecting an Aura of confidence. "Welcome to Knootian territory son. You are under arrest for trespassing, breaking into Embassy grounds and, most importantly, for making a mess of Madam Ambassadors flowers."

The captain casually pointed his gun to a squished Tulip underneath Sebastians foot.

More demanding then requesting he continued: "Please come inside with us. I think that Madam ambassador will want to have a word with you. For now you will enjoy the hospitality of the Dutch Democratic Republic."
He jerked his head in the direction of the entrance and the other soldier (the one not pointing the gun) approached Sebastian to take him along.

The captain then turned to the protestors outside the embassy ground: "Listen up! You can protest outside all you want. Just stay off the lawn. We've done a lot of work making it as nice as it is."

---------------------------
Ministry of Defence
Knootoss
---------------------------

The state-secretary of Defence, a rather corpulent man, was having a telephone conversation in his plush office. It was the office suitable of a minister, and in fact it had been. In the latest reorganisation, the Armed Forces were deemed a mere foreign policy tool. And his department had been made a state-secretariat. He had managed to keep his office in the old ministry though, even if it had meant that 800 people were laid off.

The conservative wiped some sweat of his face with his handkerchief.

“But Madam that’s a breach of every rule in the book!”

“…”

“Yes, Lady nos Cirdan, but…”

“…”

“I… yes. I understand. Yes, I like my job.”

“…”

“Yes Madam, when you are Prime Minister… but…”

He ended the conversation. Damn elves. Always bossing around.”
He suppressed his feelings of vengeance and forced himself to think clearly. Then, it came to him. Just this month, Troops would be sent to Ruhr for training (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=126554) Perhaps he could slip in some convoys with a different destination, or reroute troops.

He got to work.

Bimba smiles when all the tanah burungians greet her with chants. As she starts to march witht he rest of the people, Mari Alkatiri intercepts her:


As Rumbiak disappeared behind the gates, Alkatiri walked over Bimba and reached out to her. "Madame, welcome to the streets. It's not a side of this country we show too often. You honour us by joining in. Tell me, are the rumours true that your country has been placed on alert because of threats of a 'safari' against your people?"

"Thank you. I'm honored to be part of this protest. The evils of colonialism still exist in our world and not telling the truth about it would turn us into accomplices of those disasters.
And yes, sadly the rumours are true. Intelligence services from some allies gave us evidence that some nations might have been planning some sort of murderous attack against our nation. Apparently, the plan has been suspended, but my government is still in yellow alert and has soldiers patrolling the frontiers. It is sad that even nowadays there are still barbaric people that consider us meat.", she sighs, as she looks torwards some embassies in the street.
"Luckily, we have a lot of noble allies willing to come to aid."
"Mr. Alkatiri, if I may ask you a sincere question, who do you think will win? Do you have faith in yourself?", Bimba then inquired with childish curiosity.

(I love Ashtonbury, he's perfect! And i think i'll adopt the bold location lines too, they're so purty!)

Iansislean Embassy

Rumbiak's eyes flashed with anger. He had correctly guessed that misuse of "my lord" would be an insult in rank-driven Iansislean society. But for another man to presume to offer him advice on rhetoric enraged him. He liked his mixed metaphors, dammit!

"The field of honour? I'm surprised you know the word, menheer Ashtonbury." He lapsed into Dutch, unsure if the company man would catch the insult this time. "If you wish to meet on the field of honour, that can certainly be arranged. I would be more than happy to accept your challenge."

He had only a dim idea of duelling ritual, but hoped that it went as he remembered. Back in Loro Sae, there were ways of doing these things. Whether those ways had any relation to the ones that Ashtonbury was familiar with, he could only guess.

Canal Street

"Faith in myself?" Alkatiri says in answer to Bimba's question. "Of course. And faith in the people of this country, that they will make the right choice and elect me to preside over foreign policy."

Alkatiri's stomach still churned at the thought of a hunt for intelligent creatures. Certaily, ritual cannibalism was once common in some parts of Tanah Burung, but eating the flesh of sentients was now strictly off limits. Except, of course, in symbolic form at the Catholic mass. "This is my body: take it, all of you, and eat," as the litury went. That particular ceremony always made him feel a bit ill. He was glad, once again, to have been born a Muslim.

But to hunt such an inoffensive species as the Hell Bovines? "Who would do such a thing?" he asked Bimba.

As she started to answer, they saw signs of a disturbance at the Knootian embassy. Alkatiri headed for the spot.

Further down the street, Violeta Bi Bere's convertible moved through the streets, slowly. Her mood was improving fast. Today was a bad day, but other countries' leaders had faced far worse. There was the Larkinian embassy. President Katana had faced much worse than this little protest.

Speaking of Katana, was that who she thought it was at the gate? Dear god, she thought. It can't be. She told the driver to stop for a moment.

"Javin, dear boy, i wish i'd known you were in the country. There are some fascinating archeological digs, uh, up country. You must allow me to pay for you to see them. But as you can see, it's a busy time, and i have to drive on now." Her desire for a quiet day and her ingrained urge to always offer hospitality clashed for a moment, until the latter won out. "If you'd like to come for a ride, my dear, you'd be welcome to join me."

With or without the Larkinian, the car moved on towards the centre of the protest outside the embassies of Iansisle and Knootoss. Violeta began to unpack her megaphone.

Knootian Embassy grounds

"The hospitality of the Dutch Democratic Republic" had perhaps not been the best choice of phrase. Back in the colonial days, Tanah Burung school children were taught, this "hospitality" had usually meant a long jail term for some of the early nationalist leaders. Markus Rumbiak himself had once had the benefit of this "hospitality."

As a gun was pointed at Sebastian, some of his 15-year old classmates shouted in anger. "Hands off, you imperialists," one shouted. "Let him go!" A few of the students started to throw heads of lettuce at the guards -- and while most hit the fence, a few got through.

Two more boys jumped the fence. "This is our country!" they shrieked.

OOC: I'm so damn glad I do not have an embassy here. :lol: very funny...

----------------------------------
Outside the Embassy
----------------------------------

A head of lettuce hit the freckled soldier right in the face.
”ouch!”, he couldn’t help but exclaim. He wiped some of the green remains of the lettuce from his face and then took aim again for Sebastian. The Knootian was only a few years older then him.

The standoff was broken as his two classmates jumped over the fence. A piece of one of the boys trousers stuck to one of the spikes, and he landed badly on the lawn; on his face. Fortunately the grass was soft, and he didn’t break anything but it hurt.
Both were greeted by the gun barrel of the other soldier.

“Get them inside!” shouted the captain and the two soldiers proceeded to drag the three by their arm towards the door ((…with as much force as is needed. Resistance would be pretty useless anyways…)) while the captain made sure they wouldn’t try anything.

The protestors were still throwing lettuce, and one piece missed the captain by a hairs length. The officer thought there might be more to jump the fence. ”These youngsters should know what they are dealing with here. Bah, the nearest riot police is thousands of kilometres away.” He aimed his rifle.

Ratatatata

The sound of an M16A4 being fired silenced the birds who flew away in all directions. It pierced the air and resounded throughout the street.

The captain had fired a warning round into the air.
“I’M SERIOUS!”, he shouted, “YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. DO … NOT … CLIMB THE FENCE.”

He proceeded to walk backwards towards the embassy, constantly eying the protestors and dodging the occasional piece of lettuce.

---------------------------
Inside the Embassy
---------------------------

The soldiers dragged the three boys from Tanah Burung trough the hallways of the old colonial mansion. They were guided along a room which contained a receptionists desk, then into a hallway with a red carpet, past two offices and then several lushly decorated rooms. A state-portrait of Lousewies van der Laan angelically smiled down upon them.

Finally the three boys were brought into a cellar. It was completely made of grey concrete and only had artificial light. Some nondescript vats and goods stood in the corners.

“Now”, asked the soldier with the orange hair, “Will you please calm down.”

---

“Get the local police!”, buzzed through the hallways meanwhile. The Ambassadress (?) finally made the call. “Yes, hello Ukun Rasikan police?” … “This is the Knootian embassy. Yes, there are people protesting an storming our embassy out here. We also have three of your nationals in holding. Yes, you can have them.” … “Yes its serious and we need help now. This is an official request on behalf of the Knootian government for assistance.”

---------------------------------------
Mid ocean. - 2nd Naval Fleet
KDF de Ruyter
---------------------------------------

Captain Teerman addressed his crew:
“Attention all hands. We have a situation in Tanah Burung. From now on we are heading a fleet detachment bound for them. It might be nothing but you never know. Be on your toes. Teerman out.”

“Coming about… ten degrees to the new heading. The Emerald Heights. By the crown of King William we know the way.”

*OOCly notes Tanah Burung’s “pro-business” government now heads a country of the UN Category ‘Capitalizt’. Don’t you hate those sneaky UN resolutions?*

ooc: those wacky Knootians! ;)

He had only a dim idea of duelling ritual, but hoped that it went as he remembered. Back in Loro Sae, there were ways of doing these things. Whether those ways had any relation to the ones that Ashtonbury was familiar with, he could only guess.

(Hmmmm.. oh dear, not another one.)

"Javin, dear boy, i wish i'd known you were in the country. There are some fascinating archeological digs, uh, up country. You must allow me to pay for you to see them. But as you can see, it's a busy time, and i have to drive on now." Her desire for a quiet day and her ingrained urge to always offer hospitality clashed for a moment, until the latter won out. "If you'd like to come for a ride, my dear, you'd be welcome to join me."

"Well, ma'am I was trying my best to show up without causing the same ruckus I did the last time I was here," Javin smiled as Violeta approached.

"That'd be really nice ma'am, I'd like to check them out once all of this is over."

Javin looked into the crowd as she offered him a ride, "Of course, I'd love to come for a ride with you," He said with a grin. "Just in case the crowd starts to get a little hectic."

((Location tags, eh? Well, if y’all insist :P))

Iansislean Embassy

Ashtonbury only spoke a few words of Dutch - most of which involved asking where the water closet was - but correctly assumed that whatever Rumbiak had said wasn’t a title of respect. Still, a very slow developing smile, satisfied in the most absolute sense of the word, crept across his face.

“Frankly, Mr. Rumbiak, I am quite astonished that a country which could produce an impudent propagandist as yourself could also have such an advanced reckoning of western concepts.” The word ‘western,’ inappropriately applied yet still emphasized, was designed to infuriate Rumbiak.

“If you shall meet me, then the challenge is issued,” continued Ashtonbury. His voice was still low and reasonable, with even the slightest hint of a smug self-satisfaction. “Forgive me if I do not know the specific device to use; the Company could not offer me training on every obscure ritual of an obscure culture.”

((Oh, the usual tag where I apologize for anything my more unabashed imperialist characters say...it doesn’t reflect my true opinions, etc., etc. ;)))

-------

Grounds; Iansislean Embassy

The small guard contingent had been watching the goings-on in the Knootian Embassy grounds with an increasing sense of dread. The beet-faced major in command - the title was purely honorary; in fact, the Tanah Burung mission mustered no more than thirty guards all told, and he was a mere lieutenant - saw one young lance corporal ejecting the magazine of blanks from his bolt-action rifle and replacing it with a full one of live ammunition.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, soldier?” demanded the major.

“It’s getting pretty hairy over there, sir,” replied the skinny youngster, nodding at the Knootian embassy.

“We have our orders from the Ambassador himself!” insisted the major, watching nervously as two additional hoodlums hopped the fence. “Tanah Burung is a ‘most honored’ ally! We shan’t do anything which may antagonize...”

The burst of loud, automatic fire - which only a single .303 water-cooled gun buried somewhere in the embassy’s bowels could duplicate on the Iansislean side - changed the man’s opinion in a hurry. The men facing Canal Street didn’t even need an order.

OOC: I'm so damn glad I do not have an embassy here. :lol: very funny...

Normally, things are much calmer here. :wink: Do i need to add the disclaimer that i'm much politer than one of my characters here?

Iansislean Embassy

The word "western" is like an arrow: it flies straight to its target and wounds Rumbiak spiritually.

"My ancestors had contests of honour while yours were still living in the trees, you cartoon," he says with white-hot fury. "I believe even your culture grants the challenged party the right to choose the weapons? Perhaps you might care to try it with Loro Sae piercing spikes?"

This is not something many countries are familiar with, but a piercing duel involves long needles being instered through the body and facial skin of the opponent. Each takes turns piercing the other -- with artistic placement and as little blood as posisble being considered good form -- and if neither man has lost consiouness after ten minutes, they are permitted to pierce more deeply, and simaltaneously. It is not a pleasant experience, and rarely passes the ten-minute mark into the fatal stage. Unless the opponents have contracted an extremely strong dislike for one another.

Province Hall, Ukun Rasikan

Inês Lobato's intercom crackles. "Governor, the police are calling. The Knootian Embassy is demanding some security."

"I've been very clear on this," Lobato barks back, looking over at Lily Santos. "No security for them!"

"But Governor, our plainclothes agents are reporting gunfire."

She almost falls off her chair. A gun has not been fired in this ciy for decades. "What? By who?"

"By the embassy guards, ma'am."

"All right. Get me the chief of police. And tell them to get over there right away." She clicks the intercom off. "Sorry Lily, i can't risk bloodshed. In fact, time for you to get out of my office." Scowling, Lily Santos exits.

Lobato dials the Knootian embassy. "Yes. Governor of Ukun Rasikan here. Police are on their way," she says. "I'll try to control the situation. You had better tell those trigger-happy fools to cool it, though. I strongly recommend you pull your guards inside. I'll gladly pay for the damn tulips."

Knootian embassy

The boys are sobered as they are escorted into what looks to them like a dungeon from out of the history books. Their bravado seems to have been left in the open air. "Imperialist dogs," Sebastian mutters. But his heart has gone out of the words.

Outside, at the sound of gunfire, the crowd is shocked. A few boys starting toward the Knootian embassy's fence fall back, startled. Some people panic and start to run away. Other spit their anger at the embassy. The situation looks ugly. After a minute, the hail of vegetables resumes.

Canal Street

"Then jump aboard, my dear boy," Bi Bere says to Javin. "Welcome to my nightmare." Up the street, the sound of gunfire. "Dear God," she says. As the convertible reaches the centre of the protest, she flicks on the megaphone.

"My friends, we must stop this, before blood stains this city again," she says, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice. "Your cause is just, but violence is no answer!"

"Traitor!" one boy yells at her. A head of lettuce flies past her ear. Her bodyguards dive for cover, and the car careens to a halt. "Look, that's probably a Knootian with her!" More vegetables are tossed.

As lettuce rockets past her and tomato juice drivels down her cheeks, Violeta Bi Bere stands erect while her bodyguards hide. "Turn the other cheek, choose peace," she says, voice resolute.

"Then jump aboard, my dear boy," Bi Bere says to Javin. "Welcome to my nightmare." Up the street, the sound of gunfire. "Dear God," she says. As the convertible reaches the centre of the protest, she flicks on the megaphone.

"My friends, we must stop this, before blood stains this city again," she says, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice. "Your cause is just, but violence is no answer!"

"Traitor!" one boy yells at her. A head of lettuce flies past her ear. Her bodyguards dive for cover, and the car careens to a halt. "Look, that's probably a Knootian with her!" More vegetables are tossed.

As lettuce rockets past her and tomato juice drivels down her cheeks, Violeta Bi Bere stands erect while her bodyguards hide. "Turn the other cheek, choose peace," she says, voice resolute.

Javin peers at the boy as he shouts at Bi Bere, "Son, you don't know how wrong you are there," he replied coldly.

Once the vegetation starts flying, he quickly pulled his jacket off and offered it to Be Bere to protect her from the pelting. He also stepped forward between her and the vegetables and starts catching heads of lettuce in midflight and hurling them back to the owners.

"I wish I were as calm as you," he said to her, "But sometimes more impetuous action is needed to get people's attention."

"Where are you from then, meester?" the boy asks Javin.

Bi Bere smiles and accepts the jacket. "Psst, show them your flag," she says. You docarry a flag, right?" She laughs. Because sometimes, what else is there to do. "I have a thought. Bear with me?" She starts to sing the anthem of the revolution, a hymn to Mount Ramelau.

O foho ramelau
foho ramelau
sibi es liu tutun...

The slow song builds in intensity.

Iansislean Embassy

At last, Rumbiak managed to pierce Ashtonbury’s iron will not to be surprised. The term ‘Loro Sae piercing spikes’ - quite unfamiliar to the Company man - tossed him back on his heels, if not in a physical sense.

“What are you doing!?” In the brief second that Ashtonbury was trying to decode Rumbiak’s response, Fletcher had regained his senses. “Mr. Ashtonbury, you’re...you’re not going to do this!”

“May I remind your Excellency that you have no right to order about a private Iansislean citizen?” said Ashtonbury pleasantly, quickly putting his implacable mask back on. “Now, then, Mr. Rumbiak, I must confess that I’m not familiar with whatever savage custom you refer to. However, I cannot allow the obscurity of certain barbarian rituals to dissuade me from upholding the honor of my Company; my Executor; my King...”

However, Fletcher hadn’t been quite forced out again. With an enthusiasm born of desperation, the Gadsani diplomat wheeled on Rumbiak. “Mr. Rumbiak - please, you cannot go through with this!”

His thoughts were interrupted by a secretary bursting through the door in a most unrefined manner. “Your Excellency!” she half-shouted at Fletcher. “The Knootians - they’ve fired into the crowd!” The report wasn’t accurate, per se, but instantly every Iansislean face in the room - including Ashtonbury’s - took on a sickly pale color.

OOC: I think I want KCN news in on this...after all how many times can a man get a picture of cabbage carnage.

IC: Bill Clamp was busy attempting to take photo's of the whole demonstration. As a photo journalist with Klatchian Coast News he was hoping that his somewhat tatered press badge and camera would keep people from throwing produce at him. As more veggies went flying towards the Knootian embassy he got a few more shots. The best one so far was of the first young man raising his foot off of a crushed tulip while Knootian guards pointed guns at him. The caption idea at the moment was
Flower Killer

He wondered if he should attempt to enter one of the embassies for an interview. Actually for refugee from what was becoming a fairly ugly, if somewhat humorus scene. That idea suddenly burst to his forethought as he heard the gun fire.

edit: missed Knootoss gift of lead...

OOC: Just a OOC small clarification before I can make a true post: they have NOT fired "Into" the crowd. The officer merely fired a quick warning shot in the air. No cabbages or people were hurt.

By the time the throwing of cabbage resumes the Knootians are all inside. I know Ian intended it as an IC misstake but just for Alcona and Hubris & company.

OOC: Just a OOC small clarification before I can make a true post: they have NOT fired "Into" the crowd. The officer merely fired a quick warning shot in the air. No cabbages or people were hurt.

By the time the throwing of cabbage resumes the Knootians are all inside. I know Ian intended it as an IC misstake but just for Alcona and Hubris & company.

OOC: I did realize that...thank you...just some posting errors on my part.

(That's my ooc understanding too. A&H, i doubt that you'll need to hide, but if so i imagine your guy would seek out the Vrakian embassy.)

Iansisle Embassy. Fireside

Rumbiak starts to laugh at the hapless Fletcher's attempt at smoothing over the argument. And not in his normal jovial way: this is a cold, mocking laughter. As she opens his mouth to answer, he hears the words "Knootians have fired into the crowds."

His heart stops.

For a moment, he is simply unable to speak.

It was not meant to go like this.

And there were too many memories attached to the image of Knootian guns.

"Firing on an unarmed crowd. How dare they? You see, Ashtonbury, who are the real savages. We shall have to continue this later, my people are dying at the hands of barbarians who call themselves civilized men."

He wheels around and exits the room as abruptly as he entered.

OOC: Seems that my lettuces are a sucess.
talk about a way to raise your food exports :wink: :P

IC: Bimba was furious when hearing the shots. Instead of running, she grabbed a huge plant of lettuce and stamped it in the middle of the Knootian embassy window, staining it with green.
"Down with colonialism!"

Ashtonbury and Fletcher also were both frozen at the report; firing into a mob was simply - something that wasn't done! Not on the Shield at least! Ashtonbury couldn't even get off a snappy reply to Rumbiak's latest probe.

Unable to move, they watched Rumbiak stalk out of the room. Then Fletcher charged after him, meeting up with Markus on the front porch.

Where they saw nothing: no bleeding bodies, no panicked mob running away or charging the embassy, no anything. Just angry protesters hurling vegetables and a couple young, khaki-clad Iansislean guards whose knees were shaking hard enough to upset the local wind conditions.

OOC: Hmm, both myself and the character seem to have misread the situation. We were both thinking that the embassy was going to be over run by cabbage weilding rioters, and things would just go down hill from there....hell I'd just delete the damn thing if it didn't violate my own Rp rules! Oh well, I'll just made my jounalist swallow my own idiocy...((if my characters knew what I did to them, well...they'd kill me.))

The photo journalist clicks a picture of a woman in midswing throwing a cabbage. Bill turns and takes a picture of the Iansisle embassy as he sees movement at the front door. When he realizes what a possible shot he has, the the thought of hidding vanishes. The picture of the Ambassador and Rumbiak standing together might get him a new Jag if he can make it an event. Realizing this, He turns to one of the mob in midthrow and yells..."Seems like Rumbiak may have gotten an agreement from Iansisle..."

Province Hall, Ukun Rasikan

Inês Lobato's intercom crackles. "Governor, the police are calling. The Knootian Embassy is demanding some security."

"I've been very clear on this," Lobato barks back, looking over at Lily Santos. "No security for them!"

"But Governor, our plainclothes agents are reporting gunfire."

She almost falls off her chair. A gun has not been fired in this city for decades. "What? By who?"

"By the embassy guards, ma'am."

"All right. Get me the chief of police. And tell them to get over there right away." She clicks the intercom off. "Sorry Lily, i can't risk bloodshed. In fact, time for you to get out of my office." Scowling, Lily Santos exits.

Lobato dials the Knootian embassy. "Yes. Governor of Ukun Rasikan here. Police are on their way," she says. "I'll try to control the situation. You had better tell those trigger-happy fools to cool it, though. I strongly recommend you pull your guards inside. I'll gladly pay for the damn tulips."



Knootian embassy

The boys are sobered as they are escorted into what looks to them like a dungeon from out of the history books. Their bravado seems to have been left in the open air. "Imperialist dogs," Sebastian mutters. But his heart has gone out of the words.

Outside, at the sound of gunfire, the crowd is shocked. A few boys starting toward the Knootian embassy's fence fall back, startled. Some people panic and start to run away. Other spit their anger at the embassy. The situation looks ugly. After a minute, the hail of vegetables resumes.

Knootian Embassy

All the guards had, indeed, gone inside and with closed curtains and windows shut tight there wasn’t a Knootian to be seen. The hail of vegetables continued, but for now no further attempts to hop over the fence were made. ((I presume)) The men and women caught inside peered through the windows along the curtains now and then. Magda Vogels looked worried, but she remained her dignified posture of an Ambassador. She walked though the halls and talked; with a soldier, or someone from the immigration office. Reassuring them with calm words.

Entering one of the luxurious guest-rooms, she found a soldier, one of the 10 guarding the compound, near the window peering outside.
“The police will be here any minute now.”, she told, the 24 year old girl who seemed upset. “They will take our guests off our hands, and hopefully they will stop this throwing of vegetables too.”
“What did we do to deserve this?”, asked the soldier.
“Nothing – its just an election stunt. Winning votes by trying to make the past live again. That’s all.”
The ambassadress rested her hand on the girls shoulder for a moment.

At that moment, the captain entered. The officer saluted informally, and he was answered with a polite nod.
“Madam Ambassador?”
“Please, do call me Magda”, she replied, “hopefully we will be working together for years here. And I’d like to think we are all in the same boat here.” She smiled and the officer was a bit confused for a moment. “Well, uhm, Magda. The local boys are still in the cellar and they have had some time to cool down. Perhaps you’d like to have a world with them before the police gets here for them? “
“Sure.”
“Please follow me then.”
She petted the soldier on the shoulder once more time and then left together with the captain. The two went down to the cellar where the boys were sitting.

She looked at them judgingly but not unfriendly as she entered, somewhat like a mother who is coming to talk to her children when they have done something bad…

For now, Bi Bere's singing has distracted the crowd. Some start to join in. Although a hail of vegetables continues at the Knootian embassy, no one makes an immediate move to jump the fence. As Bimba's lettuce makes a dirct hit on the embassy window, a small cheer goes up. Various protesters clap her on the back. "Nice throw! Bet you can't top that, Dominggos!" The vegetable-throwers start taking aim at the windows.

Rumbiak stands stunned on the porch of the Iansislean embassy. He sinks to his knees briefly in relief. Instead of the massacre he had expected, there is nothing but a sunny day and a mass of people singing in his line of sight. In place of gunfire, birdsong.

He glares at Fletcher as he rises to his feet again. So, it was all a lie. Well, two can play at that game. He hears the photojournalist's shout that they might have reached an agreement, and smiles. He reaches over and shakes the hapless diplomat's hand.

"Indeed!" he says loudly. "We were just discussing the ambassador inviting me to visit Gallaga!"

Knootian Embassy

Sebastian is cold. He hated air-conditioning, and he had dressed for a protest in the sun: shorts, sandals, a cheap T shirt saying "the world is not for sale."

He glared at Ambassador Vogels as she entered. "Let us go, you have no right to hold us in your prison cell."

The camera keeps on clicking and wiring by the direction of the journalist. Capturing those wonderful moments between the two on the porch for prosterity. Actually, for the nice bonus of having a clear veiw of two men shaking hands, guards looking nervous while a poorly thrown vegi of some sort wabbles across in the foreground. That would turn out to be priceless.

(OOC: Of course that image would cause some people to say Tanah Burung and Iansisle had actually developed the plot to vandalize the Knootoss embassy each for their own purposes)

Knootian Embassy

It was indeed cold in the Knootian embassy cellar. For he Knootians, air-conditioning was a primary means of survival rather then an added luxury.

Magda spotted the T-shirt and remembered what a conservative friend had once claimed to her “The world is not for sale because nobody has enough money, but I know plenty of buyers.”

She smiled gently to the boy, “You will be allowed to go. We have no intention of keeping you here, and this is not a prison cell.”

She exchanged a glance with the soldier who was guarding the boys. He was leaning against the wall, apparently relaxed but attentive should anyone move.

“However, by hopping over the fence you did break the law, and you killed some innocent flowers.” She eyed the two other boys (not Sebastian) “You were warned not to hop over the fence yet you did. You made a choice and now you will have to deal with the consequences. We will turn you over to the local police and they will deal with you.”

One of the boys wanted to speak up, but she shhhst him. “Now, that doesn’t mean that we should be inhospitable so I am giving you another choice. You can sit here in the basement until the police arrives, under guard, or you can promise to behave and come upstairs with me; have a cup of coffee. Its not as if you are going anywhere anytime soon.”

“We were what?!” asked Fletcher, what little color had returned to his face quickly draining away. He offered no resistance to the handshake, though Rumbiak would find his muscles unclenched and his arm altogether limp. However, after the initial shock wore off, he started to realize what a perfect plan it was.

“Indeed!” he said enthusiastically. “I’m afraid that Nusheld is a little too close to the front for the present, but we’d be more than happy to fly Mr. Rumbiak - at crown expense, of course - to Fort Ash for a brief visit. And I’m certain the Company would be more than happy to host him.”

Ashtonbury had stolen up behind the two men, and it was all he could do to stop himself from throttling Fletcher. But the news cameras had seen everything, and he had been expressly instructed not to do anything compromising before either the Tanah Burung domestic or international media.

The photojournalist took a picture of the party and then decided that maybe he should actually do some real reporting. "Ah so, Mr. Rumbiak what do you hope to gain from this trip? And what do you expect to find once you are there? And Ambassador Fletcher do you expect that Mr. Rumbiak will change his opinions after visiting the Nusheild?"

The reporter was now standing at the gate to the embassy, attempting to both ask questions and take photos. "Ah, Bill Clamp KCN news...this does seem an odd time for an impromtu news announcement. The locals appear to be enjoying their well, sing and throw party...."

“Fort Ash,” said Fletcher. “The Chiangese are only a fifty miles or so out of Nusheld right now, and we wouldn’t want Mr. Rumbiak to be caught up in that mess, would we?”

A shame, thought Ashtonbury with a cruel smile, retreating away from Fletcher and Rumbiak. I wouldn’t mind having a Chiangese shell rearrange some of that idiot’s lard.

They probably should have let the Alconans into the compound proper, but Fletcher didn’t want to let this become a spontaneous newsconference - not in front of so many of Rumbiak’s supporters!

((I should write up a little timeline - even I’m becoming confused by the wildly different time periods my threads are based in! This one’s before the battle of Nusheld, because D’Carlonia’s still in power, and the battle is what boosted the Conservatives into power.)

OOC: How about a full map post to your fact book? That would make things a great deal easier on me at least. And there is something pathetic about the KCN newsman sort of just leaning through the gate with his camera. Of course he needs to be going on to bother the Knotoss delegation. After all, those Dutch never did get back to me on helping to develop maper. :?

((well, I'm afraid no conclusive map of the entire Commonwealth yet exists, but you can find a map of Gallaga here (http://www.villagephotos.com/viewpubimage.asp?id_=8112468)))

((Thanks, now I know what part of Gallaga I'm in sterwardship of. Oh f*** I hope Clarca returns soon. I'm going to have to send my marine forces into that!!!))

(ooc: Ian, the timeline in your "new sun" is much appreciated, i was getting dizzy from trying to keep everything properly sequenced!)

Knootian Embassy

"We'll come upstairs," Sebastian says after a quick wispering session with his two friends. "But we won't drink your imperialist coffee." He's forgotten that the embassy's coffee will almost certainly be local, Knootoss not being known as a great coffee producer.

They must add the imperialism with the milk.

Upstairs, they can hear vegetable missiles striking the windows. So far, none have broken. Perhaps they're reinforced glass....

Canal Street

As the crowd sings, it appears that there are quite a few people that don't know the words to Foho Ramelau. Apparently, there are more foreigners in the crowd than just one enthusiastic Hell Bovine.

Mari Alkatiri walks over to the gates of the Knootian embassy and rings the buzzer. ((Or knocks, or shouts for attention, or whatever is appropriate.))

Across the river, police sirens begin to wail.

Steps of the Iansislean Embassy

Local reporters rush to see the scene created by the sensationalist scribe from Alcona & Hubris. Rumbiak bound for Gallaga? Now there was a story! Cameras flashed at the grinning man on the steps. Rumbiak reverts to politician mode.

"What do i expect to find? I will keep an open mind. I hope to speak to ordinary people in Gallaga, and I know the government of Iansisle will not prevent me from meeting with members of the Gallagan National Congress. Why, i'd stake my life on the honour of King James, even if i have my doubts about the integrity of the East Gallaga Company."

"Ah yes Mr. Rumbiak...One must wonder about the timing of your polticial demands for freedom of Iansisle Gallaga as it suffers an invasion in a war. After all are you saying that your ally, Iansisle, is fighting a war to maintain oppression of a people by a corporation?"

(ooc: Ian, the timeline in your "new sun" is much appreciated, i was getting dizzy from trying to keep everything properly sequenced!)

(ooc: heh, me too. I'm sure there's a couple mistakes/omissions on it - if anyone'd care to add their own events, or correct one of mine, please let me know!)

"What do i expect to find? I will keep an open mind. I hope to speak to ordinary people in Gallaga, and I know the government of Iansisle will not prevent me from meeting with members of the Gallagan National Congress. Why, i'd stake my life on the honour of King James, even if i have my doubts about the integrity of the East Gallaga Company."

"Mr. Rumbiak, His Majesty's government shall see to it that you're afforded every courtesy appropriate to a visiting diplomat," said Fletcher enthusiastically. He wasn't sure if he was speaking so much now from sincerity of conviction or spite for Ashtonbury.

EDIT: By the way, I'm sorry if my responses have been rather short or rare over the last day or so - I'm recovering from some sort of bug, so my NS time has lost ground to my study and sleeping time ;). Hopefully, I'll be feeling better in a couple days.

"Ah yes Mr. Rumbiak...One must wonder about the timing of your polticial demands for freedom of Iansisle Gallaga as it suffers an invasion in a war. After all are you saying that your ally, Iansisle, is fighting a war to maintain oppression of a people by a corporation?"

Once Markus Rumbiak had been handed a loaded gun and asked to fire it at his own head. He had declined the invitations then, and was certainly going to decline it again on this occasion.

"The people of Iansisle are fighting a noble war against tyranny. I know they would not wish the purpose of their war to be the maintenance of corporate tyranny over another people," he says.

On the street, Violeta Bi Bere finishes her singing. "Dear friends," she says, "what a message you have sent today. But no more violence, please. I invite you all back to the gardens of the Green Palace for a nice salad." Her driver starts the car moving slowly away from the embassies back towards the foreign ministry. "I hope they'll follow me," she says quietly, picking up a durian fruit that had narrowly missed her and taking a bite.

"Ah yes Mr. Rumbiak...One must wonder about the timing of your polticial demands for freedom of Iansisle Gallaga as it suffers an invasion in a war. After all are you saying that your ally, Iansisle, is fighting a war to maintain oppression of a people by a corporation?"

Once Markus Rumbiak had been handed a loaded gun and asked to fire it at his own head. He had declined the invitations then, and was certainly going to decline it again on this occasion.

"The people of Iansisle are fighting a noble war against tyranny. I know they would not wish the purpose of their war to be the maintenance of corporate tyranny over another people," he says.

On the street, Violeta Bi Bere finishes her singing. "Dear friends," she says, "what a message you have sent today. But no more violence, please. I invite you all back to the gardens of the Green Palace for a nice salad." Her driver starts the car moving slowly away from the embassies back towards the foreign ministry. "I hope they'll follow me," she says quietly, picking up a durian fruit that had narrowly missed her and taking a bite.

"Salad?"
Bimba raised her head upon hearing that word.
After throwing the last lettuce plant to the knootian embassy, she begun following the car, almost hypnotised.
*yay! free salad! I so love tanah burungian protests*, she thought to herself as she walked though the streets. Some tanah burungians walked along her, but other remained protesting...

"Ah so your saying that the people of Iansisle who are fighting in Gallaga, including the native population, are being misled to fight for the yoke of colonialism? Or are you saying that they are being forced to fight for a system they don't beleive in?" It seemed that the reporter was not being detered.

((Going somewhat back in time before the end of the song.))


Knootian Embassy

"We'll come upstairs," Sebastian says after a quick whispering session with his two friends. "But we won't drink your imperialist coffee." He's forgotten that the embassy's coffee will almost certainly be local, Knootoss not being known as a great coffee producer.

They must add the imperialism with the milk.

Upstairs, they can hear vegetable missiles striking the windows. So far, none have broken. Perhaps they're reinforced glass....

Canal Street

As the crowd sings, it appears that there are quite a few people that don't know the words to Foho Ramelau. Apparently, there are more foreigners in the crowd than just one enthusiastic Hell Bovine.

Mari Alkatiri walks over to the gates of the Knootian embassy and rings the buzzer. ((Or knocks, or shouts for attention, or whatever is appropriate.))

Across the river, police sirens begin to wail.

Ironically, the boy would have been right. While most of the coffee in the embassy was local, there was one pack of coffee in the embassy that he would surely have thought of as imperialist. Columbian coffee, sometimes thought of as some of the best in the world.

Had the boy been well versed in South American history he’d have known how Chimaea and Knootoss supported a liberalised FARC in overthrowing the ineffective Colombian Government in the majority of Colombia, including the capital Bogota. After the dissolving of FARC, Colombia has joint-protectorate status of both Chimaea and Knootoss.

Coffee and much of its other produce had made the Columbian protectorate rich, but subservient. The governorship had brought the nation peace. It had brought a bloody end to the terror of the drug barons (incidentally fierce competitors of the young Knootian Republic) and an end to FARC left-wing uprisings. It had also brought the nation a high standard of living: stable exports, a consumer base, the same kind of social welfare Knootians enjoyed.

The Knootian districts were governed from a well-guarded mansion by men and woman who sincerely believed in the kind decency of their help. The nation had become one of the Knootians ‘projects’. For them, it was like restoring the old federation again and the districts and villages had been swamped with aid workers, volunteers, road builders, entrepreneurs and humanist missionaries.

Of course, if one sympathised with communist FARC rebels, or with drug barons, or if one wanted to project ‘third world class solidarity’ on a politically apathetic people that opinion could be different...

Knootian Embassy

The boys are led upstairs again. Magda leads the way, but they are cautiously followed by the same two guards and the captain. Along the way, they pass the luxurious room, and they hear a painful groaning coming from it. – a woman in pain -

Magda runs towards the sound as fast as her clothing allows her, and she finds the 24-year old soldier watchman she had just spoken to, moaning in pain next to a shattered window. A little stream of blood is dripping from her forehead and a big blood-covered piece of class is lying next to her. Her face is covered in pieces of glass and Magda is shocked to see that there are pieces of glass in the Knootians’ eyes. A piece of lettuce lies harmlessly between the pieces of glass.

“Get an ambulance!” she yells to one of the soldiers and after nodding two times in rapid succession he runs off. “It just … iust… blew up in my face.”, she says sobbingly. “It hurts.” Magda tries to calm her. “There, there. Help will arrive soon. You’ll be all right.”

The captain and the remaining soldier (the freckled one) were momentarily distracted and the boys had used the opportunity to enter the room also to see. They witness the scene. A Knootian soldier trying not to cry, probably not what they had expected.

Behind the Embassy entrance

Helena, the middle-aged head of embassy staff curses as she hears another window break. A roar goes up in the protesting crowd. “The protesting mob”, as Helena thinks. “peaceful protests indeed. Oh, what great fun. I wonder if these soldiers don’t have the urge to mow such crowds down. ”,she thinks mercilessly, only to dismiss the thought immediately. She’d never want that to happen, and looks a little bit guilty until the sound of shattering pierces her ears again. They protestors hit the delicate porcelain fountain piece standing outside in the garden with a coleslaw. It topples and crashes.

The vidcom rings, and a male voice speaks trough the intercom apparatus which also contains a small visual display mounted to a camera.

“There’s someone who wants in”, says the dark-haired man, the liaison for the AIVD ((Knootian intelligence)) in Tanah Burung. He is an ocean of calm in the disturbed embassy. He frowns, knowing the important people in the former colony well. “It is a politician. Mari Alkatiri”

“Refresh my memory please”, asks Helena.

As if he is reciting a computer record, the man answers. “Mari Alkatiri. Minor tribal nobility, he is anti-business and an anticapitalist. He is believed to be bribed or subdued by the Coalition of Anticapitalist Economies into following their agenda. Probably by the Celdonians, or SeOCC. His issue is joining the CACE, probably. A dangerous man.“

“So what is he doing here?”, Helena asks herself icily. Like with most Knootians, her hate and fear for CACE spies is intense. A dangerous combination that can turn the kindest person into a demon. She walks over to the vidcom and presses the ‘speak’ button with the full weight of her finger, as if squashing a bug.

“You can come in if you tell these protestors to stop throwing things.”

Mid-ocean
Grey shapes in the ocean. The Knootian taskforce detachment is speeding up. In a hurry, and now clearly on a divergent course. Full steam ahead. They have not yet heard that the demonstration might be ending soon, but the first casualty report is coming in.

OOC agenda for today:
- I got you on the windows :wink: I just wanted to wait until the boys were upstairs purely from a storyline perspective. Consider some windows to have already broken, more on the way.
-I’d show you the Columbia RP, but its gone. ‘t was with someone who Rped the FARC rebels. I could rant about the Ale-Yarok protectorate in Israel too, but they don’t make coffee. They are into Information Technology, Automobile Manufacturing, and are the Gambling paradise of the middle east. ;)
-Note also that thinking Alkatiri a CACE agent is based solely on Paranoia. Oh, and he was seen in the same restaurant with a Celdonian once.
-The timeline was VERY nice.
-The "meat" incident was mentioned here. I'd like there to be no misunderstandings, so mainly for Tanah Burung and Iansisle I am also putting this link here also
On the NHU raiding incident (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=127994)

((OOC:
Re-reading that first paragraph it seems awfully colonialistic. I was going with the mood, I guess. Well, I should add that both Knootian dependencies asked for our intervention (more or less) and that there is a very democratic political structure.
The "mansion" is for support, so its not as if Knootians are ruling like autocrats. Like, uhm, how the remaining Dutch "colonies" in the carabean are ruled, to name an obscure example. One federation (the Knootian federation) in which the countries are separate entitites, but with the status of protectorate.
They have their own parliament etc etc and as such we're just being motherly and paternalistic nationbuilders. Both Ale-Yarok and the Knootian parts of Columbia have become more democratic as a result of intervention, not less.

Just didn't want to leave the wrong impression.
~Knoot))

"Ah so your saying that the people of Iansisle who are fighting in Gallaga, including the native population, are being misled to fight for the yoke of colonialism? Or are you saying that they are being forced to fight for a system they don't believe in?" It seemed that the reporter was not being detered.

"I am saying, my persistent fellow, that self-determination is the right of all peoples," Rumbiak replies with a broad grin. He remembered his mentor tellign him: just because people are askign quesitons, is no reason to answer them. "Now, Ambassador," and with that he turns to Fletcher, "i've enjoyed our chat. You are a true statesman, sir. I will be sure to commend your good work here today to my friends at the court of Iansisle."

He is unlikely to have any remaining friends at that particular court, Rumbiak reflects. No matter. Public posturing is not delivered under oath. And for what it was worth, he fully intended to say something nice about Fletcher in a letter to the King. It could not, after all, do a great deal more harm to anyone concerned.

Outside the Knootian Embassy

Alkatiri can hear the ice in the guard's voice. If the day was ten degrees warmer, Helena's words would still have chilled it. He let ice creep into his own voice in reply.

"I have no interest in entering your pleasure palace," he says. "If you would look around, you would see that my colleague Bi Bere is already trying to stop the vegetable throwing. My only interest is that you send those boys out."

Nearby, a shattering sound. The porcelain fountain crashes to the ground under the impact of a light, wet, shredded bit of cabbage. A few protesters cheer.

"Stop that," says an old man. "There's nothing glorious about vandalizing art."

Some people stop the vegetable-throwing. Others jeer and continue. "Gets knocked over by coleslaw, pretty stupid place to put fine art! Look, there's one that will break if a bird lands on it!"

"Enough," shouts the old man. His two daughters are outraged. "Let's protect the rest of the art," one says to the other. "We can put ourselves in the way, like they taught us in civil disobedience class!"

The two girls jump the fence.

--

Inside, Sebastian is appalled to see the bloodied soldier. "Here, let me help," he says. "I know first aid, we have to study paramedical in school. And the med-evac helicopter number is 2233. An ambulance will take too long!"

"Now, Ambassador," and with that he turns to Fletcher, "i've enjoyed our chat. You are a true statesman, sir. I will be sure to commend your good work here today to my friends at the court of Iansisle."

He is unlikely to have any remaining friends at that particular court, Rumbiak reflects. No matter. Public posturing is not delivered under oath. And for what it was worth, he fully intended to say something nice about Fletcher in a letter to the King. It could not, after all, do a great deal more harm to anyone concerned.

“It was my pleasure, Mr. Rumbiak,” replied Fletcher, taking great pleasure in the agony he must be serving up to Ashtonbury. “I’m glad we were able to work out that little misunderstanding.”

Fletcher was desperately searching for any means he could to politely invite Rumbiak to depart, and hopefully his protesters with him. He had had quite enough of feeling helpless; after Rumbiak had left, he could entreat Ashtonbury to do the same, and then he could have a nice, big shot of whiskey and ....

The Gadsani diplomat’s pleasant thoughts of intoxication were interrupted by the increasing tempo of Rumbiak’s supporters’ culinary assault on the Knootian embassy. The relatively few heads of lettuce which had been chucked at his own embassy had made no lasting impression; the yards were a neat but unornamented lawn, with a few local trees scattered about (no doubt Ianapalis would have preferred a solid Iansislean oak, but Tanah Burung’s tropical climate precluded that). What vegetable projectiles did impact the main building itself found the well-worn brick unyielding and the windows elusive targets. The guards, on the other hand, maintained their positions on the front lawn, refusing to be driven from the field. Their khaki uniforms dripped with various juices and most had the brilliant idea of covering their faces with their helmuts, but no damage was done that a good wash cycle couldn’t fix. Not to mention the flow of fruit seemed to have slackened off since Markus Rumbiak reappeared.

However, the besieged Knootian compound was starting to look more and more like a warzone as what had started as an anti-Iansisle demonstration quickly turned upon its former colonial masters. Fletcher didn’t know about the first three young men who jumped the fence, but he did question the wisdom of the two young women who now threw their bodies between lawn ornaments and an angry mob.

After all, as we all know, there’s nothing that’ll keep a right angry person from kicking a lawn gnome.

The reporter fumes at being obviously dismissed. Bloody pol is his only thought as he also looks on. "You know it appears the Dutch have having a really poor time right about now..." He turns with a somewhat evil glare in his eye... He mummbles, "the duty of a diplomat Mr. Rumbiak is to build bridges, not generate mobs to assult embassies. Or preen before the media when a crisis in brewing, but then your a politician more than anything...."

He turns towards the ambassador, "Sir, I hope to interview you later today about your formal and personal veiw on some of....Mr. Rumbiak's claims.
He spits out the last part with some distain. "I will call your secretary about setting up an appointment. Good day gentlemen."

He leaves heading for the center of the crowd and the Knootoss Embassy. He pulls out a cell phone and dials the number for the press officer at the Knootoss embassy....*

(* Or similar figure who deals with mundane questions of the press)

Outside the Knootian embassy

Alkatiri listens for an answer. After a moments pause – presumably hesitance – the communications link reopens. Helena’s voice again. “The boys have been taken temporarily into custody for trespassing. They will be released to the police shortly.” Obviously she is in no mood to talk to some …spy…

As soon as the two girls jump the fence, the Knootian soldiers inside are on alert. Of course, they don’t know anything about the motives of the girl. “More of them. Do these teenagers ever learn? Sheesh, we even fired a warning shot.”

The captain runs by their position: “You two, to the main entrance. Hut hut hut!” He runs along to catch someone else.
Five soldiers, all male and armed with rifles with rubber bullets, gather at the main entrance. The captain is last to arrive.

“Right boys, we have to be consistent. Anyone jumping the fence will be detained so we have to get those two girls.” He peers trough the window, and they appear to be standing there before some sculpture. ”Encouraging the crowd?”
He continues his briefing: “Mag… uhm, the ambassador assured me that if they throw anything at us its molest. There are journalists so they’ll get what they deserve. We get the girls, and get inside. If they throw anything at us you fire a warning shot. If they continue throwing you have permission to shoot. But ONLY if they are aiming at US. Got that?” The soldiers all nod. “Remember your firing training. We don’t want to kill anyone.”

The door flies open and the soldiers storm out, heading for the girls.

Inside the Knootian embassy

Inside, Sebastian is appalled to see the bloodied soldier. "Here, let me help," he says. "I know first aid, we have to study paramedical in school. And the med-evac helicopter number is 2233. An ambulance will take too long!"

The captain nods to Sebastian “I’ll pass it on.” Agitated, he listens to what seems to be nothing – something coming from his ear?” He runs off too, to make sure that the med-evac helicopter is being called and mount an operation to get the girls.

Magda and the only remaining soldier are still with the bloody patient. The freckled one now takes the initiative. “I have this training too, but you can help me. First we must stabilise this bleeding. Press here using this.” He hands the boy a handkerchief and then turns to the woman. Firm, but friendly he says: “Do NOT rub your eyes however itchy they may be…”

…

The telephone in one of the embassy offices rings, unanswered. The public relations agent is nowhere to be seen. Finally it is answered by the black-haired AIVD agent. “The stupid woman is probably hiding under some table in fear of vegetables.” He speaks with a cool voice, you’d hardly know there is something going on. “Knootian embassy, how can I help you?”

"Ah, I was looking for the embassy press agent. This is Bill Clamp, Klatchian Coast News, I met her at a few formal functions over the past couple of months. I was going to return a favor and warn her that the international press appears to be very light on the ground, it looks like most international coverage is going to come through the local press."

He pushes by someone who is trying to throw everything underhanded and continues to push forward...

"I'm not sure who I'm talking to....but if you could get her a message that with the recent announcement of Mr. Rumbiak that Knotoss going to be facing an uphill battle against the hatchet job on the Knotoss reputation around the world. In the end just more fodder for the CASE to demonstrate why people shouldn't trade with you. Also mention that I'm willing to submit a balanced story to the wire services, but I've got a pending deadline...so I'd need to have a counter interview with your Ambassador, ASAP. Could you get her that message please..."

He is interupted for a second as a carrot wacks him in the head. "Hey...no hitting bystanders..." he stops at the gate to the embassy, eyeing the person standing there. Seeing the two girls on the wrong side of the fence he just shakes his head. "Bloody fools..." He hasn't put away the phone, but begins to take snapshots of the impending scene.

Iansislean Embassy

With the press gone and something he can claim as success from his visit to the highest representative of the Shield in Tanah Burung (a man currently looking much in need of a drink and perhpas a nice bath), Markus Rumbiak feels his work is done.

With a shout of "merdeka" (freedom) and a low bow to Fletcher, he heads for the gates, whispering "i'll phone you in the morning. And tell your high-handed friend i'll send him some piercing spikes."

He can hear Violeta Bi Bere's song drawing to a close. I'd better go join my mob before she steals them away, he thinks to himself.

Knootian Embassy

Sebastian takes the handkerchief and presses where the freckled soldier indicates. Although he's confident he knows what to do, something tells him this fellow has previous experience with this sort of thing. "Help is on its way, sister," he says to the injured woman.

Outside, the two girls pick what they think is the prettiest sculpture. They join hands and face the crowd. "Jangan keras, jangan kasar," they yell in unison.

Schoolchildren throughout Tanah Burung study applied non-violence. Most of the protesters have been ignoring the lessons today, but they all remember the drill. "Don't be violent, don't be crude." While damage to property is not always considered to be violence, violence against people is always considered wrong. The hail of vegetables slows and comes to a halt.

As the soldiers emerge from the embassy building, one of the girls calls to them, switching to English. "Put your guns away and stand in front of the scuptures! It's the only way to save them!"

Arasaka Advertising Agency

Kyan sipped his Irish coffee and watched the news showing the live events unfolding in Tanah Burung.

"You know," he said with a mischevious grin to his assistant, "This Rumbiak trip to Gallaga has given me a great idea for a follow up ad for the EGC. Markus Rumbiak's Gallagan Tour! Brought to you by the East Gallaga Company. Get the EGC on the phone."

Iansislean Embassy

Fletcher didn’t like the sound of the phone call tomorrow; he had already guessed this wouldn’t simply blow over, but that didn’t stop him from hoping.

“I’ll give Mr. Ashtonbury your regards,” he agreed, letting Rumbiak out through the front gate. As the young diplomat turned back towards the embassy, he could all but feel Ashtonbury’s dark gaze boring into his soul, and Fletcher realized that he’d probably just thrown away his entire career in the foreign service.

It just isn’t fair, he mused as he walked back up the path. He could hear the sounds of increasing shouting towards the Knootian embassy, but that didn’t concern him so much as self-pity right now. What sort of God could have seen fit to deliver me between two men such as Rumbiak and Ashtonbury? Not a very nice one was his brain’s reply.

Little did he know that even as he was contemplating his own doom, wheels were being turned thousands of miles away that could prove his salvation, and not through such an unlikely scenario as Sir Archibald Hughes growing a pair of balls.

----

East Gallaga Company Headquarters -- Ianapalis

The Company seemed to be the only private institute in the city that hadn’t gone absolutely bonkers with the invention of the steel-supported sky-scrapers. When IanCorp put up its International Tower, thrity-six stories of gargoyle adorned gothic glory, no one had thought that toppable. And indeed, for the better part of a decade, it remained the king of high rises. Then Royal Mining and Manufacturing had put up Whitman Tower, an Art-Deco monstrosity of nearly sixty stories, and the race was on.

Now the ancient brick buildings of the Company squatted, somewhat pathetically, at the bottom of a steel landscape. Because they had been there long before the more recent startups, the Company occupied some of the most valuable downtown Ianapalis land, but clearly had no intention of giving it up.

In the main office, which had been sound-proofed specifically for the newest Company Executor, Edward Tedders rubbed his hands together in delight (not an unimpressive feat, considering he was talking on the telephone at the moment). “It’s brilliant, I tell you, brilliant! We take Rumbiak on a little Potemkin tour, leave everyone with a warm, happy feeling, and the whole thing blows over.” He litteraly crowed in delight. “I don’t know how much we pay you, Mr. Kyan (?), but it’s not nearly enough!”

Inside the embassy (guess which one)

The AIVD man answered crisply:
“Thank you for the tip, Mr. Clamp. That will be useful. I myself am Jan van Dorp, assigned as an … uh … ecological liaison.”
Even though most embassies are well-known to have intelligence agents, it is still traditional that these agents have a cover function. Knootian embassies are no exception.

“About that announcement? – I’m not sure which one you are referring to. We’ve been in here, you see?” He asks questioningly. His thoughts are less careless. ”What could that be? Something that old man says that would make the rest of the world turn on us? Unless they found out about… no. That’s impossible.”

As if to reward him for a good answer he says: ”But, well, that interview can be arranged.” With a sense of understatement he continues: “Though the timing is rather poor. Most embassy staff are preoccupied. However I might be able to get you in through the back door…”

Some noise disturbs the line. Another carrot? Or the sound of a camera taking snapshots?

“Mr. Clamp? You still there?”

…

Inside, the soldier and the boy stabilise the female soldier together. After a few minutes the Knootian concludes that his colleague will get by, at least if she is treated in time. Her eyes, however, are a different matter…

Magda, meanwhile, paces around the room. Now and then she glances sideways to the first aid that is being given, and then to the other two boys. What is taking that helicopter so long? And where is the police?!”

Outside the Knootian embassy

The soldiers are surprised. This was not at all what they had expected.
“Huh?”, exclaims one of them. They exchange a few words in Dutch, though not too loud.

“What do we do now Sir? Do we make the arrest?”
The captain shakes his head.
“But Sir, you’re not suggesting we join in?”
“No,” he replies, “we, uhm…”

The captain lowers his weapon, and the group follows.

There is an awkward silence.

One of the soldiers takes the initiative. He stammers in English: “Uhm, good afternoon, miss errr… you are trespassing and we have orders uhm”, he points his thumb to the embassy over his shoulder. The facial expression is one of helpless puzzlement. “Would you please come inside with us?”

(and the Oscar for most creative advertising during an election campaign goes to....)

As Bi Bere finishes singing and tries to get the crowd to follow her east along Canal Street, two helicopters approach.

One heads straight for the Knootian embassy grounds, broadcasting "Medical Helicopter, Medical Helicopter." The pilot is a bit afraid he'll be detained if he touches down without warning, it seesm to be the theme. As it lands, paramedics rush out with a stretcher and head for the embassy building.

The other helicopter is emblazoned with the TVTB logo, and is filming the scene from above: a large crowd, apparently stopping their hurling of vegetables at the Knootian and Iansislean embassies -- at one because of appearance of the shambling figure of Markus Rumbiak, at the other because of the intervention of two teenage girls. If the streets run red, it is not with blood, but with the juice of a thousand tomatoes. Police cars stream over the bridge from Ukun Rasikan city towards Canal Street, minutes away from the protest site. At the Green Palace, an open-air kitchen is taking shape, as bureaucrats are summoned outside to start making salad. Bi Bere's car is headed towards that spot, with a large mass of people beginning to follow her.

On the ornamental lawn of the Knootian embassy, two girls sink into a sitting position. "Trespassing? We just wanted to save your art, meester," May Horta says. Her friend Rosa Miki adds: "We'll leave now that the statues are safe, soldier boys. Or you can arrest us, if that's what makes you happy. That is, if you want to be filmed dragging two poor innocent girls away." She giggles.

(The next protest will be aginst the &*^%&*% NS forums.)

(i'm serious, i have the %#$@# vegetables all picked out)

“It’s brilliant, I tell you, brilliant! We take Rumbiak on a little Potemkin tour, leave everyone with a warm, happy feeling, and the whole thing blows over.” He litteraly crowed in delight. “I don’t know how much we pay you, Mr. Kyan (?), but it’s not nearly enough!”

Kyan chuckled and sketched out the first of the new ads. Mr. Kyan, I like the sound of that. Hell, he can call me 'King Kong' for all I care as long as the checks keep clearing.

"Exactly, and if you can have him stay a night with a Gallagan family, of course one that's friendly to your company, and make sure the guides are a mixture of Gallagan and Iansislians, it should be a nice trip."

*damn forums*

Inside the embassy (guess which one)

The AIVD man answered crisply:
“Thank you for the tip, Mr. Clamp. That will be useful. I myself am Jan van Dorp, assigned as an … uh … ecological liaison.”
Even though most embassies are well-known to have intelligence agents, it is still traditional that these agents have a cover function. Knootian embassies are no exception.

“About that announcement? – I’m not sure which one you are referring to. We’ve been in here, you see?” He asks questioningly. His thoughts are less careless. ”What could that be? Something that old man says that would make the rest of the world turn on us? Unless they found out about… no. That’s impossible.”

As if to reward him for a good answer he says: ”But, well, that interview can be arranged.” With a sense of understatement he continues: “Though the timing is rather poor. Most embassy staff are preoccupied. However I might be able to get you in through the back door…”

Some noise disturbs the line. Another carrot? Or the sound of a camera taking snapshots?

“Mr. Clamp? You still there?”


"Ah, yes....I am here sorry I'm getting picutures of what appear to be a counter protest and some of the embassy protective detail trying to politetly detain them...Ah, why don't you let me in the front? it appears as if the salad barage has ended...." He attempts to get some more pictures hoping that the protective detail will just polietly escort the girls out the front gate. He has a bad feeling about what hauling the girls in will do.

"Exactly, and if you can have him stay a night with a Gallagan family, of course one that's friendly to your company, and make sure the guides are a mixture of Gallagan and Iansislians, it should be a nice trip."

"Splendid, simply splendid!” chuckled Tedders. “I’ll tell you what, Mr. Kyan - I’m going to give you the connection to our local office in Fort Ash; they’ll be able to set everything up much better than I am here in Ianapalis.”

Soldiers look at the captain, the captain looks at the sincere expression in the eyes of the girl. The roar of the helicopter overhead drowns out the sound of all doubt.

“Thank you”, he says in broken Burungese (???) “Your intentions were good. We thought you were one of the vandals.” He nods his head gently in the direction of the people behind the gate. “I’ll escort you off the premises. I won’t get into trouble for letting you go.”

He smiles professionally and gives a sign to two of the soldiers… “Joost, Maarten.” The 2 warriors open the Main gate to the point where only a few people can get through. The others check the crowd. Their guns are pointing downwards but they are looking dangerously serious at those who haven’t left to eat salad yet.

The Alconan journalist, meanwhile, has managed to get in front. He waves to one of the soldiers *but that one ignores him. A whisper in the captain’s ear changes the situation however and he motions the journalist. Bill Clamp is then led inside the embassy together with withdrawing Knootian soldiers*. From then on, he is taken inside and hurriedly led past the embassy chambers and offices to the room where Magda Vogels is still watching over the young woman who was hurt by the window.

In that room, the paramedics are just getting the woman onto the stretcher, to haul away the wounded woman.
“You did a fine job boy”, comments the freckled soldier to Sebastian. “She’s stable now and going to be all right.” The woman looks thankful for a second, but then it turns into a painful grimace as they put her on the stretcher.
Magda turns around to greet the picture-hungry journalist

-------------------
Mid-ocean
-------------------

“We have a blip”, comments the navigation officer dryly as he motions his hands over the keyboard. “The computer identifies the target as a --- Balloon. Heading trajectory with the coast – no bearing yet at this point. It’s a coastal patrol or a pleasure balloon.”

The captain does not need time to think. Knootian ships seen heading straight for Tanah Burung is not an option. He opens the general commlink. “All ships ADJUST COURSE. Change bearing to 246, retain formation.”

The ships in the detachment steer violently, causing fumes and huge wakes in the water. The ships struggle to get the course change done before the thing comes over the horizon.

((*OOC: I’m taking mild liberties here with your character. I hope you don’t mind but this fits the story and its clear that he wanted inside ;)
*If protestors *do* want to come in through the gate when it opens momentarily we can RP it our. If I don’t hear about it I’ll assume they don’t, however.))

OOC: No problem, KCN news has to be that pushy to get a story :wink:

IC: Bill Clamp was happy. Or well at least he seemed to quicken his step, as he entered the gate. Clamp was an adreniline junkie so a 'war zone', even if only if veggie based was the place to be. He had switched to a portable handheld camera as they entered the embassy. Trying to get a picture of the disarray. He stopped and quickly switched cameras when he saw the wounded marine.

"Ah, how bad is it?" He seemed to ask with genuine concern. Then his eyes focued on a somewhat familiar face, the young local nealing. He asked a simple, direct question. "Young man, how does it feel to know your rash behavior helped to cause this injury?"

(ooc: the national language of Tanah Burung is called Tetemelayu -- but if you were to call it Indonesian, you wouldn't be far off...)

With a sigh of relief, the two girls leave the grounds, laughing at the confused faces of the young soldiers as they go. Rosa blows a kiss to them and another to her friends across the fence as she goes. She's certain that she will get a good grade on her civil disobedience class now! She sits down in front of the gate as it swings shut. "I'll be here until you let those fence-jumpers go, boss!" she says to one of the guards.

"Oh, good one," says May witha giggle, and sits down with her. A few other protesters join them. "Free the embassy three!" they start to chant happily.

Mari Alkatiri remains at the gates of the Knootian embassy. He does not join in the chants. He is not much for shouting. "Are you with us, Bapak Mari?" Rosa asks. He looks over at her. "I am with any of our citizens imprisoned by a foreign government, sister," he answers.

The bulk of the protesters move east along Canal Street. Seeing them leave with Bi Bere's convertible in the lead, Markus Rumbiak breaks into a run to catch up. "Someone give me a megaphone," he bellows, panting for breath.

As the main protest group reaches the grounds of the foreign minstry, salads are being passed out. And if one or two of those salads are wrapped up in a "Vote Violeta" leaflet, who's to complain?

SLAGLantic Ocean, or whatever it's called now that it's in the Pacific

A patrol balloon sails through the air. Four men are on board. Two scan the horizon. Two more are kicking back with a nice clove cigarette.

"Zach, did you see something?"

"Only that RevTerr fishing trawler."

"No, i think that was a military ship."

"Where? I can't see anything?"

"Oh, never mind. Probably just more Oglethorpian war games."

"Hee hee. Don't report that we saw them. Their admiral would have to submit form 1739-B in triplicate, right?"

Laughter, then the crew lapses back into silence.

"Ah, how bad is it?" He seemed to ask with genuine concern. Then his eyes focued on a somewhat familiar face, the young local nealing. He asked a simple, direct question. "Young man, how does it feel to know your rash behavior helped to cause this injury?"

Sebastian ignors the reporter until the wounded woman is safely on a stretcher and the helicopter has lifted off headed for Ukun Rasikan Hills Hospital -- not the closest, but certainly the best hospital in the city. Anyone speaking the local dialect will understand Sebastian has said something about an eye injury and the need for fast expert treatment for an important foreign dignitary.

Once the helicopter is airborne, he turns back to face the reporter. He is not at all unhappy to be talking to the foreign press.

"Sorry, what was your question? Oh yes. Well, she got hit by glass, Terrible accident. I'm praying that it isn't her fate to lose her eyesight. But me, i never struck a blow at her or anyone else. The only blow i struck today was at imperialism. Geez, did you hear what the last ambassador said about us? They still think we should be a colony! My grandfather died fighting that kind of thinking!"

OOC: He likely asked the first in dutch and the second in the local tounge.

IC: The reporter listened to the reply and then acted dumb for a moment. "Ah how did you exactly say you struck a blow against Imperialism? And by Imperalism do you mean one nation or people enfocing their will on others, espcially by the use of force?"

He turned to the Knotoss in the room and said in Dutch. "Sorry for the impromtu interview of the boy but I like to get a balanced story..."

the Knotoss in the room
OOC: What evil kind of creature is that? :shock:

The Knootian Ambassador Magda Vogels didn't seem to mind and answered politely, in Dutch, presuming the boy wouldn't understand:

With a soft, motherly voice she said: "I understand completely. A fair and balanced story is also what we're after.”

She smiled painfully, it was bittersweet with eyes looking for sympathy. Maybe even using some of her natural female charm. “You see, we’re all very much troubled by the current situation. This protest wasn’t even directed against us – we think. And the decolonisation was fifty years ago so this protest is a bit late…”

She fell silent to allow Sebastian to answer.

OOC: Sorry, I didn't know if you just refered to yourselves as Dutch or not...and I couldn't recall who else was in the room...

OOC: Sorry, I didn't know if you just refered to yourselves as Dutch or not...and I couldn't recall who else was in the room...
((OOC: No problem. The language is Dutch, the etniticity is Dutch (in the Nederland region) but the people are Knootian.

OOC: Ah, well you can just call us "Alocs, Slopeheads or some other poor nickname to get even...

Sebastian, of course, does not speaka word of Dutch. It's only the older generation who remeber Knootian rule who had to learn that language. On independence, it was replaced by English as the second language. So he can't respond to the Dutch-language questions, much to his disappointment.

The one directed at him, though, he's keen to answer.

"Use of force? Hey man, i jumped over a fence. The only force used today was by the people here who arrested me. Damage to property is not violence. And how did i strike a blow against imperialism? It's not so long since the ambassador here announced that this country would be better off if we had stayed a colony of Knootoss under their so-called guidance! That's an outrage! Imperialism is supposed to be dead, dude! And Knootoss still has colonies, i hear. That's just wrong. People have to protest against it. At least with the folks from Iansisle, they haven't yet learned that colonialism is wrong. If there is any country that should know colonialism is always wrong, it's Knootoss."

Well he seems to be bright, was the reporters thought as the young man made a logic jump on him.

"Ah, so If I'm understanding you correctly, the definition of imperialsim that you are protesting is to have colonies? And that your jumping of the fence was to protest the existance of Knootian colonies?"

He would ignore the faint towards trying to make this about Iansisle and Gallaga. After all he was intrested right now in damage here, which this young man appeared to be the catalyst for.

In Dutch he makes the comment, "Unfortunatly by that definition, he allows a good number of true imperialsist off the hook..."

"And includes a good number that shouldn't be there at all." replies Magda.

"I assume you mean yourselves?" Again in Dutch

Magda nodded softly to the Alconan to indicate her agreement.

She stood waiting politely, hoping for the interview with Sebastian to end and the police to arrive.

((OOC disclaimer: Just hoping for that ICly of course ;) ))

Sebastian's Dutch was limited to the title of a famous colonial-era article by Suwardi, "Als ik eens een Knootlander was." So he quickly became bored of the incomprehensible conversation between the reporter and the ambassador, and wandered off to sit by the door. Hoping to himself that he would get a lot of press coverage.

At the gates, police cars arrived, emitting a faint hint of coconut oil from their exhaust pipes. "Excuse me, sister," the lead officer said Rosa as they stepped over her and up to the embassy gates. Other police took up positions between the crowd and the entrance.

"Ukun Raskikan people's police force here," the commanding officer called to the Knootian security guards. "This disturbance is over. Now, we understand you have three of our citizens to hand over."

((edit: ok, i wrote that before the above post & finally got a connection. i guess you get what you want, Knoot...))

When the young man wanders away, the reporter asks his question again in the native toung. "I'm still trying to get your definition of imperialism, or don't you care if 22 billion people understand your actions or not?"

((*Population of the Klatch as of my entry into this thread...))

Sebastian's eyes light up at the chance to talk some more. 22 billion was a pretty big number! Here was a chance to show off how well he'd learned his international politics lessons. To let anyone around understand, he answers in English.

"Imperialism? I define that as the control of one nation by another. The worst form is classical imperialism, when one country rules another without letting the colony's people have any political say. That's wrong, even if the colonizer is delivering nice development projects. Take Gallaga. Its people are not allowed to choose their own government, instead they are treated as slaves by an imperial company. They should be given independence or made a Dominion of Iansisle with full rights to vote. That's classical imperialism going on, and we always oppose that. We oppose it because we suffered from it.

"But there is also economic imperialism, or neo-colonialism. That's when one country rules another economically. The neo-colony is officially independent, or a protectorate, but it does not control its own economy. So the imperial power still gets all the profits it did before, but doesn't have to accept as much of the responsibiity. Sometimes they look generous by shovelling aid money and running an efficient government, but an inefficient government by the people themselves is preferable to efficient rule by a foreign power."

Sebastian finally stops talking, quite pleased with himself.

"Hmm, so 'one nation rules another...' but wait if Gallaga was made a Dominion it would still be ruled by the central government in Ianopolis, and be ecconomicly dependent on the other Dominion states, wouldn't that still be Imperailism that you were protesting?" He asked in a somewhat confused voice, using the local tounge still.

The reporter appeared a bit confused.

In reality he was fairly certain he could hear the inonation of the orginal lecturer coming from the human phonograph before him. But thought that the young man really liked giving lectures, and nothing seemed to inspire talking out of a neo-prof than a confused look on a journalist's face.

"Well," Sebastian replied, "i think Gallaga should be independent. But their rigbht to self-determination i guess includes the right to remain part of Iansisle if they choose. If the province of Loro Sae voted to separate from Tanah Burung they are free to do so. But they are no less free by choosing to remain one of the Untied Provinces. But anyway i actually agree, Gallaga should be allowed to be an independent country, that would be better."

"Ah wait are you saying that Tanah Burung is an imperialist nation because it rules Loro Sae who would otherwise be an independent nation?"

The reporter has yet to change his tone or mannerisms, still speaking in the local tounge.

"Of course not," Sebastian says, continuing to answer in English, since he's been taught it is rude to speak in a language that others in the room might not understand. "Loro Sae is free to leave at any time, and the people there have the right to vote. They're voting in the current election, and Mr Rumbiak from Loro Sae might be the winner. I think Iansisle is being imperialist because the people in Gallaga don't have the right to leave any time or the right to vote for the government of Iansisle."

"Ah, so what you really mean to say is that Imperialism as you see it is to rule a people without their right to vote and determine their own path, or 'To rule a nation without them having the right to vote...'"

He was seeming to be an automon just asking questions and not changing languages. After all he wanted everything to be clear as he asked it.

"I already defined imperialism, man," Sebastian says with a smile. Then he calls out, "Hey, Miss Ambassador, can we go soon? I think i heard police sirens?"

---

((For the sake of moving this along so i can have some idea of what my government's foreign policy is again, i'm posting this news report, but no rush if there is more action in the Knootian embassy... :wink: ))

From the late edition, Gado-Gado Berita (translation)

RED PLUS BLACK EQUALS GREEN?

Supporters of two election candidates united to protest against colonialism in embassy row earlier today but ended in throwing gallons of salad at the embassies of two colonial powers. In the end, the red of Markus Rumbiak's supporters and the black of Mari Alkatiri's mingled in a hail of green vegetables -- until home town girl Violeta Bi Bere arrived to pour her calming blue oil over the protest and defuse it.

"There was a spot of trouble," Bi Bere said, "and we're sorry about the damage done. Most of the protesters were just asserting their right to express their views against the scourge of colonialism, and by and large they were a peaceful bunch. I'm glad most of them chose to join me for a nice salad after the rally."

As the Gado-Gado went to press, three protesters remained in detention behind the walls of the Knootian embassy. Embassy windows had been shattered. One embassy staff person was hospitalized from injuries sustained and reported in stable condition.

The biggest news of the day was a dramatic agreement struck between protest organizer Rumbiak and Ambassador Fletcher of Iansisle, the unlucky target of protesters' anger over advertising linked to the East Gallaga Company. Rumbiak announced that he will soon be departing for Gallaga.

"I have one piece of unfinished business to complete with a rogue aristocrat i met in the embassy," Rumbiak told this reporter. "But after that, i'm Gallaga-bound. I'm certain that the nefarious policies of the Company will be on full display. I will be inviting a number of international figures to join me on this trip. I'm sure that the statesmanship of Ambassador Fletcher will be well rewarded by his government."

Rumbiak called the rally to try to raise his standing in the current race for people's representative for foreign affairs & human rights. Early indications are that he will not receive a big enough bump to win, and remains in fourth place.

Reached for comment, third-placed candidate Lily Santos deplored the protest as "bad for business." Santos has run a poor campaign, dogged by allegations that she has engaged in financial impropriety and does not know enough about foreign affairs to guide the nation, and her one-time lead is evaporating fast.

"This race may be narrowing to Bi Bere versus Alkatiri," said Professor Sumitro Joyohadikusumo of Lovefest University. "At any rate, that will leave voters with a very clear choice."

"We will talk to the police when they arrive", the ambassador said to the cheeky boy.
"Untill then you three will remain our guests. You can watch television if you want to. Remi here will be here with you." She pointed to the redheaded boy in uniform.

She turned to the Alconan. "And I believe you also wished to interview me? Perhaps before the police arrives?"

She wasn't sure, they seemed to take their time.

OOC: I think the cops are waiting at the gate...

After the comment from the young man, the reporter got a very large grin on his face.

Ah yes, this kid is an agent provocteur sent over the fence to be arrested and induce the riot. He may act all sweet and innocent but he holds an illocial postion like a pro.

He turns to Ambassador (?) "Yes, however I'm not sure I feel comfortable doing so in the young man's presence. I'm afraid that he would become inpolite to anything you might say in your defense." He again speeks in fairly poor dutch.

((yup, the cops are at the gates, doing whatever it is cops do in situations like this.))

Canal Street, the day after.

There must be a hundred people cleaning Canal Street, scrubbing it in the hopes that the foreign minister of Ilek-Vaad (due that afternoon) would not see the chaos that had happened here. And even more important, that any reproters she brought along would not see it either.

A messenger arrived at the gates of the Iansisle Embassy. "I bear a message," he said, predictably enough. "Oh, and a package for someone called Company Running Dog Ashtonbury?"

Swaddled in a piece of white cloth stained with what appears to be blood are a dozen long thin pins. Despite the rather gory wrapping, they have been sterilized. With them is a note.


Milord,

If you have honour, as you claim, the field of combat is Magnet Park here in Ukun Rasikan. The time, an hour past sunset. The event, your death at the hands of my piercing spikes. Yours are enclosed: they were my father's spikes, so you will at least be armed with good steel.
-- Rumbiak

A hospital lab

"She's taken a lot of glass to the cornea, doctor. I don't know if we can save her eyes."

"You may be right, Zach. But i've been waiting for a case like this. Time to try out the genetic engineering on organs we've been experimenting with."

"Shouldn't we get the patient's consent?"

"What? Oh, bother. Yes, i suppose so. Tell her we can try to grow new eyes for her, if she's willing to risk an operation we haven't attempted before. And Zach?"

"Yes, doctor?"

"Try to make it sound as if we know what we're doing."

Knootian Embassy

Magda Vogels replies to the Alconan, “We’ll have the interview privately then. I do hope you don’t mind waiting for a moment, I can hardly leave my… guests now.” She turns to the freckled soldier, speaking English: “Unless you could…” she looks enquiringly to the boy. He nods: “I have a pack of cards with me. We’ll get by.”

She nods, and informs the boys that she will be gone for a moment. The dotted soldier waves in what could be interpreted as a very informal salute as she leaves with the reporter to her own office. There, she sits behind her own desk offering the journalist a seat. “Please Mr. Clamp, ask your questions. And if you’d like some coffee or tea I’ll have it brought in.”

The cops, meanwhile, have been brought inside by the captain. In the hallway a figure pops out from a side-office and the police-officers are stopped by a black-haired man in a suit wearing sunglasses inside. The only reason he’s not sweating is that the air-conditioning is running under full power causing small pieces of ice to form on a glass of water standing next to the bulky device.

“The name is van Dorp… Jan van Dorp”, he says in English with a heavy British accent in a remarkably successful James Bond impersonation. “I speak on behalf of Madam Ambassador.”

He leans seemingly casually to the plastered wall of the hallway: “I know that you are here to collect the trespassers”, he states, “and before we can let them go we need to know what you intend to do with them.” The AIVD agent eyes the Tanah Burung cops with a sense of authority; this is his home ground.

Hospital
The Knootian woman doubts emotionally… but finally she decides that the operation is probably the best thing to do. Knootians are pretty technophile and this may be her only chance to restore her eyesight…

Her adrenaline rushes though her as she is brought to surgery but when the drugs kick in she sighs relieved.

((OOC: ok, you decided to do this and I’ll go along. But lets not make it a 100% successful operation ok? That would be a very easy way out :P You call the damages. :) ))

The reporter sat down and pulled out a small tape recorder. It had been operating durring the previous conversation.

"Hmm, well iced tea would be nice, but I'm not sure the Dutch offer that option? If not, a nice informal (hint, hint) chat over a cup of tea would be nice."

He settles back in his chair and asks several quick questions. "Do you feel the charges of being an imperialist nation are unjustified?"

"Do you feel that the statments of the previous Ammbassador, even if taken out of context and misconstruded was a proper statement? And how do you plan on countering the ill will this has apparently left in the local populace?"

"Do you think that it is wise for Tanah Burung to intefere in the politics of Gallaga when that region is in the middle of a horrifice war?"

"I love ice tea!", exclaims Magda. "Especially in this climate", she confides. She presses a button and orders 2 glasses of ice tea.

"Now, I always like to have an informal chat with the press. I do not think that we are an imperialist nation. I reserve such claims for true evil aggressors, like Melkor Unchained, Iesus Christi, Drum Gods and SeOCC," she says with disdain. "What we have in terms of dependencies is more of a strong ties -giving aid and such- then imperialism. Everyone in the dependencies has a democratic choice. The rest is of an antiglobalist anti-trade ideology which is not shared by my government," she smiles, "please don’t quote me on this, but the pro-CACE sentiments growing here are worrying."

Between these two questions, a woman comes in and puts two glasses of icetea on the table. With straws and these small pieces of lemon attached to the glass.

"Well, completely off the record. Fleur - I mean ambassador ter Horsts words have been taken gravely out of context. He did not mean what the papers here made of it at all. he only compared the social and economic situations of Tanah Burung and Ale-Yarok descriptively as I recall. Don't put it like that in the papers or we'll have a Publicity nightmare again. This is just so you understand." She sighs. "It will be difficult to get rid of some of the ill will. Showing our good side, letting them know that we care is the best way in my opinion. That is why today is such a setback - some of their politicians are cheaply exploiting an anti-Knootian sentiment in order to win votes."

"Well, I don't know exactly what you mean with interfering in Gallaga politics. In general I don't comment publicly on what is happening with the elections here."

Melkor? How is a child's stuffed doll imperialistic?...these Europeans sometimes have loopy ideas* Flashed through the reporters head.

He decided the better part of valor and clicked off the tape recorder. "I'm going to agree with you on 'political manipulation', I'm not sure but that kid seemed very good at avoiding discussing the holes in his logic or papering over them?"

He shakes his head, considering the previous conversation, "After years of reporting and teaching the odd class, that kid reminds me more of a pol than a student. Which makes me wonder about the whole buisness and a Pro-CACE group now looking at Gallaga..."

He sips his drink, "Ah just a clarification what is your government's offical postion on those unfortunate comments?"

OOC: Before people go haywire on me...note: I do understand that the kid is just a kid an not part of some deep conspiracy. Unfortunatly, Terra decided that the kid was going to be smart, very smart actually. I deal with a very small group of highly intelligent 18-22 year olds, only about 1% of each year's class can actually see their way out of those...

*I've ignored Melkor for almost six months now...ever since the Ur debacle.

Milord,

If you have honour, as you claim, the field of combat is Magnet Park here in Ukun Rasikan. The time, an hour past sunset. The event, your death at the hands of my piercing spikes. Yours are enclosed: they were my father's spikes, so you will at least be armed with good steel.
-- Rumbiak

The return letter had the address of one of the city's nicer hotels. The paper used was of the highest quality; one might wonder how many extra trees had gone into the heavy sheet.

Its message, penned in manually with a fine Walmingtonian fountain pen, was simple.

I shall see you then, Mister Rumbiak.

--Ashtonbury

(Knoot, almost nothing attempted in TB is 100% successful, and that certainly includes dodgy medical procedures. Usually, such operations end up with the creation of psychotic football-playing vegetables. ;) )

Hospital

“Now, dear lady, this won’t hurt a bit.”

“Are you sure you can do this doctor?”

“You will be seeing again when you wake up, if all goes well.”

Darkness.

“Now, can you tell me how many fingers i’m holding up?”

The Knootian woman blinks. She can see ... something. It’s pinkish. Is she back in a land of pinkish-skinned people?

“Sakit mata,” some one says. It seems like she’s still in Tanah Burung. She’s more than a little disappointed to hear it.

“Can you see my fingers?”

“So blurry.”

A face comes into view. Whether that’s a human face or a cow’s face, she really couldn’t say.

“Will my vision get clearer, doctor?”

“What, it’s not clear now?”

“No, so blurry. And everything looks pink.”

“Oh dear. Well, the procedure has not been all i’d hoped then. Partial vision only. Please, please accept that i’m sorry.” The doctor backs out of the room, muttering apologies.

Testing shows that the patient, while she can make out shapes, will be legally blind, unless she can get better medical treatment at home. And that she does indeed see everything with a pink tint. She receives a package from Violeta Bi Bere, containing a tape-recorded message of regret, an invitation to dinner at the Green Palace, a book of coupons to some of the city’s better restaurants, and a wad of 10-loonie notes.

The next day, though, advertising is already in some of the more highbrow newspapers.

See the world through rose-coloured sight!
Isn’t life humdrum? Always the same colours. Always the drab dusty uniformity of it all.
It doesn’t have to be. Not with new Eyes of Rose.
Blind? You don’t have to be. See the world through a pinker filter, with new Eyes of Rose.
Everything will look better, fuzzier, softer, with new Eyes of Rose.
Order today, supplies are limited.

Knootian Embassy

The police shiver. These foreigners keep their embassies so cold. What a waste, what a slap in the face to those who care about the environment.

“Good afternoon, Menheer van Dorp,” one officer says. “I’m Rogerio, the elected sergeant for the month in this district. Since you’ve asked, we intend to take these youngsters back to the station for questioning. But I should tell you, trespass to property is not a crime in this country.”

Magnet Park.

Dusk falls quickly, here in the tropics. An hour past sunset, and it’s already dark. The city streets are lined with electric facsimiles of gaslights, round and dimly glowing. Conservation too often trumps safety, but fortunately crime is low -- if only because there are few laws to break. Violent crime is rare.

At the park, though, torches blaze. A bonfire has already been built. About a hundred people are gathered, drumming and drinking kava from coconut shells. Most are stripped to the waist, wearing only shorts. A few wear only penis gourds, and these few carry spears. A handful of women are here too, but only a handful. This is a men’s ritual, mostly.

Markus Rumbiak sits by the bonfire, chanting words of preparation. As he finishes each verse he drums and thrusts his piercing spikes into the flame to sterilize them. the firelight reflects off the metal, shooting orange light in all directions.

..Usually, such operations end up with the creation of psychotic football-playing vegetables...

(*cleans Dr Pepper from monitor while wondering if he should send T.B. a bill for making that joke* ;))

Mr. Ashtonbury, another man in the brown of a Company officer hurring after him in case a second should be required, strode briskly into the park, a box held perched in the crock of his armpit. He ignored the majority of the people about and instead walked right up to Markus.

"Rumbiak," he said coldly, regardless of whether the older man had completed his preperations or not.

"Newman." Rumbiak scowled back.

OK, maybe not.

"Ashtonbury," Rumbiak scowled back. "You'll have to remove your ... upper garment if we're to do this properly. You may have the first pierce. José here will show you how it's done if you have any questions."

With that he turns back to the fire to complete his preparations, ignoring the Company man.

(i'm going to be out of town until monday, may or may not be able to log on in the meantime, so forgive me if i'm slow replying)

"Newman." Rumbiak scowled back.

( :lol: )

"I'd expect no less of such an uncivilized society," replied Ashtonbury loudly to Rumbiak's back while he shrugged off the required articles of clothing.

"By the way," he said more conversationally as he folded his shirt. "I hope you don't mind, but I procured a new set of spikes*." Ashtonbury held up the opened box as proof.

(*assuming he can)

(Knoot, almost nothing attempted in TB is 100% successful, and that certainly includes dodgy medical procedures. Usually, such operations end up with the creation of psychotic football-playing vegetables. ;) )

[snip IC part of Hospital]
OOC:
LOL! Ahem… I mean. What a tragedy, of course. And by all rights your healthcare system should be better then ours, so I don’t think there would be a miracle cure for this kind of experimental surgery.

IC:
The next day, De Telegraaf was once again in its good old populist element. Forgoing such tedious elements as ‘basic facts’ they focused on the human side of the story combined with a healthy dose of fearmongering.
On page three, right next to a coloured page with speculative computed-edited pictures of what female NS world leaders might look like naked is a big headline.

”EVERYTHING IS PINK!”
Communists brutally blind Knootian soldier!

TANAH BURUNG – A communist rally near the Knootian embassy in Tanah Burung got out of hand yesterday when “anti-Imperialist” protestors hurled various objects to the embassy, breaking windows and severely damaging property. Other protestors stormed the embassy, only to be taken into custody by soldiers standing watch. One brave Knootian soldier was permanently blinded while defending the embassy as she was truck in the face by flying glass. Doctors from the CACE-friendly country performed dangerous experimental surgery on their, causing her vision to be damaged for life. She now only sees shades of pink.

The protest was organised by a well-known Communist leader challenging the current moderate leadership of Violetta. Bi Bere, who deals with Foreign Affairs. Should this aggressor be elected as a Peoples’ representative then all Knootians in the former colony could be at risk for this kind of violence. The government will also not take any measures to protect Knootian tourists and residents currently in the United Provinces.

The government hasn’t openly condemned the unprovoked attack on Knootian interests abroad, but sources did divulge to the Telegraaf that they were “worried” about the current situation and that they did not wish for it to hurt relations. Instead, government officials are again taking the blame themselves in a fit of post-colonial guilt. This is strange: after all, this brutal unprovoked attack was started by the communists, not the embassy personnel who, according to local Ambassador Vogels, used restraint in their approach to the protestors.

[Page 3: ‘Is the Knootian minority in Tanah Burung still safe, and what should be done to protect them?]




Knootian Embassy

The police shiver. These foreigners keep their embassies so cold. What a waste, what a slap in the face to those who care about the environment.

“Good afternoon, Menheer van Dorp,” one officer says. “I’m Rogerio, the elected sergeant for the month in this district. Since you’ve asked, we intend to take these youngsters back to the station for questioning. But I should tell you, trespass to property is not a crime in this country.”

An amateur, thinks van Dorp. He shakes his head and looks at the sergeant intensively. “I am afraid that the situation is more complicated then that. You see, we cannot allow these boys to be released without punishment.”

He takes out a lighter and lights a particularly nasty-looking cigarette. Vile and completely black smoke, smelling like tar and nicotine, comes from it. “Legally, we could – and should – take these boys back home for trial. Violating private property is a serious matter in Knootoss, and the embassy is Knootian territory under our law.” He looks suggestingly. “We take private property and vandalising seriously.” He jerks his head slightly to the left as he takes a heave from his small smokestack. “Even if the actual punishment would be minimal, taking the boys across the planet for trial and having them in a prison abroad would be… undesirable.”

He takes another heave, and with the same British accent continues: “However I would prefer the matter to be solved more… informally. Perhaps an alternative punishment, like helping to clear up this mess outside.” He gestures in the direction of the main entrance in the hall behind the local. “That would satisfy justice, as well as political demands.“

Syskeyiapolis Times Herald

In a recent poll 97% of Syskeyians didn't care about the recent elections for Foreign Minister in Tanah Burung.

When asked, most of the Syskeyians replied that the elections would not solve the main problems in the Third World country - social liberalism, widespread sodomy and the schismatic Tanah Burung Church.

OOC: Knoot, are you ignoring me? I posted a lot of stuff in the "End of Knootoss!" Thread, and you haven't responded.

God bless,

The Republic of Syskeyia

((*points to his post there* I had a life last week. :) ))

[size=29]When asked, most of the Syskeyians replied that the elections would not solve the main problems in the Third World country - social liberalism, widespread sodomy and the schismatic Tanah Burung Church.

Matebian Times
Sodomy up 9% as gay-rights activists misuse the letter "v"

A crowd estimated at 750 people gathered in front of an improvised cardboard box with the words "Syskeyvian Embassy" written on it in crayon.

The organizers, from a group called Spread Sodomy to Suffering Straight Syskeyvians, smooched freely in the sun, many dressed only in their underwear. Chanting "ten per cent is not enough, recruit recruit recruit!" they distributed copies of a booklet entitled The Lavender Menace to pedestrians.

"I was a confirmed heterosexual until i saw how much fun these people were having," said Bruce La Bruce, a professional weightlifter seen reading the booklet. "Today, i am gayer than a drag queen at a Diana Ross convention." Mr La Bruce prompltly put ona dress and began performing in his new drag persona, Halo Mary.

Magnet Park

"You, sir, are without honour," Rumbiak says in his best Mr. Worf imitation.* The new spikes, apart from lacking the quality of those Rumbiak had sent -- for shoddy spikes are all too easy to buy in the tourist markets of Ukun Rasikan -- are yet another insult to the traditions of Rumbiak's people.

It's unlikely that Ashtonbury would be too shattered to learn he had insulted his opponent, of course.

The drummers begin to pound faster and faster as the Iansilean folds his garments. A 14-year old local is there to place the clothes on a nearby park bench rather than let them fall to the ground. A man of some 70 walks forward and raises his hand. The drumming stops abruptly. He says, with a look at Ashtonbury, simply: "Begin."

(It's likely that Ashtonbury received, along with his puchase of spikes, a piece of paper describing the ritual:)


What a wise purchase you've made! The Loro Sae piercing spikes are a colourful reminder of the ritualistic dueling of these authentic indigenous people, now available to the discerning shopper in search of authenticity! In olden days, the men of Loro Sae fought by taking turns to stick these spikes into the upper layers of each other's skin -- anywhere they wanted! Rumour has it that the ritual is still practised in the remote and authentic interior forests. But spikes are usually used today in non-lethal sporting competitions. Did you know Tanah Burung defeated Gilmeecia to win the world cup of competitive piercing? For the whole story, why not read Pierced by Fame, the personal story of renowned piercer Bi Awere, available from this co-op!

Knootian Embassy

The sargeant looked back coldly. "We are not here to negotiate a punishment. I am not a negotiator. My job is to enforce the law, and these boys have broken no law. Now, are you handing them over to us or not?"

One of the officers looks shocked at his superior's rudeness. "Maybe you'd like to try a circle of sentencing and reconciliation," he said. "I'm sure the people's repressentative for justice and civil rights woudl be pleased to disucss that with you. Or maybe the governor, she has already offered restitution for the damaged flowers, after all."

Green Palace, the next morning

Violeta Bi Bere is starting her day, as always, by reading the overnight deliveries of the foreign press. Elections in Larkinia, that would definitely bear watching.

Her eye fell across De Telegraaf. Nude pictures of foreign leaders? She laughed. There were throusands, tens of thousands probably, who had seen her nude. It was not unusual for her to toss off her clothes ona n especially warm day, and no one minded a bit when she did. She remembered going topless at the developing nations summit in Golden Agate: ah, memories.

It was unlikely, though, that the readers (to use the wordl loosley) of the telegraaf wanted to see her naked, in all her wrinkled glory.

But the news story was not so funny. In fact, that sort of press coverage could hurt tourism badly. She grabbed her dictaphone and started to dictate a letter to the editor:


Dear hearts out there in Telegraafland,
I was so sorry to hear of the injury to one of your countrywomen. We have already offered her restitution, and my whole country weeps that a human being has come to harm as a result of an unfortunate accident. It is such a shame. Let me re-assure you, though, that whatever may happen in the complex world of international politics, the people and beaches of Tanah Burung remains safe and welcoming to all the peopel of Knootoss, who we hold in such high regard. Our arms are open, our streets are safe, our beaches are as sunny as always.
Je t'embrasse,
Violeta Bi Bere

* I have taken an oath: this will be my first and last Star Trek reference ever on this forum.

"You, sir, are without honour,"

"I'd much rather be civilized," replied Ashtonbury dryly as he selected a spike from the ultra authentic set he'd purchased earlied.

"En garde, I suppose," he said as the old man instructed them to begin.

((I suppose the lack of progress in this post is really my fault..I'm frankly have only the faintest idea of how to use Loro Sae dueling spikes :oops: )

(How is it possible that you don't know intimately the ways of my fictional country? *sputters in outrage* OK, i'll try to be clearer...)

A boy comes forward and whispers to Ashtonbury: "just stick the spike into him anywhere at about a fifteen degree angle from the skin." If Ashtonbury allows, he guides the older man's hand to show how to pierce Rumbiak's skin, without penetrating the muscle. Properly done, no blood should be drawn.

Rumbiak laughs and draws a needle-like spike from beside the fire. Silently, deftly, he thrusts it through the skin of Ashtonbury's shoulder. There is pain, but not as much as one would think, seeing the thin metal pin protruding.

(*hangs head in faux shame*)

"I think I can manage," replied Ashtonbury to the helpful young lad.

After Rumbiak made his first strike, Ashtonbury couldn't help but blink with the sudden, if managable, pain. He quickly wrestled the pain under control and made ready a counterattack.

Selecting what looked like a fairly large spike from his own set, Ashtonbury opted for the edge of his opponent's rather generous middle section, on Rumbiak's left side. Not that his technique was anywhere near as refined as Rumbiak's; Ashtonbury's spike probably could have dug in at a sharper angle.

("Dude, look at my post count" ?!)

Rumbiak cries out as the spike bites in, drawing blood. "You bufoon!" he cries. Maliciously, he grabs another spike and expertly spears Ashtonbury's right nipple. This one will hurt more.

A ripple of applause goes through the spectators. One shouts out "nine," but is hushed by others. "This is a real duel, remember?"

(I know...I'd SO rather be a postinator!..or even a Postmaster General)

Ashtonbury grits his teeth, though a muted whimper still welled from the back of his throat. He was an expert swordsman, but this was something entirely different.

Suddenly, he remembered the authentic instructions that had come with his set of dueling spikes:

...stick these spikes into the upper layers of each other's skin -- anywhere they wanted!

Anywhere they wanted.. Grabbing another spike, Ashtonbury aimed for the side of Rumbiak's neck, passing it after a fair deal of concentration through the outer skin layer.

(If I do anything terribly wrong, don't feel bad about smacking me upside the back of the head and ignoring my post)

(I was so much happier an hour ago when i was "lookit me, 4-figure post count.")

Rumbiak blinked. The neck was not a bad choice, although one always had to be careful not to go too deep. But Ashtonbury seemed to be picking up the technique quickly enough. A few people applauded.

Rumbiak had some finesse with the spikes, but very little imagination. Aiming at sending his opponent into a quick endorphin rush, he needled the other nipple.

No one applauded. Rumbiak looked around angrily, eliciting a half-hearted cheer.

Ashtonbury would have grinned at Rumbiak's posturing, had not his nipples hurt quite so badly.

He sensed that perhaps winning the crowd would mean winning the duel; that left his next target of Rumbiak's nipple out. After all, if Rumbiak could be caught preening enough, then he might do something foolish, and winning the crowd over with bizzare stunts seemed his best hope. Though Ashtonbury was still wondering how in blazes he was supposed to kill someone with these things.

He tried to insert the spike through a flap of skin right below the ear, but this needle, perhaps more cheaply manufactured than the rest, refused to go through cleanly...

OOC: absitively revolting!

(ooc: just tying up loose ends before getting to result, but can't do so until i know if those boys at the Knootian embassy are freed or not -- of course, either way will be fine! But Ilek-Vaad, if you want to get in, we can juggle two time lines at once, ie. finish up the pierce-off and also fast-forward a few days to the arrival of your new ambassador with or without tycoon in tow. In short, feel free to arrive at your convenience....)

Blood spurts from Rumbiak's neck. The big man looks shocked. "Damn you!" he shouts, his hands forming fists.

"Salah!" an elder shouts, running with surprising nimbleness for one so wrinkled into the small space between the two combatants. Fault. He dabs at Rumbiak's neck until the bleeding slows to a slow ooze.

Rumbiak selects a piercing spike adorned with bird-of-paradise feathers and approaches Ashtonbury, his eyes narrowed to thin slits. He spits at the Ashtonbury's feet, leaving his shoes covered in red betel juice. Witha low growl, he thrusts the spike into his opponent's chest, trying to pierce both skin and the upper part of the pectoral muscle.

"Salah yourself," grunted Ashtonbury under his breath. The reaction he got from Rumbiak was encouraging, though the look in the big man's eyes was just a little off-setting. Even more offsetting was the feeling as a needle lanced his chest.

Some blood trickled out of the wound, and Ashtonbury couldn't help but let out a little gasp of shock. After recovering quickly, he dabbed the wound and rubbed his hands together. "Salah, Markus."

Then Ashtonbury selected another spike from his box and pricked his finger on the tip. "This one ought to do the trick," he muttered, though he was still wondering how he was supposed to kill the likes of Rumbiak without drawing blood.

At last, Ashtonbury picked his target and laced one through the flap of skin between thumb and palm. "Be careful, Markus," he said casually. "Wouldn't want that one to fall out."

Rumbiak laughed spat again. He looked to the elder who seemed to be refereeing this needling and bowed. "Maaf salahku kecil." He punded a drum once and turned back to face Ashtonbury.

"We do not discuss placement of spikes during the duel, fool," he said in a low voice. "What barn were you raised in, you accursed offspring of a dog mating with a goat?"

Taking another spike, he thrust it, once again, into Ashtonbury's chest, close to the last one, so that they ring together with the sound of metal on metal. As the two continued to trade blows, endorphins are released, making them more and more light-headed, elated, prone to lose consciousness. In Rumbiak's case, the endorphins seem to be making him more combatative and obnoxious than usual -- if that's possible.

"Very creative, Markus," laughed Ashtonbury. The same forces which made Rumbiak more aggressive and abrasive seemed to have almost the reverse effect on him; he became more and more lightheaded, and increasingly seemed to regard the whole ritual as some sort of game. "I really should write that one down."

While he was selecting another spike and testing the point, Ashtonbury said, "And I'd still rather be born in a barn than somewhere I'd have to chase National Geographic reporters out of with a broom."

This spike found its way into the skin on the top of Rumbiak's left wrist. Ashtonbury wasn't too concerned about missing and hitting a tendon or something; after all, who'd be able to prove he'd done it on purpose?

As the pin entered his wrist, Rumbiak howled in pain. "Anjing besar!" he shouted, lowering his head and charging at Ashtonbury, fists flailing, arms windmilling.

Around the fire, mouths fell open in shock. This was no way to behave.

Rumbiak swung, wildly, at Ashtonbury's jaw.

Even Ashtonbury was taken a little off guard. Though he was most often surprisingly nimble - an attribute that was extraordinarily useful in his work for the Executor - Rumbiak’s sudden rage and off-kilter attack took him quite by surprise, and the wild swing actually connected with its target.

Ashtonbury was nimble and a small target, but not very powerful (especially compared to one of Rumbiak’s bulk) and very inexperienced in fist fights. The blow knocked him back on his heels.

“Fisticuffs, then, Markus?” he asked, rubbing a sore jaw after recovering. Ashtonbury sought to keep his distance; he’d not be dragged into combat on Rumbiak’s terms. “Unless you’d care to settle this like a true gentleman?”

Sir Alec Connover, the newly appointed Ambassador to Tanah Burung, made his way from his plane to customs. His staff of twelve in tow. He also double checked his blimp reservations to get from Tiga Burung to Ukun Rasikan to his new embassy and perhaps to meet with Violeta Bi Bere..........or whomever had been elected.

He paused to pick up a paper and read the campaign highlights and reports of a duel between one Mr. Rumbiak and a Mr. Ashtonbury, he paused and turned to his assistant

"A duel of some sorts, that sounds interesting. I wonder if it's to the death?" he chuckled

His assistant the much older Sir Aldred smiled "No, no it's a piercing contest, very rarely deadly, I've never seen one mind you, but I read a book about it."

Sir Alec grimaced "Piercing?"

Sir Aldred simply chuckled and shrugged.

They pressed on to make their appointment with the blimp.


OOC: with Sir Alec included there is a staff of thirteen. His assistant 'Sir Aldred' is the security detail. He is a member of Ilek-Vaad's 'Guardians of the Black Flag of the Republic' or the 'Black Guard' his identity as a Black Guardsman is a carefully guraded secret that most likely only Sir Alec knows..........an interesting point, Black Guradsmen are almost always referred to as Sir Aldred or Colonel Aldred, but we're fairly certain there is more than one of them...........

Knootian Embassy

The sargeant looked back coldly. "We are not here to negotiate a punishment. I am not a negotiator. My job is to enforce the law, and these boys have broken no law. Now, are you handing them over to us or not?"

One of the officers looks shocked at his superior's rudeness. "Maybe you'd like to try a circle of sentencing and reconciliation," he said. "I'm sure the people's repressentative for justice and civil rights woudl be pleased to disucss that with you. Or maybe the governor, she has already offered restitution for the damaged flowers, after all."

The AIVD man thought for a moment. He did not like it. "They have broken Knootian law. And this is Knootian territory," he replied to the superior officer. Biting his lip, he continued. "Well, I think you'd better take them anyways. I'm sure the governess will not want to risk a diplomatic incident by refusing such a reconciliation procedure."

He stepped aside, pointing down the hallway. "The little breaking-in kids are that way."
((Basically, the Ambassador will be fully willing to let them leave if there is *some* sort of jucidalish process. And of course taking into account Knootian feelings ;) ))


Green Palace, the next morning

Violeta Bi Bere is starting her day, as always, by reading the overnight deliveries of the foreign press. Elections in Larkinia, that would definitely bear watching.

Her eye fell across De Telegraaf. Nude pictures of foreign leaders? She laughed. There were throusands, tens of thousands probably, who had seen her nude. It was not unusual for her to toss off her clothes ona n especially warm day, and no one minded a bit when she did. She remembered going topless at the developing nations summit in Golden Agate: ah, memories.

It was unlikely, though, that the readers (to use the wordl loosley) of the telegraaf wanted to see her naked, in all her wrinkled glory.

But the news story was not so funny. In fact, that sort of press coverage could hurt tourism badly. She grabbed her dictaphone and started to dictate a letter to the editor:


Dear hearts out there in Telegraafland,
I was so sorry to hear of the injury to one of your countrywomen. We have already offered her restitution, and my whole country weeps that a human being has come to harm as a result of an unfortunate accident. It is such a shame. Let me re-assure you, though, that whatever may happen in the complex world of international politics, the people and beaches of Tanah Burung remains safe and welcoming to all the peopel of Knootoss, who we hold in such high regard. Our arms are open, our streets are safe, our beaches are as sunny as always.
Je t'embrasse,
Violeta Bi Bere

* I have taken an oath: this will be my first and last Star Trek reference ever on this forum.

A letter was soon returned to Bi Bere:


To: Violeta Bi Bere

It is always difficult for me to gauge how a country is without actually being there. We would love to bring a study-visit to Tanah Burung's beaches this summer holiday with the entire staff of De Telegraaf. We would be very happy if you could arrange for such a holiday.

Yours,

~Prof. Smalhart
Telegraaf chief editor

((Ugh... positively revolting fight. :P. Sorry for the looooooong time of little replying. IRL has been keeping me busy.))

Magnet Park

As Rumbiak's fist, amazingly, connects with Ashtonbury's jaw, a gasp goes up. This is the most flagrant breach of duelling etiquette. Normally contestants trade piercings until one passes out, and is carried off to bed (in the modern version) or quietly slaughtered (in the traditional version).

An elder rushes into the ring. "Salah besar!" he shouts. "Bapak Rumbiak has broken the laws of the combat and thereby forfeits the fight. I am sorry, Governor, but my duty is clear."

With a roar, Rumbiak charges, heedless, and grabs Ashtonbury in a bear hug. Not the good kind.

Spectators run to drag him off and try to separate the two men.

Knootian Embassy

The police head for Sebastian and his comrades. "You have been very naughty," one officer says, shaking his finger and smiling. "It's a chat with Governor Lobato and reconciliation circle for you, boys."

The boys are indeed sent to a reconcilation circle for the resolution of non-criminal misdeanours, and get a stern lecture from Violeta Bi bere which is softened more than a little by her constant offers to refill their teacups and the way she calls them "darling children." Still, by her standraads is a tough talk. "Hmph," Sebastian says. "I wasn't going to vote for her anyway."

Some weeks later, Sebastian and his friends appear at the embassy gate, carrying ornamental plants. "Sorry to have hurt your flowers," Sebastian says. "I hope these will be some sort of repalcement."

Green Palace

No sooner had Bi Bere finished writing a letter to the vacation-minded editor of the Telegraaf ("A junket? Sure, bring the whole staff!") then she was handed word that Sir Alec Conover had arrived. Just in time to witness the election result and avoid the mess, she thought. Clever fellow.

As the Vaadian blimp touched down, she was there to meet it. "Sir Alec, what a pleasure," she beamed. "I was so pleased when i saw your name on the appointments list. Your chariot awaits." She indicated, with a flourish of her hand, a line of waiting convertibles. "These are fresh off the assembly line, the finest cars you're ever likely to see that are fuelled by vegetable oil. I do hope you'll do me the honour of choosing one as my personal gift to you."

Sir Alec smiles and shakes Violeta's hand warmly "Very good to see you as well Ms. Bi Bere." He glances to the line of cars "Very nice, most cars in Ilek-Vaad run on ethanol, I'd hate to impose on you and take one of your cars especially since the Ministry of Foreign Affairs will be sending along a Jaguar XJ12 Sovereign. Jaguar-Daimler is one of our nations largest corporations, and their Chairman makes it a point of pride to provide embassy and governmental vehicles."

He smiled again at the warm welcome and climate, he was enjoying his 'exile' so far. As they head to the cars he introduces his staff

"Oh, by the way, how are the polls? Is the election soon? I really should address the press as well...........so much to do, you know I could really use a vacation."

Violeta laughs. "A vacation? Well, our unparalleled white sandy beaches and glorious triopical sunsets are only minutes away, and adventure and sultry mystery alike are yours for the asking! Your dreams made flesh!" She stops jabbering used copy from the Sunny Tanah Burung Tourism Bureau.

"Do feel free to speak to the press, i'm sure the ground over on embassy row will be positively thick with reporters. As to the polls, i'm afraid they don't look good. I'll win this province, of course, but the national polls are tracking me five points back of Mari Alkatiri."

Magnet Park

As Rumbiak's fist, amazingly, connects with Ashtonbury's jaw, a gasp goes up. This is the most flagrant breach of duelling etiquette. Normally contestants trade piercings until one passes out, and is carried off to bed (in the modern version) or quietly slaughtered (in the traditional version).

An elder rushes into the ring. "Salah besar!" he shouts. "Bapak Rumbiak has broken the laws of the combat and thereby forfeits the fight. I am sorry, Governor, but my duty is clear."

With a roar, Rumbiak charges, heedless, and grabs Ashtonbury in a bear hug. Not the good kind.

Spectators run to drag him off and try to separate the two men.


Ashtonbury had been getting ready a good quip for Rumbiak's forfeit - something along the lines of "I always knew you had no honor, Markus, but I do thank you for demonstrating in front of all these people," perhaps - but the big man came at him before he had a chance to toss it off.

He tried to jump out of the way, but slipped on the grass and started to fall. That was bad - if they ended up on the ground, Rumbiak's girth would provide a great advantage whereas Ashtonbury's fleetness of foot would be nullified - so he grabbed for the nearest object to steady himself. That, of course, was the onrushing figure of Rumbiak.

Violeta laughs. "A vacation? Well, our unparalleled white sandy beaches and glorious triopical sunsets are only minutes away, and adventure and sultry mystery alike are yours for the asking! Your dreams made flesh!" She stops jabbering used copy from the Sunny Tanah Burung Tourism Bureau.

"Do feel free to speak to the press, i'm sure the ground over on embassy row will be positively thick with reporters. As to the polls, i'm afraid they don't look good. I'll win this province, of course, but the national polls are tracking me five points back of Mari Alkatiri."

"Sultry mystery eh? That sounds like just what I need, you sound just like the copy from these travel brochures from the Tourism Bureau I picked up at the airport." Sir Alec chuckles

"Well I should say we would want to head to Embassy row then, I'm already in trouble for being a PRP man in a VLP administration so let's see if I can do anything to help the polls in your favour and confound my new bosses!"

He offers his arm to Violeta as they head to the car "Really, I am certainly going to make sure the embassy is air conditioned, or switch to bermuda shorts."

((LOL - great. We accept the flowers. Everyone is happy. *goes into reading mode.*))

Magnet Park

What must it feel like to drown in blubber? Ashtonbury will be discovering the answer as he and Rumbiak topple to the ground and he is buried under 150 kilos of sweaty flesh. It's a feeling some of Rumbiak's many lovers know all too well. Perhaps that's why he has gone through so many lovers. Piercing spikes fly everywhere, tearing flesh and adding blood to the various fluids in play.

No, it's not a pleasant experience at all. As spectators pull Rumbiak off, though, it does have the virtue of being a brief experience.

Canal Street, a few days later

"I hope you don't mind being used as an election prop, then," Bi Bere says to Sir Alex as their cavalcade heads to the site of the new Ilek-Vaad embassy, located well up the street at a discreet distance from the Knootian mission. The street has been scrubbed clean. The streets are lined with the flags of the two nations, and even more so with sky-blue banners emblazoned with "V!" These are, of course, Bi Bere's election flags. Arriving at the site, she whispers: "time for a speech, dear man, feel free to say a few words after me if you like!"

And then, seeing a crows has assembed including a few media people, she launched into her boiler plate campaign speech.

"My beloved friends, it's such a joy to welcome a new embassy here today. That's what this job is about, you know: not who can talk the best line in revolutionary rhetoric, or sell her soul to attract tourists, or embarass himself brawling with foreign diplomats. It's about good relations with other countries, trying to do what we can to build a better world through international cooperation. Only through open doors to the world, to all those in the world who thirst for justice, only thus can we reach these goals. Dear children, i beg you: choose open doors. Re-elect the voice of experience."

Burung-yang-membuat-dunia

Mari Alkatiri had never expected to be campaigning here, the most devoutly Catholic city in Tanah Burung, and one of the more conservative (a relative term, of course, no one in the country being all that conservative by global standards). He'd never expected, truth be told, to be leading the polls the last day before the national election. And yet, carefully, painstakingly, without a flash of the charisma of other candidates, he had plodded his way to the top of the polls.

As always, he moved through the streets, just a few aides accompanying him, trying to win votes one at a time. "I'm not interested in the glamour of diplomacy, the green baize conference tables and the fine suppers," he said to one woman. "It's about building structures that will sweep away injustice, not cozying up to the countries that manufacture that injustice," he told another woman. "I don't want to destroy anything," he told a young man, "I want to sow the seeds for a just world order in the carcass of the old order."

And if the doors of the cathedral were barred against his entry, wasn't that just another chance to persuade those waiting outside? "Certainly, i'm a Muslim," he admitted, "but it's not about blindly following the orders of a religion, it's about finding the message of justice buried deep within the ritual and acting on that. Faith in God? Put your faith in yourself."

(that's so disgusting...I never thought I'd actually feel pity for Ashtonbury :P.)

A muffled “umph!” was all the spectators heard of Ashtonbury as Rumbiak fell on top of him. Considering the spikes in his nipples and his shoulder, the experience was probably painful for more reasons than Markus’ weight. Ashtonbury’s right arm was free; it briefly thumps it on Rumbiak’s back, until the big man is pulled off.

“I’ve never seen such dishonorable behavior!” gasped Ashtonbury as oxygen slowly, thankfully refilled his lungs. “Though, Markus, I should have expected as much from you!”

Ashtonbury was still a little unclear on the duel’s terms - was Rumbiak’s attack his own death warrant, or has honor merely been declared satisfied?

(having now disgusted Iansisle, my work is done. :wink: And with some trepidation....)

The weight of what he has done suddenly strikes Markus Rumbiak. His arms fall to his side, and his breath slows. The elder walks forward, carrying a very sharp scimitar.

"Meester Ashtonbury," he says, shooting a very apologetic look at Rumbiak, "the day is yours. Governor Rumbiak's life is yours, should you choose to take it. Here is your sword. What say you, sir?"

Ashtonbury hoists the scimitar. Its weight and distribution was quite awkward to him, especially compared to the sabres with which he was used to fighting. He looked down at Rumbiak.

The Company man he'd brought as a second turned away from the scene, as if what were about to happen were a foregone conclusion...

(and sends a TG to TB.

..heh.)

Sir Alec smiled pleasently as Violeta made her brief speech, he then took the pulpit himself. He had prepared very carefully what he would say, he wasn't good off the cuff, but was extremely masterful with his carefully prepared remarks. He grinned even wider when he saw that a reporter from the LNS was very visible among the spectators. He paused, smiled, and then began.

"Friends in Tanah Burung, I am Sir Alec Connover, Ambassador from the Free Republic of Ilek-Vaad to your great nation. I am most deeply greatful for your welcome and for the exemplary work of your most worthy Foreign Minister, Violeta Bi Bere. I am happy to open this embassy and begin formal relations with the people of Tanah Burung and to help friendship grow between us."

He paused, the statement he had just made was usually about the extent of Embassy speeches made by Vaadian ambassadors.........

" I am also pleased to be here at a time when your nation is demonstrating it's strong and admirable deomocratic tradition. We in the Free Republic love democracy and are pleased to see it flourish anywhere. We are especially pleased that the people of Tanah Burung have such a worthy candidate in Violeta Bi Bere."

He paused again, a Vaadian ambassador mentioning a political candidate by name, shocking........

"The Free Republic, until now, has only had Ambassadors in nations that have signed pacts of alliance with us, nations that we are certain we can trust, nations that we are certain share our goals and ideals. Today we open an embassy in a non-allied nation for the first time in history. Why might you ask? I answer, because of the overwhelming honesty, competency and intelligence shown by Ms. Bi Bere. The only reason we are here and that we have decided to allow corporations in Ilek-Vaad to begin exploring collective agreements to build factories in your nation and invest in your nation is , Ms. Bi Bere."

"I have watched the campaigns with great interest since meeting Ms. Bi Bere in Lavenrunz, where she was overwhelmingly instrumental in forming the UN Mediation Council, and I was shocked to see other candidates so foggy on the issues, so obviously on the take and so obvious in flaunting their personal objectives over the good of the people. It gladdened me to see Ms. Bi Bere , a worthy servant of the people, among the others, to see that Tanah Burung had an honest, open and knowledgeable candidate among the chaffe. I would like to offer my own, learned, personal opinion that Ms. Bi Bere is far and away the most respected, honourable and worthy foreign diplomat I have ever met. Her continued service to the great people of Tanah Burung could only be of the greatest benefit."

A vaadian, making a campaign speech for a foreign office holder? It NEVER happens!

"Once again I thank you, and I thank your most worthy and humble servant Violeta Bi Bere, and I urge all of the peoples of Tanah Burung to vote and to participate in their great democracy, All Power to the People!"

He paused to hear the crowds reaction and then simply says "Now, I will answer any questions the press or the people may have."

And, after a brief dramatic pause, Ashtonbury let the blade fly with all his might.

The Company man, his back still towards the scene, heard only a loud whistle as it swung into the air, then a loud, fleshy thump as it bit into Rumbiak's considerable neck. A cracking noise marked the scimitar's journey through the spine, then, mercifully, the momentum was exhausted and the noises ended.

((ooc: I'd just like to say that I'm very sorry, everyone. I loved Markus' character as much as anyone else, even if certain citizens of my country didn't.))

And, after a brief dramatic pause, Ashtonbury let the blade fly with all his might.

The Company man, his back still towards the scene, heard only a loud whistle as it swung into the air, then a loud, fleshy thump as it bit into Rumbiak's considerable neck. A cracking noise marked the scimitar's journey through the spine, then, mercifully, the momentum was exhausted and the noises ended.

((ooc: I'd just like to say that I'm very sorry, everyone. I loved Markus' character as much as anyone else, even if certain citizens of my country didn't.))

(and in paper-cutout Larkinia-land)

Takeo: Oh my god! You killed Kenny! ... er.. Markus!
Javin: *raised fist* You bastard!

With a dull thud, Markus Rumbiak -- Hero of the Revolution, Mouthpiece of the People's Suffering, Paramount Chief of the Biak Nation, Honourary President of the Whist Club, co-founder of the Revolutionary Front for an Independent Tanah Burung, former Governor of Loro Sae province, Defender of the Bog Otter -- falls lifeless to the ground.

"There is more honour in mercy," an elder says to Ashtonbury as spectators begin to leave, six of them more slowly as they heft the corpulent body onto their shoulders. Within minutes, the park is deserted. When it ends, it ends fast, the Biak say. Or would, if they were still there. Unfed, the bonfire fades quickly to embers and darkness.

(ooc: rushed right now, will get back to the embassy opening asap. Rest assured, Bi Bere is chuffed!)

(heh...I love Markus' list of titles!)

"There is no honor amongst savages," replied Ashtonbury, but it was muted and unenthusiastic compared to the barbs he’d hurled at Rumbiak earlier. The scimitar, its blade slick with blood, fell to the grass with a quiet thud.

“Come,” he said, waving at the young man he had drug along. “Come.” But the other looked as if he would be sick. Neither Shieldian had ever seen someone decapitated, or nearly so, in their lives. Cut open belt to armpit, with limbs severed, or sliced open ear to ear, yes, but this spectacle was a new one.

For Ashtonbury, it was a sobering experience; had he been the first to lose his temper, that might have been him lying dead on the grass. He had fought many duels before in his life, by the blade or by the pistol, for the defense of the Honorable Company, but this one, perhaps because of the unusual methods by which it had been won, would stick with him forever.

The younger man, meanwhile, had never seen anyone killed by the blade before in his life. He had known it would be a grisly affair, but never imagined such a clean cut could be so ghastly. He stole a glance at his superior, and noted the sheer lack of expression; the young man couldn’t know it, but wiping his face emotionless was Ashtonbury’s way of dealing such circumstances.

My God - the man feels no remorse! he thought, quickly returning his eyes to the street. And he said we’re civilized - I wonder, then, if it wouldn’t be better to live as a barbarian.

(very poignant, i'm wiping a tear from my eye!)

Site of the Vaadian Embassy, Canal Street

Violeta Bi Bere knew that the correct procedure during a foreign diplomat's speech is to remain silent, with an expression of deep respect and rapt attention, but otherwise impassive. As Sir Alec spoke on, however, she found herself unable to repress a broad grin.

Did he just endorse me? What a good fellow! I wonder if he's married? Goodness, i'm the only reason for this new embassy? How flattering! I guess i'm more marvellous than i had ever suspected!

Bi Bere laughed at her own thoughts, then caught herself and smoothed out her features, trying to look solemn while Sir Alec continued to sing her praises. With, she had to admit, very little success. The most honourable foreign diplomat he's ever met! She broke into a grin again, making the years drop away -- why, she didn't look a day over 80!

The crowd, too, seemed to be eating it up, although there was a slight murmer of discontent at the word "factories." Press and public being very intermingled categories, people quickly began to shout questions.

"When is your car coming, Sir Alec?"

"Can i go for a ride?"

"So are you closing the embassy if Ibu Violeta doesn't win?"

"What do you think of colonialism?"

OOC – On the rare occasions that I’ve RPed politically, I’ve always portrayed my government officials as corrupt and incompetent. Maybe if I start RPing politics a little more frequently, I’ll up their IQ a few points.

IC-
“Mr. President,” asked Gustav the butler, “Don’t you think we should participate in the election of a foreign minister in Tanah Burung? I mean, they are our only neighbour.”

“Aren’t you forgetting the wildlife preserve?” mused the new President of Brazillico, Mare de los Ronaldo.

“Ah yes,” answered Gustav, “Nonetheless, I believe we should have an active hand in aiding to select a foreign minister, you know, to promote relations between the countries.”

“Splendid idea!” exclaimed Ronaldo, “Hand me my darts!”

“Sir… you’re not going to use the darts for a decision of this magnitude, I mean…”

“I said, HAND ME MY DARTS!”

Gustav walks to a large, beech wood cabinet and pulls out the president’s darts. A fine pair of darts they were, tungsten centred and plated with 18 carat gold along with flags imprinted with a swirl of Brazillico’s national colours. Gustav gingerly walked back towards the president’s large mahogany desk as the president was fixing himself a tall cognac on the rocks.

“Your darts, sir.”

“So who are the candidates?”

“Violeta Bi Bere. The incumbent is a very elderly woman who has directed Tanah Burung’s “independent and active” foreign policy for many years…”

“Give me that sheet!”

President de los Ronaldo tears the sheet out of Gustav’s hands and places it down on his desk.

“Alright,” said Ronaldo, “One through five, that’ll go to Bi Bere. Six through ten, that’s a vote for Mr. Rumbiak. Eleven through fifteen, that’ll be a bode of confidence for Ms. Santos. As for numbers sixteen through twenty, I’ll reserve those for Mari Alkatiri.”

“Dear lord,”

“If I hit bull, then it’s a redo.”

“What if you miss the board?”

“Like that’ll ever happen.”

President de los Ronaldo turns around and squares himself up towards the dart board to his right. He leans back in his high-backed leather chair and lets fly with a floater towards the board. The dart gently floats into the air, until it just dips below the wire for triple 17.

“Seventeen! I believe I that one’s for Mr. Alkatiri. Get Doris on the line and tell him I pledge my full support towards his campaign!”

“Mr. President,” said a worried Gustav, “I must object, Mr. Alkatiri’s platform is strongly anti-capitalism and against large international companies. Mr. Alkatiri would basically alienate Brazillico from Tanah Burung.”

“The darts never lie,”

“But we’re looking at cutting ties with our only neighbour!”

“We can still trade with the koalas to the west, I’ve always been fond of tropical fruit,”

Gustav slams his hand down on the president’s desk, causing a few drops of the president’s drink to spill over.

“Cutting trade with Tanah Burung would be terrible for the economy, the election of Mr. Alkatiri would certainly drag our economy down to the shitter!”

“To be honest,” said the president slowly, “I’m kind of sour with Tanah Burung right now anyways. I mean, Black and Red Army beat my beloved Olympic Kalita 2-0!”

“Are you saying football is more important than politics?”

“In this nation? Yes!”

“You aren’t a manager of a football club, you are the president of this nation! You’re policies should be for the good of the people…”

President de los Ronaldo throws his cognac glass at Gustav. Gustav, quick on his feet, ducks out of its way.

“How immature is that? You cannot even debate political points with a simple butler and have to resort to violence to try to solve your problems…”

President de los Ronaldo’s cognac bottle goes flying through the air, and this time, connects with Gustav’s head. Gustav falls to the floor, motionless, unconscious.

“Horatio!”

Another butler comes sprinting into the Presidential office.

“Do drag his sorry ass out of my office, he’s impeding my ability to work. And when you come back, please have a bottle of cognac in hand.”

Horatio secures Gustav’s torso and drags him out of the President’s office.

“Hmmm… should I support a hike in the school tax?” thought the president to himself, “1 through 10 says Yes, 11 through 20 says No…”

((OOC: ROFLMAO! You should Rp politics more often...))

"When is your car coming, Sir Alec?"

"Can i go for a ride?"

"So are you closing the embassy if Ibu Violeta doesn't win?"

"What do you think of colonialism?"

Sir Alec smiled as he sensed he had the crowd, being the assistant to the former Minister of Foreign Affairs for 6 years had given quite a bit of intuition with his political speeches. The young Ambassador grinned as the questions began to come, he paused to remove his jacket casually and lean closer to the gathered people.

"My car? It is coming by ocean transport so a week or two. It runs entirely on ethanol and has room for eight, so maybe we can see who can have a ride."

"The Embassy will be in jeopardy if Ms. Bi Bere does not win, I could hardly recommend keeping it open if I did not trust the person I would have to work so closely with.

"The Constitution of Ilek-Vaad forbids colonialism. Colonialism, no matter what form it takes, no matter what technical improvements come with it is WRONG. There is no way any intelligent person can look at colonialisms appalling track record through the centuries and possibly support it. More money, better technology or a better army does not give a nation the right to control another."

Matebian

Mari Alkatiri gazed north towards the Brazillican border. He'd been surprised to hear that the nation he knew only as a friendly footballing rival and capitalist paradise had endorsed him, but he ws happy that he'd be able to say so while campaigning outside football stadiums. Of course, he wouldn't be able to trade with them. But officially, under the terms of the International Fair Trade Agreement, there was no trade between Tanah Burung and three of its neighbours (Brazillico, Oglethorpia and Kingsford). Trade, officially, flowed only west to Eauz and to IFTA signatories overseas.

But he knew there was smuggling. Everyone knew there was smuggling. It wasn't that the border guards looked the other way, not exactly. It wasn't that they were incompetent. Not entirely. It wasn't that they were drunk, at least not all the time. But maybe it was a combination of the three. Or maybe, the government was afriad to try to enforce the law.

He fingered a dart, idly, and headed out to catch a Loro Sae match.

Canal Street

Bi Bere jumped in smoothly. "I'm sure that no matter what happens in elections, the government of this country will want to preserve the good relationship we are building with Ilek-Vaad. Do feel free to confirm this with my opponents, of course. Those that are still living, that is. Let me take this opportunity to restate my sympathy for the family and supproters of Markus Rumbiak. Under my leadership, this country will rededicate itself to the fight against colonialism in which Markus believed so strongly."

Polling done one day before the election shows that the race is down to two candidates.

Alkatiri 38%
Bi Bere 36%
Santos 19%
Rumbiak 7%

Markus Rumbiak's death came too close to the election for his name to be removed from the ballot, but very few people are still identifying him as their choice. A disastrous campaign by Lily Santos leaves her trailing badly. Buoyed by an extraordinary intervention by Sir Alec Connover, Bi Bere has pulled almost even.

Provincial break-downs are thought to be crucial. Polling shows Alkatiri leading in three provinces: Matebian, Burung Paradis (where he has snapped up many Rumbiak supporters) and Tiga Burung. Bi Bere leads in Ukun Rasikan (dominating her home province by an overwhelming majority) and BYMD. The election is likely to be decided in volatile Loro Sae provine by voters loyal to home town hero Rumbiak.

Election Night Broadcast

The national anthem plays. Over it, the voice of political reporter Peter Orang Jembatan.

Welcome to coverage of the special election for people's representative for foreign affairs & human rights. We'll return you to the sports immediately after this short broadcast. It's a matter of national importance, viewers!

As Jembatan speaks, video images are shown: Lily Santos fleeing the jeers of a hostile crowd, the late Markus Rumbiak in full oratory passion, Voleta Bi Bere singing as she stands in her convertible, Mari Alkatiri sitting at the gates of the Knootian Embassy.

It's been a hard-fought campaign, featuring the death in a duel of one of the candidates, former Governor Markus Rumbiak, killed in a controversial duel. Longtime incumbent Violeta Bi Bere called the election over criticisms of her foreign policy from within the collective presidency, and has been in the fight of her political life ever since. The initial challengers Rumbiak and Lily Santos have dropped away. And the fight came down to two: Bi Bere versus Alkatiri. The campaign has split the country, raising regional tensions to levels not seen in decades. We hope this won't see the return of the regional tensiosn that have in the past threatned to tear this great country apart!

We now have some figures for you. It looks like the turnout will be over 30% of the voters! Given the political apathy, we rarely see more than 10% of people turning out to vote -- it seems like the close election has spurred a record-breaking turnout!

Figures are in for Tiga Burung, the fast-industrializing home province of Lily Santos:

figures appear on the screen

Alkatiri 59,135,657
Santos 39,678,553
Bi Bere 35,207,005
Rumbiak 873,076

It looks like Alkatiri's strategy of appealing to industrial workers has won out over the Santos bid to parlay coop leadership support into votes. Could be troubles ahead there, it will bear watching.

Turning to Ukun Rasikan, home to the foreign embassies and the Green Palace where the election winner will be based along woith the foreign affairs bureacracy, it looks like Bi Bere has pulled out a big win in her home province.

Bi Bere 110,105,562
Alkatiri 29,985,892
Santos 21,138,052
Rumbiak 752,957

We also have figures for Burung-yang-membuat-dunia, the coastal province that borders Oglethorpia:

Bi Bere 39,574,064
Alkatiri 30,764,548
Santos 10,864,724
Rumbiak 912,504

That's much closer than had been expected in a province where most analysts throught religion would be the key factor. For an analysis of the votes in three of the four coastal provinces, we have in the studio Professor Silva of Lovefest University and Mau Slurp of Mau Slurp's House of Gambling. Professor, what do you make of the numbers so far?

Silva: Well, the big win for Bi Bere in her own province is no surprise, although the numbers are remarkable. It's more than 30 years since any national-level politician managed over a hundred million votes in a single province, even this heavily-populated one. I'd say the pretty obvious support from some foreign countries has given her a boost, but it doesn't seem to have converted to as many votes as she'd hoped in the outlying provinces.

Mau Slurp (tapping his earpiece): We're now offering even odds on Bi Bere to win. Alkatiri is at 7-6 odds, he'll need a big vote from the hillbillies and jungle bunnies, i'm sorry, i mean to say mountain elders and indigenous forest people. I'm offering 10-1 on Lily of the Island after her crash and burn on home turf, and 50-1 on poor dead Markus. Hey, why not a corpse as foreign minister in place of the dessicated wrinkled prune in the job since before most of us were born!

Jembatan: Please, sir, some respect for the aged. Professor, what about the close numbers in BYMD?

Silva: Yes, that is a shock. We all thought the Catholic vote would go heavily to Bi Bere, but it looks like being a Muslim has not hurt Alkatiri here. We know he'll be sweeping the interior, but if he can get the Rumbiak vote in Loro Sae, he can still get a win. In fact, i'd like to place 1,000 loonies on Alkatiri.

Mau Slurp: Yer on, egghead. The house accepts your bet. And all you folks out in TV-land, we'll take any bets you care to place.

Jembatan: Thank you, gentlemen. We're getting some numbers now from Matebian, Alkatiri's home province.

Alkatiri 85,684,957
Bi Bere 44,278,375
Santos 1,964,874
Rumbiak 1,063,973

A million votes for Rumbiak, that will be a comfort to his bereaved family! But that's a big win for the home town boy. Professor?

Silva: Bigger than any projections. I'd say he's back in it.

Mau Slurp: Urk.

Jembatan: And we have the figures from the rest of the interior too. Burung Paradis has also gone for Alkatiri.

Alkatiri 64,857,084
Bi Bere 46,063,864
Santos 3,336,801
Rumbiak 1,594,057

Mau Slurp: Eep. I am now revising my odds, any further bets on Alkatiri will be taken at even odds.

Silva: Mine's still at the old odds, right?

Mau Slurp: Yes, dammit. I shoulda stuck to sports betting.

Jembatan: So with five of the six provinces reporting, it's still too close to call. Bi Bere leads with 275,229,699 votes, but Alkatiri is clsoe on her heels with 270,428,138 votes. Santos still has fewer than 80 million votes, so she can't be considered a factor any longer. The quesiton is, will the voters in Loro Sae heed the calls for a boycott in sympathy with their dead hero, or has one of the leading candidates managed to capture his constituency of anti-colonial voters? We go now live to Loro Sae. Carlos?

Carlos Dibawa: Peter, it's a solemn day here in the jungle city. There are pictures of the fallen Rumbiak everywhere. Outside each polling station, a coffin draped in the flag. But get them in the coffee shops and the people are in an angry mood. You don't have to talk long before you hear the cry of "death to colonialism." The air's rippling with tnension, as everyone holds their breath for Rumbiak's state funeral next week and the results of today's election. I'm hearing a lot of criticism of Bi Bere for defusing the protest at the embassies of Ianslise and Knootoss that Rumbiak led, and a lot of grudging respect for Alkatiri, who walked with the protesters.

Jembatan: I'll have to stop you there, Carlos, we're getting the numbers in now.

Alkatiri 18,964,650
Rumbiak 10,118,611
Bi Bere 10,115,684
Santos 9,764,060

The sound of trumpets

We have a winner! On low turnout numbers in Loro Sae, Mari Alkatiri has squeaked in and will take over as people's representative for foreign affairs & human rights. The final figures are being run through the abacus... and here they are:

Alkatiri 289,392,788
Bi Bere 285,229,699
Santos 85,846,163
Rumbiak 16,216,074

We now take you live to the Hall of the Revolution in Matebian for Alkatiri's victory speech.

All around the Hall of the Revolution, flags alternate with torches. A small man dressed in a black Nehru jacket walks to the podium and waves off the cheers of his supporters. He begins to speak.

"Friends, thank you for your confidence. It is the greatest honour that a man can earn, to be voted into this position by his countrymen. My first thanks go to the people of Matebian, the stronghold of the revolution, and my home. But they go also to the people of all the United Provinces who have chosen a new path for Tanah Burung.

"Friends, i have been very clear about my plans for this country. We will help build international structures that will contribute to the end once and for all of imperialism and exploitative capitalism. We will not act recklessly, but methodically, to build a world where justice and compassion rule. In memory of my opponent in this election, Governor Markus Rumbiak, Tanah Burung under my leadership will oppose colonialism wherever it rears its head, but we shall do so carefully, thoughtfully, and in a way that will not put Tanah Burung's interests at risk.

"To my predecessor, Violeta Bi Bere, i say: you have served this country with distinction. I have not agreed with all of your policies, but i will not sweep away what you have built. This has been a divisive campaign, and now is a time for healing between provinces. To the people of Ukun Rasikan, i have heard your voice too. I am offering Ms Bi Bere, if she is willing, a posting as ambassador for special projects overseas and permanent representative to the UN Mediation Council.

"Thank you again for choosing a foreign policy based on international solidarity. I will try to be worthy of the vote of confidence you have given to me today. La'o hamutuk, mau bere! Flock together!"

Larkinian Presidential Palace

Acting President Michael Davis watched the press conference with interest, "Maybe this is what they need, a little change will do them some good,"" he said to Katana's secretary, Aiana. "I'd like to draft a letter of congratulations to him, and one of our condolences to Bi Bere."

"Sir," one of the military officers walked in, "We have the 3 o'clock planning meeting ready.

He sighed, "Go ahead and write them Aiana, and I'll look them over before sending them."

http://www.wens.nl/paleis-noordeinde.jpg

-------------------------------
Noordeinde Palace
The Hague
-------------------------------

“Bloody hell”

Galadriël was in a bad mood as she walked around the halls of the former working palace of the King. She’d made it one of her residences, noting it had ‘the stature that a leader of a grand nation deserves.’

“The bastard, getting elected over our backs.”

She knocked over a delft-blue Chinese porcelain vase. It fell down on the ground in a thousand pieces.

“Bastard Communists. All of them.”

She glared at an old plutocrat with a black hat, staring at her calmly from the frame of a 17th century painting. Footsteps resounded in the white hall of the old palace, as a bureaucrat approached her.

”Madam, I wanted to…” the security adviser stopped, looking at the remains of the vase. “Oh, not again. These things cost fortunes.” He froze as Galadriël turned to face him. “What is it?” she asked with a barely controlled voice. “The Tanah Burung elections Madam. We have sent a congratulatory tele…” He didn’t get to finish his sentence.

”That… that… communist isn’t getting one. Tell van Mierlo not to send it. “

“We, uhm. We…” the security advisers face became pale.

“Yes?” the Elvish Prime Minister looked impatient as the human didn’t answer. Finally, he had enough courage to do so: “We, uhm, just did.”

“Great,” the elf muttered sarcastically. “That is just great.”

Hesitantly, the man continued. Perhaps this would work as an excuse. “Well, we did capture someone suspected of being of Alkatiri’s gang last week during the economic Regional Summit. That could be good, I mean, interrogations are under way. Perhaps he can be linked to one of SeOCC terrorist groups.”

The glance got back in the eyes of the elf. “That would be… very nice.” She wringed Tell them to keep on it. Get a confession from this terrorist. By all means.”

---


On behalf of the Dutch Democratic Republic of Knootoss we congratulate Mari Alkatiri with his election as people's representative for foreign affairs & human rights.

We hope that it will mean the continuing of good and long-lasting relations between the United Provinces and the DDR, in the spirit of the successful internationalist foreign policy tradition of Tanah Burung.

Prime Minister Galadriël Táralóm nos Cirdan
Foreign Minister Hans van Mierlo

"Spectacular! Simply spectacular!" crowed Alfredo D'Carlonia, clapping his hands together. Other members of the Tharian Secessionist Party, reacting to the good news in a slightly more dignified manner, stood by watching him. They didn't need D'Carlonia to elaborate any, but he decided to anyway: "I can't say that I could have picked a better way for this election to end! The Democratic-Socialists are happy, the Conservatives can't complain, and we only have marginal concerns about future Tanah Burung protests regarding the Empire!"

That D'Carlonia, as devoted as he was to a fully independent Tharian state (which would, of course, include Sentry Island, its inhabitants' wishes be damned), could seem so indifferent to the similar protests of the Gallagans and other peoples living under Iansislean imperial rule wasn't really considered hypocritical by any of the other men in the room. They saw Tharia and Gallaga as two completely independent cases; Tharia was a member of long-standing in the Commonwealth, it was a fairly developed country in terms of industry, and, most importantly in racially-charged Iansisle, the people living in Tharia had white skin.

"We ought to send Mr Al...Alkatiri a congratulatory telegram as soon as possible," put in the Minister of Commonwealth Relations.

"Of course, of course!" exclaimed D'Carlonia, waving a hand in the man's general direction. "I'm sure Sir Archibald will be more than happy to type that out for us. In the meantime, we can't stop thanking the men who set this all up for us!" Blank stares met him. D'Carlonia leaned over and hit his intercom: "Maria, be a doll and fix up a fruit basket for the Executor, would you?"

That D'Carlonia, as devoted as he was to a fully independent Tharian state (which would, of course, include Sentry Island, its inhabitants' wishes be damned), could seem so indifferent to the similar protests of the Gallagans and other peoples living under Iansislean imperial rule wasn't really considered hypocritical by any of the other men in the world.

Any of the other men in the room, shurely? :P [/pedantry]

That D'Carlonia, as devoted as he was to a fully independent Tharian state (which would, of course, include Sentry Island, its inhabitants' wishes be damned), could seem so indifferent to the similar protests of the Gallagans and other peoples living under Iansislean imperial rule wasn't really considered hypocritical by any of the other men in the world.

Any of the other men in the room, shurely? :P [/pedantry]

"Nope, I don't see the hypocrisy in it at all."
~Independent Ale-Yarok Front leader, after shrugging at the news in Columbia.

Any of the other men in the room, shurely? :P [/pedantry]

(:lol: Remember, kids, don't leave the room while you're in the middle of a sentence! [/fixed]

...and don't call me Shirley :P)

(OOC: What's this?, I leave the thread for a couple of days and you kill Rumbiak? :? Oh, you evil, evil ianisleans!
Seriously, Rumbiak's death made a tear roll of my cheek! so sad! :( )

The victory of Mari Alakatiri and Rumbiak's death caused a lot of confusion and sadness in Hell Bovines.
In fact, many hell bovine citizens traveled to Tanah Burung to assist to Rumbiak's funeral.
This confusion was not only because the candidate most hell bovinians loved was death, but also because the victory of Alkatiri could meant a stronger alignment of Tanah Burung with the CACE, leaving Hell Bovines alone in the policy of semi-neutrality....
"....Alone and alienated. Still, a victory of Alkatiri was obviously better than one of Lily Santos", Saturnino Vacuno thought to himself as he dispatched the telegram....


The Grand Duchy of Hell Bovines formaly congratulates Mari Alkatiri for achieveing a victory for the post of People's Representative of Foreign Affairs in Tanah Burung. We hope that Alkatiri can manage to give his country a solid and prosperous foreign policy and that the long and ever-lasting relations between our countries can continue being so. We take this opportunity to also pay our respects to Markus Rumbiak, not only a great man that died for his beliefs, but an honorable and honest politician, that will surely be remembered thoughout history.
From Hell Bovines, we send our regards and best wishes to the people of Tanah Burung,

Saturnino Vacuno, Minister of Foreign Affairs, Hell Bovines

(OOC: What's this?, I leave the thread for a couple of days and you kill Rumbiak? :? Oh, you evil, evil ianisleans!
Seriously, Rumbiak's death made a tear roll of my cheek! so sad! :( )

(We only do these things when you're not around, HB ;)

Seriously, though, I'm pretty bummed too. I really shouldn't've written myself into a hole where I had to off one of my favorite characters. :( )

(OOC: What's this?, I leave the thread for a couple of days and you kill Rumbiak? :? Oh, you evil, evil ianisleans!
Seriously, Rumbiak's death made a tear roll of my cheek! so sad! :( )

(We only do these things when you're not around, HB ;)

Seriously, though, I'm pretty bummed too. I really shouldn't've written myself into a hole where I had to off one of my favorite characters. :( )

(Hmm...Actually I think Rumbiak got the sword because Baroness Winton has been unwilling to allow herself to get killed off by King James...Iansisle is out for blood!)

(a little confession: when i started the thread, Rumbiak was going to win. Somehow, the characters took over. I'll start a funeral thread in a few days, and hopefully some of Rumbiak's friends will come meet his bereaved family and take part. Executors advised to stay away!)

(OOC - If I decide to RP politics more frequently, I’ll put in marginally more competent government officials.)

IC-
"What'd I tell you, Gustav? The darts never lie!" said President de los Ronaldo from the large, taupe leather chair in his study. Gustav, with about 15 odd stitches in his right temple, turns around and brings the president a bottle of Cristal.[/i]

"Quite right, sir. A commendable job on forcasting a winner."

"Thank you. Get me, Mr. Alkatiri on the line, I want to get on this guy's good side."

Gustav heads out towards the couloir to hand President de los Ronaldo his phone. He quickly and confidently struts back in with the cordless on a silver platter.

“Hello? Is this Mr. Alkatiri? No? It’s his secretary? Could you please pass me Mr. Alkatiri? No? He’s out? Alright them, could you leave him the message that this is Luis de los Ronaldo, the President of Brazillico, calling him to congratulate him for his election as new foreign minister of Tanah Burung. Yes, de los is two words. And tell him that I would be extremely interested in bettering the relationship between our two nations. Yup. All I want him to do is to arrange so the Black-and-Red Army throw their match against Olympic Kalita tomorrow. That’ll be all. Thanks doll. Take care.”

“Yet again, the interests of this nation become intertwined with football.”

“Not the first, nor the last, Gustav.”

“I sometimes find myself aghast at how you got elected.”

“I ran on a platform promising to pour more money into the football program.”

“Perhaps if some of that money went towards education, we wouldn’t find ourselves with such terrible politicians?”

“You calling me dumb?”

“I’m calling the people of Brazillico dumb! I called you a terrible politician!”

“Good thing, I was worried that you were referring to me as stupid…”

(OOC - If I decide to RP politics more frequently, I’ll put in marginally more competent government officials.)

IC-
"What'd I tell you, Gustav? The darts never lie!" said President de los Ronaldo from the large, taupe leather chair in his study. Gustav, with about 15 odd stitches in his right temple, turns around and brings the president a bottle of Cristal.[/i]

"Quite right, sir. A commendable job on forcasting a winner."

"Thank you. Get me, Mr. Alkatiri on the line, I want to get on this guy's good side."

Gustav heads out towards the couloir to hand President de los Ronaldo his phone. He quickly and confidently struts back in with the cordless on a silver platter.

“Hello? Is this Mr. Alkatiri? No? It’s his secretary? Could you please pass me Mr. Alkatiri? No? He’s out? Alright them, could you leave him the message that this is Luis de los Ronaldo, the President of Brazillico, calling him to congratulate him for his election as new foreign minister of Tanah Burung. Yes, de los is two words. And tell him that I would be extremely interested in bettering the relationship between our two nations. Yup. All I want him to do is to arrange so the Black-and-Red Army throw their match against Olympic Kalita tomorrow. That’ll be all. Thanks doll. Take care.”

“Yet again, the interests of this nation become intertwined with football.”

“Not the first, nor the last, Gustav.”

“I sometimes find myself aghast at how you got elected.”

“I ran on a platform promising to pour more money into the football program.”

“Perhaps if some of that money went towards education, we wouldn’t find ourselves with such terrible politicians?”

“You calling me dumb?”

“I’m calling the people of Brazillico dumb! I called you a terrible politician!”

“Good thing, I was worried that you were referring to me as stupid…”

OOC: :lol: Oh, I think we're going to have to open diplomatic relations with you just for the comic effect!

(Heh, that's great Braz. :lol: )

From the desk of Bi Kikere, people's representative for territorial defence & sports

Dear President de los Ronaldo,

Many thanks for your message to my colleague Mari Alkatiri, who has asked me to reply on his behalf. It would be our great pleasure to improve relations with our northern neighbour, already so strong in the field of sports. I fear i cannot arrange for Black-and-Red Army to throw a match, or else the fans would enter Mari's office, tear him linb from limb and set fire to his remains. Quite right, too.

However, i would be pleased to inaugurate the first annual Tanah Burung-Brazillico darts championship, and we are prepared to throw that competition in the interests of good relations. Mari especially liked the darts idea.

Kisses,
Bi Kikere

OOC: I second that.
Congratulations, brazilico, for being so funny. And, as an argentinian myself, I also congratulate you for the correct portrayal of south american obsesion with football :P

Iansisle - Don't worry, I understand you didn't wanted events to happen like this. After all, we all loved Rumbiak. :cry:

OOC - Thank you Knootoss, Tanah Burung, Alcona & Hubris and Hell Bovines for the warm feedback. It is much appreciated. :D

From the big-feathered pen of Luis de los Ronaldo, the "People's President"* of Brazillico.

Dear Bi Kikere,

It is with great sadness that I learn that Black-and-Red Army shall not throw the match against Olympic Kalita. I cannot blame you for making such a decision, as I understand the tremendous popularity of the beautiful game in your beautiful nation. I know if I were to publicly confess that I was an Olympic Kalita fan while in the capital city of Libertad, I would likely be beaten, bludgeoned, disemboweled and then beaten again. I wouldn't dare fathom what they'd do if ever they find out I've been slipping secret, underground funds to the club.

As for a darts competition, what a splendid idea! Heck, the only throwing in the competition we would expect from Tanah Burung would be their four finest players competing for trans-borderal glory! Corsa Paso, which is just twenty miles away from the Tanah Burung border boasts The Jovial Jackalope pub, one of the finest darting facilities in all of Brazillico. Who knows? Perhaps a match between myself and Mr. Alkatiri would be a great draw and a sensational first step towards re-establishing ties between our two great nations.

Yours in friendship,

The People's President,
Luis de los Ronaldo

*Disclaimer: The term "People's President" was a campaign slogan which Mr. de los Ronaldo rode to victory. Unfortunately, he just can't let it go.

Seriously, though, I'm pretty bummed too. I really shouldn't've written myself into a hole where I had to off one of my favorite characters. :( )

(Hmm...Actually I think Rumbiak got the sword because Baroness Winton has been unwilling to allow herself to get killed off by King James...Iansisle is out for blood!)

Actually I feel kinda bad about that too, cause he was leading the protest after the ads I had put in the Tanah Burung papers. But EGC hired the agency ... so *resists urge to say "You killed Rumbiak" "You bastards!" again... :P * (j/k I-man)

Actually I feel kinda bad about that too, cause he was leading the protest after the ads I had put in the Tanah Burung papers. But EGC hired the agency ... so *resists urge to say "You killed Rumbiak" "You bastards!" again... :P * (j/k I-man)

(*runs away crying at everyone's mean allegations* ;))

(hey, everybody be nice to Iansisle! *stamps foot* Anyway (sound of heavy breathing) ... "if you strike me down, i shall become more powerful than ever before." Funeral here: http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=3070804#3070804)

And to answer Brazillico's letter:

Dear President de los Ronaldo,

Mr. Alkatiri has asked me to tell you he would be pleased to accept your offer of a spot of darts. If you have a partner, perhaps we might indulge in some doubles? I would dearly love to visit Brazillico once again, as in the days of my youth. We should be pleased to have it off, er, compete, at the Jovial Jackalope. Alternatively, a match could be arranged around one of those tiresome state funerals we seem to be having quite soon at some village in Loro Sae, which as you know is conveniently located along the Brazillican border. I'm sure Mari will send you the details. At any rate, i count the minutes until our next meeting.

Bi Kikere
Proud Lovefest supporter, but don't tell them that in Loro Sae...

(hey, everybody be nice to Iansisle! *stamps foot* Anyway (sound of heavy breathing) ... "if you strike me down, i shall become more powerful than ever before."

OOC:
[sarcasm] Don't you know that Alconians are rude and arrogant people* who love nothing more that the distruction of all Iansisle?[/sacasm]

(hey, everybody be nice to Iansisle! *stamps foot* )

(*hides behind T.B. and sticks tongue out* Yeah!

oh, and in case anyone was wondering, I know y'all are joking...my comments to this point have been most tongue in cheek ;))

(Awww, and I-man knows I just pile on out of respect ;) )

Matebian Times
Sodomy up 9% as gay-rights activists misuse the letter "v"

A crowd estimated at 750 people gathered in front of an improvised cardboard box with the words "Syskeyvian Embassy" written on it in crayon.

The organizers, from a group called Spread Sodomy to Suffering Straight Syskeyvians, smooched freely in the sun, many dressed only in their underwear. Chanting "ten per cent is not enough, recruit recruit recruit!" they distributed copies of a booklet entitled The Lavender Menace to pedestrians.

"I was a confirmed heterosexual until i saw how much fun these people were having," said Bruce La Bruce, a professional weightlifter seen reading the booklet. "Today, i am gayer than a drag queen at a Diana Ross convention." Mr La Bruce prompltly put ona dress and began performing in his new drag persona, Halo Mary.
New Nicaea Times
Parliament bans Tanah Burung homosexual group
SYSKEYIAPOLIS (AP)- By a 700-113 vote, Parliament voted yesterday to ban the Tanah Burung group "Spread Sodomy to Suffering Straight Syskeyvians" from the Republic and alos declared it a felony to try and spread homosexuality.
See PARLIAMENT on 35A.

God bless,

The Republic of Syskeyia

Bible-Banning Vote Just Defeated
Government pledges inquiry into discriminatory practices

THE HAGUE – Parliament yesterday overruled a draft-decision by the independent Anti-Discrimination Monitoring Agency to ban the Bible from public libraries and schools and to forbid putting the Holy Book of various Christian sects on public display.

The report accompanying the draft decision said the Bible contained 'bloodthirsty and human rights-violating passages.'" The organisation also noted that the Bible "preaches genocide, racism, enmity towards Jews, gruesome executions for adulterers and homosexuals, the murder of one's own children and many other perversities." The agency stressed that the book would still be available in libraries and shops upon request, as is already the case for Hitler’s ‘Mein Kampf.’

A slim majority of in parliament disagreed, however, with the decision citing it an “unwarranted infraction on civil liberties.” Interestingly, the vote was split within the parties as most SLP MP’s, 6 greens, 13 conservatives and the entire Socialist Party voted in support of the ban. The KEP abstained from the vote. Lousewies van der Laan commented “As despicable as the content of this book may be, banning is not the answer. I have recommended the government, to start an inquiry into the practises of Christian clerics. Should this inquiry reveal that the clerics support the described practices then legal action should definitely follow.

The Anti-Discrimination Monitoring Agency stated it still stands behind their decision, however they will respect the democratic vote.