NationStates Jolt Archive

Entering the bar is the new delegate from Waimakariri to the UN, Barry Fortinbras (unprincipled rat-bag, who is considered too smart for his own good at home). Arriving at the bar counter he exclaims in his loud parochial Waimakariri accent to the barperson, "Strewth! I'm as dry as flamin' Arab's sandal...I could fair murder a beer".

Midori smiles slightly and says "Johanna san I don't think I've been introduced to your Ambassador yet but I'm sure I'll have that pleasure soon.

I'm the Deputy Ambassador for the Empire of Kirisubo

Gurgle san we have met although I think this is the first time we've been formally introduced.

Kaigan sama is always glad to spend time in your company"

she drinks some more tea and relaxes back in her chair.

"the Abortion debate is keeping him busy and it looks like its getting quite heated"

Alfred Devereux Sweynsson, the St Edmundan ambassador, enters the bar.

(For the information of those of you who haven't seen him before, he's a male human who looks as though he's of mixed racial origins [in RL terms: European, African & probably either Asiatic or Native American -- or both of those -- too], and is aged somewhere between fifty & sixty. He's wearing his usual white linen suit, but has left his official hat elsewhere.)

He looks briefly around the room, strolls across to the bar where he orders a large whiskey -- Godwinnian' "Famous Dragon's Blood" if there's any available, otherwise Bushmill's -- and then turns to take a more detailed survey of who else is present.

"Ah, I'm sure you'll come across him soon. It seems he has jumped into the deep end and is already writing proposals.... Though one was already dealt with, one was a replacement for a repeal that did not get enough support. I do believe he is thinking up another one, he's got an idea but wants to get his first draft done before he tells anyone; He's quite percular in certain ways." Johanna said not realising that everyone is quite percular in certain ways, some of which are more obvious than others.

She took another sip of her Tea.... oh, how she loved it.

A penguin that looks suspiciously like Wade, the UberPenguinland delegate, waddled into the bar and sat down. In a voice almost exactly, but not quite like Wade's, he said, "I would like a root beer please.".

Then a thought that came to Trinitron Tower UN rep while staring at the arctic bird's tale feathers (or from anyone from T. Tower, for that matter) was "With all the free services rendered here, who is going to pay for bar tab?!?!?!?" :confused:

Then a thought that came to Trinitron Tower UN rep while staring at the arctic bird's tale feathers (or from anyone from T. Tower, for that matter) was "With all the free services rendered here, who is going to pay for bar tab?!?!?!?" :confused:
Upon hearing that Bob quickly rushed over and whispered, "Shhh, that's the one question you never ask around here."

You must of read my mind.

Well, still, it's a cultral thing.

Where I am from, that's how my nation came to be. (Still staring at the penuine)

Whatever that guy's drinking, must be good and strong for anyone wearing a tux like that.

I'll have what he's having.

"You'll have to excuse me, Miss Midori," Gurgle oozed, "but the enchanting Miss Johanna caused my mind to become a blank for a moment there. I remember now." Neville would be proud of a remark like that one.

Not far away, Gurgle heard another diplomat order a whiskey with a name that was somekind of dragon's blood. His curiosity was instantly piqued.

"Ohhhh, Neville....," he began.

Fortunately, the Dominion of Dastardly Stench had granted him quite an expense account to pay for endeavors such as these. Service like this didn't come for free, you know.

Hmmmmmm, the dragon thought, Dragon's Blood Whiskey...and me with that joke about too much blood in my alcohol stream...

Midori smiles, drinks more green tea and replies "this place is what keeps me sane in my job. After a long day dealing with delegates and ambassadors you need to retreat here"

Orders his beer- a cold, frosty pint glass of amber Canterbury Draught and takes a long drink form the glass, emitting a growl of relief. "Ahhh...that hit the spot". Notices the penguin with a liking of root beer. Blinks. Shakes his head and looks at this glass. "Well...guess it takes all sorts to make the world...." He ambles over to the nearest seat and reclines, scratching his sideboards, surveying the scene.

Midori smiles, drinks more green tea and replies "this place is what keeps me sane in my job. After a long day dealing with delegates and ambassadors you need to retreat here"

Johanna slightly blushed at Gurgles comments as she listened to Midori

"Ah.. yes. This is my first visit and I can already feel it doing me the world of good." Johanna was more relaxed then she had been for a very long time... but still there was an air of tension in her as she had not totally let go fo her stresses.

It was at this point that Jason Leonard the Undersecretary for the Bazalonian UN Ambassador entered the bar, he was not expecting to see Johanna here at the bar nor did he. For 1.. he wasn't paying much attention to the other occupants of the bar and 2nd.. she was hidden by the Dragons mass. He went straight up to the bar and asked.

"Now tell me you've got some good Bazalonian Beer... Forheys Lager." in a rather desperate voice, he was glad to get out of the office, even though the 'dragon-lady' as he called Johanna was away she still had him doing things and if they wheren't done by the time she got back in there would be hell to pay. Jason was actually fairly shabbily dressed, just a T-shirt, Jeans and some runners. He had short black hair and even in his current state he had something in his hands, his hands never moved, he passed the thing from one hand to another, and did various moves in one had. But they where never still... not for one moment.

Midori points with her tea cup to the various amenties in the bar.

"in here we have a billiard table, a pool table, a pinball machine and a karaoke machine for people who think they can sing. Something for everyone Johanna san"

She leans back feeling tired and drained, more than the usual.

Midori points with her tea cup to the various amenties in the bar.

"in here we have a billiard table, a pool table, a pinball machine and a karaoke machine for people who think they can sing. Something for everyone Johanna san"

She leans back feeling tired and drained, more than the usual.

"You seem a bit overextended, Miss Midori," Gurgle sais, noticing the young lady's display of fatigue. "May I recommend the reclining chair in against the wall behind us, about ten feet or so away from us. You can put your feet up and relax, and Miss Johanna can sit in the one next to it and I can easily negotiate the distance without even moving."

Then, Gurgle's expression changed to one of dismay.

"I'm going to regret this," he said, as much to Johanna and Midori as to himself, "but it's just too much fun to pass up."

He turned his head to the young man at the bar, just as he was starting to shift...something...between his hands. Slowly, carefully, he snaked his long neck until his head was directly behind the young man, and only a few feet behind him.

"HEY, YOU!!!!!!" he bellowed.

The young man stiffened like a starched collar. Whatever was in his hands dropped immediately on the floor.

"Made you look," the dragon said with an obnoxious smile. Mirthful laughter came from somewhere nearby.

Midori nods and moves over to the reclining chair.

"I'm not usually this tired" she remarks "and i've felt this way for a couple of weeks now. I don't know whats causing it...."

the cup drops to the floor and breaks as Midori faints and loses consiousness slumping into the chair.

Midori nods and moves over to the reclining chair.

"I'm not usually this tired" she remarks "and i've felt this way for a couple of weeks now. I don't know whats causing it...."

the cup drops to the floor and breaks as Midori faints and loses consiousness slumping into the chair.


The sound of that cup breaking draws Alfred Sweynsson's attention, and when he sees Midori faint he leaves the bar and heads towards her.
"Please let me pass," he says to the people in the intervening space, "I'm a doctor and it looks as though my services might be needed..."

ooc: Midori's breathing is light and she's totally unconcious. She also looks extremely pale, her pulse seems normal and her skin feels clammy.

she dosen't know it yet but she's also in the very early stages of pregnancy.

work away Dr Sweynsson :)

ic: Midori lies half in and half out of the reclining chair totally unconcious and helpless.

Johanna got up with Midori and started to make her way over to the recliner... Johanna's attention was drawn back to the dragon... as the dragon cryptically said something and then moved his head to just behind the back of a a man sitting at the bar... something about the man was fimilair but his clothes where not (He always wore a suit at work but quickly changed into T-Shirt and Jeans right after)

"HEY YOU".... The dragon bellowed... the poor man had the shock of his life...nearly jumped out of his skin. He dropped something that he was holding, he picked it back up and began to turn around to face the dragon. It was now when Midori collapsed onto the recliner, her attention was drawn away before she could see the mans face. Johanna, who had been trained in First Aid, quickly scanned the area for danger, they needed to get her off te recliner safely so that she could be looked after properly. Thered was no need to be concerned about spine trauma as the fall was not hard enough. The doctor had no arrived...
.....

A sudden belch of "Hey You" very loudly behind him startled Jason, it was entirely because that he had not been expecting it, that he not only nearly jumped out of his skin but also dropped the something that he was fiddling with. It was a 20 Bazcent piece (A Bazcent is a 100th of a Baz), he bent down a picked it up and then turned around to see... the dragon.. however both of their attention was drawn as Midori's cup broke apart as she collapsed onto the chair. A doctor who was also sitting at the bar rushed towards the victim. Jason decided to keep back and look what was going on.... There was a black suit... It was familiar, he knew that Johanna wore a suit very like it... but the woman in the suit had her hair half up and with a rose im it... "Johanna would never do that", he thought he didn't see her face as she was facing away from him and towards the collapsed unconcious asiatic woman.

"Johanna, what's going on?" Gurgle asked. Then he spied Miss Midori. She had feinted on the very chair that he had suggested to her! "Gracious! I didn't mean for her to get that comfortable!"

Claiming to be a doctor, a man began to push his way through the croud. They were too thick, and he found the going difficult.

"Here, sir," Gurgle said, "let me give you a lift!" And that's exactly what he did. Using his prehensile tail, he gently lifted the gentleman over the croud and set him--quickly and painlessly--next to Miss Midori. "Landing accomplished with surgical precision," he joked.

ooc: she dosen't know it yet but she's also in the very early stages of pregnancy.

OOC: That was my first guess...

Dastardly Stench']Claiming to be a doctor, a man began to push his way through the crowd. They were too thick, and he found the going difficult.

"Here, sir," Gurgle said, "let me give you a lift!" And that's exactly what he did. Using his prehensile tail, he gently lifted the gentleman over the crowd and set him--quickly and painlessly--next to Miss Midori. "Landing accomplished with surgical precision," he joked.


"Thank you," Alfred replies, with as much equanimity as he can manage under the circumstances (which is quite a bit; after some of the sights that he's seen during his diplomatic career so far, a helpful dragon wasn't really that strange an occurrence...), as he stoops to examine the unconscious woman. He quickly moves her into a safer position on the chair, and then checks her pulse and her forehead's temperature.

"H'mm," he mutters, and then asks Gurgle and Joanna _
"Did the young lady say anything just now about ill health? Unfortunately I don't have my medical bag with me today, so there's a limit to the tests that I can carry out here & now, and I haven't yet seen a medical centre in any of the bits of this building that I've visited." He pauses briefly and then, with a reluctant expression on his face, adds "I suppose that I'll have to ask my grandmother for advice..." He opens a pouch that's hanging from a cord around his neck, removes a small object from it which he keeps concealed in his left hand, and shifts his speech into a language that his audience probably don't recognise* as he addresses that item... After apparently asking a couple of questions he stops talking, and appears to be listening instead**, then asks several more questions -- if his audience are interpreting his tone correctly -- with pauses in between them when, again, he seems to be listening. Finally he utters what sounds more like a statement than a question, wraps the object back up in a red cloth, and returns it to the pouch.
"There's nothing to worry about," he tells Gurgle and Joanna, and anybody else who's come over to see what's happening, "It seems that the young lady may just have been overdoing things slightly. If you let her rest quietly for a few minutes then I'll return and bring her back to consciousness, so that I can give her some advice in private, but now I have to go and do something else over at the bar..." He turns around, and looks for the best route back through the assembled throng.


____________________________________________________________

(* OOC: It's 'Carib', as in "the language of the Native American people after whom the Caribbean Sea was named"....)
(** OOC: If Gurgle [or anybody else who's present] possesses appropriate mystical senses then they will detect the presence of a disembodied spirit in the immediate neighbourhood during this conversation.)

several minutes pass and Midori shows signs of movement, shifting slightly in the chair..

ooc: i'd says she's ready to be revived

Warren looked around the bar. "Where's all the excitement? My stupid cousin Wade must have lied to me." Warren continued to mumble as he drank his Root Beer.

Gurgle did not leave, but continued to hover protectively over Miss Midori. He had seen the kind of pouch that the MD had used before, and knew that it was sometimes employed in contacting the spirits of the dead. Gurgle wondered what he had gotten the young lady into. Hence, he hovered like a father dragon defending his eggs.

In the meantime, he reached into the diplomatic purse that he wore on a chain around his neck, got out his magic cell phone and got on the line with Dastardly Stench.

"Yes...diplomat's lost consciousness. Need to find out what's going on. Can you please send...oh. Well, if you can get him..." The line went dead, and Gurgle hung up the phone.

He then moved in close to Miss Midori and spoke very gently.

"Everything's going to be alright, ma'am," he said. "I've contacted my friends and they're sending help. His name is 'The Metal Man,' and he's a very powerful cyborg. He can see in X-Rays, and he's got medical training. I'm sure he can figure out what's ailing you in seconds, just by looking--and the scientific types around here won't be able to argue with him. All he has to do is get here."

The girl looked oriental, as had Mr. Kaigan, whom she worked with. Not knowing what specific region she came from, however, the best that Gurgle could come up with to help calm the atmosphere was to perfume it with the scent of mandarin oranges.

Johanna was glad that there was a doctor in the house... as gurlgle lifted him over, she stepped back as the primary care taker and went into a more supportive role, holding Midori's hand and talking to her, even though she was uncouncious. She was kneeling down beside the Kirisubo Deputy Ambassador and comforting...

.....

Jason however moved closer to the 'action', he saw Johanna but still hand't Identified as her face was still obscured... Looked on as he saw Johanna do what she did

A man walked through the bar and up to Gurgle. He appeared to be an extremely obese, middle-aged, caucasion man, but appearances could be deceptive.

"Hello, Gurgle," he said, his blue eyes sparkling, "what's the problem?"

"Metal Man, it's so good to see you," the dragon replied. "It's Miss Midori. She's gone unconscious, and, seeing as she's a high-level diplomat, I was about to fear the worst--but a doctor's looked her over and claims that her condition is stable. Could you please...give her a look and let us all know what's wrong?"

"Sure," the man replied, and he looked at Midori. As he did, for a moment, his eyes turned completely black. Presently, they returned to their normal ice-blue shade.

"You've been watching over her, I see," he said with a playful grin.

"Of course. She was right next to me when she passed out--in fact, I even recommended the chair that she sat in. If there's a mishap, I could be...falsely accused of complicity."

"Well, you don't have to worry about that," the man replied.

"Oh? Good."

"It's just that...your pet geggil...is about to multiply."

"My pet geg--," the dragon stammered. Then the light of recognition dawned on his face. "Oh. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

"Now, let's wake her up. Smelling salts, if you please."

Gurgle reached into his diplomatic pouch and, producing a vial, handed it to the Metal Man. He deftly positioned them under Midori's nose.

Midori comes round to find a crowd gathered round her and confused says in Kirisuban "nan-ja" before breaking into English.

"Johanna san, Gurgle san what happened?" she asked still very confused and woozy. Embaressed at the size of the crowd round her she tries to curl up into a ball.

"You collapsed, The doctor said that you have have been straining yourself; You will be fine, after some rest to recouperate. And.. uh.. the man Gurgle calls 'Metal Man' said something about multiplying, here, let me help you up into the chair."

Johanna helped Midori up onto the chair and then sat herself in the recliner next to Midori. She saw a glimpse of someone she knew in the crowd... Could Jason be here?

"Jason?" she semi-yelled.

...

Jason was in the crowd, the black suited lady was seemingly taking care of the unconcious delegate, the doctor had a look, didn't do anything and then a man who called himself Metal Man also looked at her, made a cryptic comment.

As Johanna helped Midori into her chair and then sat down herself he finally saw he face and saw that it was in fact... Johanna... she said his name...

"Oh, no I'm sprung." he thought as he sheepishly made his way forward

Midori nods and says "I think I need to phone my husband" and goes into her handbag to retrieve a mobile phone.

Finding her husbands message service has been turned on she just says "Pazu-Lenny, I fainted in the strangers bar and I was told some very strange news. I'm going home to rest soon and I'll tell you more when you get home"

she turns to Johanna in confusion and says "what did he mean by multiplying?"

"He meant," Alfred exlained, "that you are in what is sometimes called 'a delicate condition'. I wasn't going to mention the fact here in public, in case you didn't wish the fact to become widely known, but as this other person has already made the announcement..." He pauses... "Oh, please forgive me, we haven't yet been introduced: Alfred Devereux Sweynsson MD, the St Edmundan ambassador, at your service."

"Midori Kasigi-Nero" Midori replies "Kirisuban deputy ambassador. I'm glad to meet you Sweynsson san"

She drops to a whisper and asks "how did you figure that i'm pregnant? My last test was negative"

"I asked the assistance of my grandmother, who -- as she now exists solely in spiritual form -- was able to study your aura, and she was quite certain about this."


__________________________________________

OOC:
Kirisubo: Alfred's grandmother would probably have been able to predict the number & genders of the embryos, too, unless you don't want this to be known yet: How does twins, one boy & one girl, sound?

[QUOTE=St Edmund
OOC:
Kirisubo: Alfred's grandmother would probably have been able to predict the number & genders of the embryos, too, unless you don't want this to be known yet: How does twins, one boy & one girl, sound?[/QUOTE]

ooc: it sounds like a lot of hard work but i'll roll with it :)

ic:

Midori ponders this and being fairly open minded about beliefs she replies earnestly "if your honourable Grandmother thinks i'm expecting what sex will the baby be? At least I'll know what colour to decorate the nursery if she's right"

"This is Jason, my Undersecretary, if there is anything that he could do to help, I'm sure he'd be happy to do so." She said as Jason was moving forward. She didn't need to say "Isn't that right, Jason?", she gave him a look that spoke those exact words to him...

"Oh, Yes, I'd be happy do something for a friend of Johanna's, Just name it." chimed Jason, right on cue.

"Oh, and Jason, there's something I'd want to talk to you about, after whatever you do for the Kirisuban Deputy Ambassador. Meet me back here." Johanna said.

The words, while no hint of anything sinister in Johanna's voice, told Jason that he was going to have his ear chewed off for leaving the office. The hair stood up on the back of his neck, the anticipation was something that he always dreaded.

"By the way," the Metal Man says, "I can confirm the findings of the doctor's late grandmother. I saw an embrio emplanted in your womb." He turns to Gurgle. "Nothing sisister going on here, my friend," he says. "In fact, quite the contrary. So, if you don't mind, I'll take my leave."

"Certainly. Glad to meet your aquaintance, Dr. Devereux-Sweynsson, by the way."

Before trudging off, the Metal Man clasps the doctor on the shoulder and tells him, "well done." As he walks off, two men in business suits attempt to follow him. When he gets to an empty space on the floor, though, he simply disappears, and they're left to hunt him another day.

"Well, Miss Midori," Gurgle says again, "perhaps congratulations in order."

Unable to think of anything else to do, he perfumes the air with the scent of fresh Havanna tobacco.

------------------------

OOC: cigar, anyone?

Midori looks at Gurgle in surprise and says "I suppose i'll need to start getting baby things in then. Pazu-Lenny will certainly be happy"

she tries to sit up and can't, the dizziness returning.

"Jason san" she asks "please could you get me a cup of sweet tea. I still don't feel very well"

"Already here," Hodgelett said as she neatly sidestepped the rather confused Undersecretary for Bazlonia, with a wink.
"I got some of my grandmother's best raspberry leaves, that between you and me she was hoping to see me use for some great-grandchildren, although I can't seem to find the time for a man, let alone kids, myself."

After laying the tray down on the nearest coffee table and pouring a cup she paused to sniff the air. "Gurgle, I think a gentleman's club is a little out of place right now, although Mr Midori-San would probably be happy to celebrate, perhaps a fresh spring morning would be more appropriate."

"Now, I must go but I'm sure Miss Johanna is more than capable of keeping the gentlemen at bay. Here's the rest of the raspberry leaves if you want Violet to brew you some more. Oh that reminds me...."

And Hodgelett had effortlessly edged out the crowd again, a useful habit picked up from evading long-married politicians hoping to promise rises up the career ladders. Picking up her folder of papers she made her way over to the side of the bar and bekoned Neville over. With a kiss on his rather surprised cheek and a murmured "just to say thank you" she was heading towards the exit.

Midori ponders this and being fairly open minded about beliefs she replies earnestly "if your honourable Grandmother thinks i'm expecting what sex will the baby be? At least I'll know what colour to decorate the nursery if she's right"

"Actually it's 'babies' in the plural, if grandmother's as right as she usually is, one male and one female to be precise," Alfred says.

"Domo" Midori says weakly and drinks the raspberry leaf tea.

"babies" she says in surprise to the good doctor "Pazu-Lenny's going to be in for a shock"

Knowing she needs to get home at somepoint she decides to wait until she feels well enough to get a taxi home. It would be a while yet although.

Seeing that Midori is comfortable for now, and has other people there to provide help if that should prove necessary, Dr Sweynsson steps back.

"If you will excuse me," he says, "I need to go and take care of grandmother's 'consultant's fee'."

He turns, and heads back towards the bar.
(OOC: Unless anybody says anything that requires him to stay where he was...)

"Off course" Midori says "have a drink on my tab"

She lies back in the chair her dizziness easing.

When Dr Sweynsson gets back to the bar he orders two separate double shots of rum, of whatever the strongest variety that they've got is, with one of them in a heat-resistant container if that's possible. When these have been served* he takes a silver pin from out of his wallet, pricks the ball of his left thumb with this and squeezes three drops of blood into the latter drink. He then raises the one that's in an ordinary glass, taps that glass gently against the heatproof one and utters a short phrase in the same [obscure] language that he'd used for talking to his grandmother's spirit. The mixed rum & blood in the heatproof vessel ignites, and burns away quite quickly, while he sips at the other drink.


_________________________________________________

(* OOC: as I presume it is...)

To some, it may seem disconcerting to have a dragon lieing, curled but watchful, next to you. Miss Midori was obviously not one of these. The furniture was carefully rearranged so that no one and nothing was broken, and the dragon sat down and began to look for all the world as though he was a member of the secret services, body guard division.

"You know, Miss Midori," he said to be conversational, making sure that Johanna could hear him as well, "it was only about 50 years ago that I worked for the Rescue Rangers in the Mystic Mountains. I was the only dragon in the brigade, and my power of flight made the bunch of us quite renouned for our life-saving, along with the wizard whose magic kept me from freezing in the cold temperatures. Perhaps it is my experience there that makes me such a bleeding heart. Some jobs can rather infect one."

"isn't that a coincidence" Midori replies taking a sip of her tea "I flew rescue helicopters in the Imperial Kirisuban Airforce before i got this job"

She leans back and drinks more tea

Jason, while he managed to get in fairly easily, getting out to get the tea was another matter, luckily(though that is still to be decided for Jason) Hodglett slipped in through the crowd handed gave Midori the tea and then managed to get out again, "That woman has skills..." he thought...

"Okay... well theres nothing else left to see here... Everyone move off.." Johanna's words, combined with her tone and the look she was giving, disappated the crowd fairly easily... that only left Johanna, Midori, Jason and Gurgle.. who was still siting at the table.

"Oh, Jason, this is Gurgle, he's a dragon." she said gesturing towards the dragon...

"Oh, um, yes.. that.. uh, you got me nice before, made me drop my 20 Bazcent piece." said Jason.

"Oh, and.. take a seat." Johanna said...

Jason was firstly ot used to being near Johanna in a social setting,,, and know he was sitting opposite a Dragon....

"Domo" was a Japanese word. Perhaps it was Miss Midori's native tongue that she had used. The Japanese were right next door to the Chinese, who, if Gurgle's cultural training was correct, believed that a dragon stood as the protector of their nation. If it wasn't so twisted a stretch of logic, it would almost have been ironic, for the lady and her unborn children now, at least temporarily, had their own dragon as a protector.

They had more than that in common. She had flown helicoptors for a rescue force. Gurgle had been the helicopter for one.

The greatest delight in diplomacy, at least for the dragon, was finding things in common among those with what would seem to be insurmountable differences.

"Really?" he said. "How marvelous! You were a rescue pilot?"

It was then that Jacen looked at him and half-heartedly complemented the dragon on his earlier escapade. He turned his attention to the poor man.

"I do hope you'll accept my apology," he said. "I've just got too much of the devil still inside of me. Could I perhaps provide you with a drink on my tab--as a peace offering?"

Dastardly Stench']<
It was then that Jacen looked at him and half-heartedly complemented the dragon on his earlier escapade. He turned his attention to the poor man.

"I do hope you'll accept my apology," he said. "I've just got too much of the devil still inside of me. Could I perhaps provide you with a drink on my tab--as a peace offering?"

At these words, Jason remembered his thirst...A Bazalonian Lager would certainly go down nicely...

"A Bazalonian Forhey's Lager would certainly be appreciated." Jason said...
Anyone that offers me a free drink can't be that bad Jason thought to himself.. and decided that he did like the Dragon after all... though he was still apprehensize about Johanna

"Gurgle san, I've been a pilot for 10 years now and flown helicopters off all shapes and sizes" Midori replies.

"When I joined flight school at 15 years old I soon discovered that I didn't like G forces too much so I was transfered to helicopters instead"

She smiles and drinks more tea adding "debating was just a hobby for me but someone must have thought that I would make a politician and here I am"

She picks up her jacket and shows him her pilots wings, an ornate gold winged badge with an enamel centre showing a black flag with a red sun.

"i'm still a serving military officer despite working here" she adds "as is Kaigan san"

Barry, the delegate from Waimakariri wanders over to the assembled delegates. "Excuse me for asking, but what exactly has been going in the United Nations at the moemnt? Ya see...my country has just joined and I really don't want to cross the wrong people and want to try and mind my P's and Q's as it were". He takes a long draw from his beer. "What are the more controversial issues att he moment?

Smilingly Neville added items to his mental to-do list: begin taking up Bar collection for baby gifts, check stocks for something high in folate ... it was folate pregnant women needed, wasn't it? Or was it iodine? Or iron? Tch, a good Barlord should know these things.

He was just about to consult the learned Dr Sweynsson -- tit for tat, if the man was going to do mystic rituals with rum in heat-proof containers he could at least give the container-provider free medical advice -- when he was hit on the head with an iron bar.

Hodgelett kissed me!

Actually, an iron bar would have been kinder. He'd tried everything to inveigle the woman into just looking at him approvingly, and then she comes up to him out of nowhere and kisses him on the cheek! It had been so unexpected he'd taken a good 20 minutes to react.

And she whispered something to the gnome.

There were millions of things Neville could have had on his mind. The political situation in UberPenguinLand, which had sent a Wade look-alike to the UN; the imminent population explosion in Kirisubo; the interesting friction in the Bazalonian delegation; the odd characters Gurgle seemed to attract -- any of these could have provided hours of happy gossip.

But that gnome cast a giant shadow.

John McKay, the Bazalonian Ambassador re-enters the bar.... though, he doesn't look like he's going to stay.. He's looking for someone... well two people, infact

"Ah there you are Johanna and Jason... Jason I need you.." (John)

"But... I haven't even got my beer yet....anyway what do you want me for?" (Jason)

"Ah, the International Sign Language proposal is ready to be submitted, and I need your help in contacting regional delegates. Johanna... I think you'd better stay here... you need to relax... oh.. and I liike your hair. Oh, and Hi & Bye Gurgle, sorry I have to rush off." (John)

"Okay, I've got things to do here."(Johanna)

Jason had gotten, up bemoaning never actually getting the chance to have a drink he followed John out of the bar, leaving Johanna behind with Midori and Gurgle....

"your boss certainly seems interesting." Midori says to Johanna "is he always rushing around like this?"

she sips at her tea and feels slightly better.

"your boss certainly seems interesting." Midori says to Johanna "is he always rushing around like this?"

she sips at her tea and feels slightly better.

"Not usually, He's just excitted about his first proposal , he must have been told that it was published... So he's running around like a headless chook. This is the first time I have seen him like this actually." states Johanna
"We've all done alot of work on it, even Jason, and it's time for the campaign to get people to support it... I never really was good at campaigning. Though I do get a tingly feeling when something that I've worked so hard on, may affect the whole of the UN."

OOC:

I have an idea - for Jason, I would like there to be a running joke. This joke would mean that Jason while he orders a Forhey's Larger everytime he comes to the Strangers Bar, he never actually gets one. I'd appreciate if characters played by others would also take part in this... particularily Gurgle...

"Oh dear," said the dragon. "We'd best put that lager on hold. Not to worry, though. I'll make sure that it's kept cold. It'll be waiting here for you when you get back--right, Neville?"

Gurgle then turned to Miss Midori.

"So...your skills are still current. I'm afraid I gave up precision flying when I joined the diplomatic corps. I still exercise my wings regularly, but I'm not in the shape I used to be. In a way, I envy you--you're still capable of doing something very much like a job that I loved. I believe that you can fly many of your people's conveyances, Miss Midori--and, for my people, I was the helicopter. It's almost the same thing.

"Forgive me if I seem a bit clingy. I wouldn't want your husband to miss his...new flight school cadets.

"By the way, Neville, that lager intrigues me. Could you make sure that my next refill consists of that particular potion?"

----------------------

OOC: Happy to oblige. Maybe the barrel is the only thing that holds any of the stuff when Jason gets back...?

OOC: C'mon, the honour of the Bar is at stake! Neville always has a constant supply of the delegates' favourite potions. So he'll have it, he'll serve it -- Jason just won't get it. Nice one, Baz.

Midori chuckles and says "Pazu-Lenny might have other ideas about future careers for the little ones"

she tries to sit up and a wave of dizziness washes over her so she give it up as a bad job.

she picks up her handbag and pulls out a picture of a very young girl sitting in the cockpit off a jet plane. a smiling asian man stands beside the cockpit dressed in the dark green outfit of the Kirisuban Airforce.

"that was me if you can believe i was that small and cute once. My fathers beside me and i followed him into the Airforce. Once I get to tell him the good news he'l be delighted"

she drinks more raspberry leaf tea and wonders when she'll be well enough to go home..

"Though I'm certainly no expert on human mating, I would hazard that your accomplishments, and the ethic of service and humility that they portray, would be enough to woo many a suitor. This Pazu-Lenny you speak about is your husband? If so, I would hazard that he is a most fortunate man."

Grabbbing the barrel in his jaws, lifting it and tipping it slightly, the dragon took a small draught of lager--only a gallon or two--seven or eight litres, perhaps.

"Perhaps we could ask Miss Johanna what she did before she came to serve in her country's diplomatic corps."

Midori smiles and says "Pazu-Lenny is the Ambassador for Love and Esterel. We met here in the UN building while I was still Kaigan san's assistant but things really started moving when we had a short skiiing trip in Kirisubo.

so far we've had Christmas in L&E and New Year in Kirisubo and in early January we were married in my home town of Nagano in a traditional Kirisuban wedding ceremony.

He knows he's fortunate although we still disagree on a lot of UN issues"

Dastardly Stench']"Though I'm certainly no expert on human mating, I would hazard that your accomplishments, and the ethic of service and humility that they portray, would be enough to woo many a suitor. This Pazu-Lenny you speak about is your husband? If so, I would hazard that he is a most fortunate man."

Grabbbing the barrel in his jaws, lifting it and tipping it slightly, the dragon took a small draught of lager--only a gallon or two--seven or eight litres, perhaps.

"Perhaps we could ask Miss Johanna what she did before she came to serve in her country's diplomatic corps."

"Technically, I'm not in the diplomatic corp, I just do work for them. In Bazalonia Diplomats are in the diplomatic corp, but people such as myself who work for the diplomats are technically Public Servants. As to where I worked before working for John, well I went all over the place, both internal matters such as treasury, workplace & employment, Health and education to external matters under the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, I've worked in Embassies, been involved with trade negotiations, here at the UN, as well as areas I am not at liberty to discuss. The same sort of work... just different content. I have been a public servant, of one sort or another, for virtually all of my working liife."

as Johanna was speaking, it was like she was remembering what it was like in the areas she worked for, some she was happier in than others... though she seemed to have the fondest memories of the area that she could not discuss

The Ecopoeian Speakers sit in a quiet booth away from the general hubbub of the Bar. Lata idly spoons the crema on her coffee and sighs.

"Is it always like this? Abortion dominating discussion for weeks on end? I thought this was a body for debating international concerns."

"Actually, it seems to have coincided with your arrival."

"Oh, good. So if I just up and leave, everything'll be OK?"

"Enjoying the job that much, eh?"

"Oh yes, Mathieu. Wondrous."

"Well, the Bar's good - plenty of quality booze."

"I don't really drink."

Mathieu grimaced. Oh, Christ. She's doomed.

"And why should I drink? It's bad enough being sober and finding yourself sharing a Bar with a fucking dragon. I dread to think what I'll see if I get sloshed."

Mathieu looked glumly in the direction of Gurgle. The two sat in silence, contemplating their coffees.

The doors to the Bar swung open, Two comely maidens dressed in the robes of the Imperial Hibernian Harem walked in spreading flower petals on the floor from baskets on their arm. A Royal Imperial Guard Addressed the crowd.

"His Royal Majesty, Emporor of the Venerable Libertarians, Lord Protector of the Nations of Templar Crusaders and VL Empire and Benevolent Imperial Overlord of the Region of The Realm of Hibernia, Has returned from whence he came."

The Guard turned and saluted as the members of the Delegacy for the Realm walked into the bar led by Lady Sophia Grey and followed by His Imperial Majesty, Emporor Esheram Byron.

Byron turned to Sophia. "Did we have to have all this Pomp? These people Know who I am for christs sake." Byron approached the Bar. "Ah neville old pal. Im delighted to be back. A pint of G39 for myself and a round of drinks for eveyone gracing the Strangers Bar with their Presence this fine day."

Byron Turned his back to the bar and viewed the crowd around him. "Yes indeed it sure is good to be back". Sophia and the other members of the Delegacy joined him at the bar and the drinks flowed freely.

The bakelite telephone rang in the Cobdenian delegates office, the voice on the other end belonged to Reginald Clankerdoodle-Muttons, a junior member of the Cobdenian staff.

"Ahoy hoy?"

"Ahoy hoy, Sir Clive speaking"

"Clankerdoodle-Muttons, sir"

"Go ahead"

"I was just passing the strangers bar, and King Byron, you know, the Vulnerable Presbytarians feller"

"Venerable Libertarians, Clankerdoodle-Muttons"

"That's the bloke, anyway, he said he was paying for the drinks!"

"I'll be down right away"

He placed the phone down hurriedly, ran towards the door, picked his jacket off the coat rack, and bumped into Field Marshal Pointy Blatherstock, the Cobdenian Military Attache

"Ah! Sir Clement! Just the man I want to see, what?!"

"Cyril, Pointy, Cyril!"

"Sorry Sally, anyway I wanted to discuss with you this idea I had for a Pot Noo..."

"I'm in a rush Pointy. Free drinks in the bar"

"And that is more important then...wait a minute, did you say free drinks?"

"Yes..."

"Well, that is clearly a priority. You lead the way!"

Five minutes later (they had fallen down the stairs to save time) they were in the bar.

"Neville, a double Laphroig, if you please"

"And a pink gin for me. And a Pot Noodle"

"G'day, mate," said the blur that was Neville, performing frenzied miracles to replenish glasses as a scrum of freeloaders descended on the Bar. "That was some bash, that coronation of yours."

He nodded greetings to the Hibernians he knew, noting in passing Lady Sophia's cat-got-the-cream expression. That reminded him ...

"Violet," he muttered, toggling the switch on the storeroom intercom, "the Benevolent Imperial Overlord of the Region of The Realm of Hibernia has returned from whence he came. With bells on."

The next few hours were going to be hard on his winsome workmate, he feared. Perching affectionately on the knee of the roystering Prince Byron was not good preparation for offering unobtrusive professional bar-service to the crowned monarch of Hibernia.

On the other hand, Violet needed no lessons in looking after herself. Neville foresightedly set the mopping-up rags and sponges within easy reach. The young woman was past mistress of the Tactical Overflow, the Vengeful Spill and the Sticky Unwiped Tabletop.

Gurgle's ferral hearing had done well for him this time. He grinned to himself. The Ecopoeians had provided him an opportunity to be gracious and obnoxious at the same time. These should not be squandered--they don't come along very often.

Excusing himself from the reasonably-recovered Miss Midori, he carefully sauntered over to the bar, got something from Neville, and walked to the limits of his tail's range from the Ecopoeians at their table.

"Excuse me, dear chaps, but I couldn't help but hear you speaking of me, and I thought I might offer a bit of a solution to the young lady's conundrum." His tail deftly deposited a decanter of pinkish liquid on the table. "This is Kiwi-Strawberry punch. It's sometimes sold as a health drink, and is completely non-alcoholic, but it's quite sweet and often appeals to the geg--er--human palatte." Had to sneak the geggil reference in on these two. Best way to needle 'em after the rude comment about the dragon. Still, the liquid was not tampered with, and the young lady would hopefully find its contents enjoyable. "Well...nice speaking with you. Cheerio." He went back to his lady friends, making sure Johanna heard him whine something about "call me an effing dragon...I don't even have a mate..." Behind him, a mountain elf who had been eavesdropping on the whole thing was locked in throes of a hysterical chuckle--as the dragon had intended.

The doors opened, to reveal the Darsomiri ambassadors. Two of them, to represent the dual nature of Darsomiri politics. Never mind if joining the UN was the brainchild of only Her Holiness Aristhia, her counterpart Berenon wasn't about to let her steal a match on him.

Johannes, until recently one of Aristhia's private secretaries, scuttled into the room, and sidled up to the bar. "Could I get a glass of flamewater, if you have it, please," he mumbled to the barman.

The other Darsomiri representative was another matter. High Acolyte of the Flame, representative of His Holiness Berenon, Gaeblyn strode into the room, rolled his eyes at Johannes, and called for a strong whiskey.
"That's what they call flamewater around here, Joh. If we're going to do this, may as well get used to using their terms. We can tell them about the Flame later."

"Lata?"

"Mrf."

"Are you OK?"

"Nng."

"Are you sure"

"Dragon. Spoke. To me."

"Yes..."

A protracted silence.

"You going to drink that?"

"Um. It looks like blended brains. For all I know it is blended brains. I mean, it's a fuc-"

"I think you should keep your voice down."

"Mrf."

"Yes, yes. Jolly good."

Dastardly Stench']Gurgle's ferral hearing had done well for him this time. He grinned to himself. The Ecopoeians had provided him an opportunity to be gracious and obnoxious at the same time. These should not be squandered--they don't come along very often.

Excusing himself from the reasonably-recovered Miss Midori, he carefully sauntered over to the bar, got something from Neville, and walked to the limits of his tail's range from the Ecopoeians at their table.

"Excuse me, dear chaps, but I couldn't help but hear you speaking of me, and I thought I might offer a bit of a solution to the young lady's conundrum." His tail deftly deposited a decanter of pinkish liquid on the table. "This is Kiwi-Strawberry punch. It's sometimes sold as a health drink, and is completely non-alcoholic, but it's quite sweet and often appeals to the geg--er--human palatte." Had to sneak the geggil reference in on these two. Best way to needle 'em after the rude comment about the dragon. Still, the liquid was not tampered with, and the young lady would hopefully find its contents enjoyable. "Well...nice speaking with you. Cheerio." He went back to his lady friends, making sure Johanna heard him whine something about "call me an effing dragon...I don't even have a mate..." Behind him, a mountain elf who had been eavesdropping on the whole thing was locked in throes of a hysterical chuckle--as the dragon had intended.

"Men... no matter what the species... they're always the same." Johanna muttered to herself. Only a male would do pull such a prank and make comments particularily the comment about not having a mate... with that she sighed and turned her attention back the Midori.

"don't i know it" Midori comments "as a Samurai-Captain i had to deal with some men like that but rank has some privilages. However there are still some gentlemen around"

she smiles slightly and drinks more tea

"Lata?"

"Mrf."

"Are you OK?"

"Nng."

"Are you sure"

"Dragon. Spoke. To me."

"Yes..."

A protracted silence.

"You going to drink that?"

"Um. It looks like blended brains. For all I know it is blended brains. I mean, it's a fuc-"

"I think you should keep your voice down."

"Mrf."

"Yes, yes. Jolly good."


OOC:

Come now! It looks nothing like blended brains! It's PINK. It's got the consistency of WATER. Blended brains...well, I never actually found out for sure, but I always thought they'd be a little thicker than that, and not as colorful. They sell Kiwi-Strawberry in corner stores! I wish I could remember the brand names. I used to drink it before the type-2 diabetes struck. It's awesome! Sweet like soda pop, but without the carbonation. Wish they made a sugar-free variety.

IC:

Gurgle paid the two less-than-jolly racist scum a glance with a warm, warm smile as he returned to Miss Johanna and Miss Midori.

Byron shook his head and sighed. A lot of water had flowed under his bridge since the very first day he walked in the door of the strangers bar. He walked in a broken man but today in marked contrast, Here stood the wealthiest, and most powerful man In the Realm. Overnight he had inherited the late kings 72% stake in the realms Uranium Mining Conglomerate "Uramoco inc." Plus the fact that now the tri-nations had been reunited under the Banner of the empire Uramoco stood to absorb the Uranium Mining interests of the other two nations. "what the hell Neville! All drinks tonight are on me" He raised his glass and swallowed the G39 with satisfaction.
There remained one small obstacle to Byrons happiness. He was romanticly torn between 3 fantastic women. There was the reliable and somewhat enigmatic Violet Bracket. Nevilles right hand woman who had appeared in the strangers bar the very first day Byron did. Beautiful and svelt she moved gracefully through the crouds of diplomats. Truely poetry in motion. She was however a commoner and the late King would have frowned apon a union of his nephew to such a woman but Byron was now in charge. The late king favoured the equally beautiful Lady Sophia Grey. PA to the Delegate for the Realm and a daughter of one of the Hibernians Baron classes there would be no problem with this Union. However Byron just didnt have the same feelings for her as he should if he were to make her his Emporess. Then there was Rose. Wild exciting Rose. Byron was in awe of the Black New Worldian and her dizzying effect on his sences. There was true passion in that woman and it would not be altogether frowned apon if the emporor were to extend the Imperial Influence by marrying within the international Diplomatic community.
"Why the heck does this have to be so damned difficult?" he thought as he downed another G39. He looked at the diplomats in the bar. The repartit between the dragon and the Ecopoeans. The happy banter between the members of the Hibernian Dipomatic Staff. Byron decided to leave aside thoughts of the Hibernian Royal liniage and concentrate on enjoying his return.
"Yes indeed Neville it is good to be back. Have you seen our Delegate, Speaker Georgias of The-Republic recently? Hes all but dissapeared? It is his dissapearance that has promted my return."

Alfred Sweynsson had slipped away from the bar a little bit earlier, but returns now looking quite tired but definitely pleased. (OOC: Presumably I'm not the first person to point out that time seems to flow at different rates inside & outside of this Bar?)
"Quorum," he happily announces to nobody in particular, "Third time lucky!"
Crossing to the bar, he orders a whiskey, and passes a sheet of paper to whichever member of the staff is serving him. "One drink, of their choice, at St Edmund's expense for the delegate of each & every nation on this list" he tells them: "Do you need a down-payment in advance?"

Bazalonia']"Men... no matter what the species... they're always the same." Johanna muttered to herself. Only a male would do pull such a prank and make comments particularily the comment about not having a mate... with that she sighed and turned her attention back the Midori.

"Well, Miss Johanna, I do admit that, being a reptile, I am somewhat terratorial. Nonetheless, you will find that, should anyone attempt to truly deny those two humans the right to express their opinions, distasteful as they may be, the little dragon-haters would find themselves in with an unlikely defender.

"You said that males are all the same. If this is true, then perhaps my little show may have prevented this from turning into a scrum, or worse, later on. All I want is peace, Miss Johanna, and, if I have to make a stale joke or two to keep it, well, I apologise to the viewing audience for not being a better stand-up comic. Forgive me?"

----------------

OOC: If my newfound friends the dragon-haters (innovative writing! kewl!) would like to turn this into a recurring theme, they should TG me and we can try to have a meeting of the minds.

Midori looks at Gurgle and replies "I wouldn't have been that forgiving. any lower rank who did that to me would have ended on the floor nursing a few sore parts of their anatomy. Less than 50 years ago they would have lost their heads instead of suffering some pain.

I'm still a Samurai-Captain and wouldn't stand for a dishonour like that"

"Jokes are one thing, but seriousness is another; let's not get the two confused. Anyway, yes, I suppose we all are different, have different ways of thinking and different perspectives on the same issue. So, by those terms, there is alot of lattitude for understanding but as well as intolerance..."

As Johanna was pondering what that actually meant for her a dejected John and Jason wandered in the door.... Jason went over to the bar and sat slumped on a stool, while John came over and plonked himself on a seat with Johanna, Midori and Gurgle

Just as Jason's reaching fingers curled around his abandoned glass of Forhey's Lager, Neville whisked it away.

"Now, now, we can't have that sort of thing going on," he chided kindly. "I do not let my customers drink flat beer, young-feller-me-lad. Here, tuck your tonsils round this one instead."

It was beautiful, Neville had to admit. The amber fluid sparkled gently, the white head frothed promisingly but just enough, the drops of condensation chased their cooling paths down the outside of the shining glass. It was a drink that entirely lived up to the Forhey slogan -- "Not just a beer, the beer."

Sliding a beer-coaster under it, Neville delivered the frosty glass to his thirsty customer. Once again, Jason's hand reached out, the fingers curled in anticipation ...

"Bloody idiots!" howled Dicey Reilly. A heavy pile of folders slammed down crippingly close to the Bazalonian's wrist and the liquor leapt up to meet them. At least, that's how it seemed to Neville.

Dicey, however, was all apologies. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" Her lacy handkerchief mopped busily all over the young man, lingering a little in places where, to the observant Bast, her Feline Advisor, it was quite unlikely any liquid had splashed.

Sighing as he recognised the beginning of yet another of Dicey's little diversions, Neville turned to draw a replacement glass, but the co-President of Ardchoille stopped him in his tracks.

"No, nooo, Neville, that's not how it's done!" she scolded. "The least I can do is treat this patient and charming delegate to a glass of Ardchoille uisquebaugh! It's traditional," the red-headed Firewitch assured Jason, "when introducing yourself to another nation's rep, to offer him or her a taste of your own nation's favourite form of alcohol -- that's if you have one, which, oddly enough, most nations seem to -- well, anyway, I'm Dicey Reilly, co-President of Ardchoille, and this is Bast, an Ardchoille Cat and the current Feline Advisor, and the little glass Neville's got there contains Ardchoille Old 'n' Funky, which, if you listen hard enough while you're drinking, will enable you to hear the last faint skirls of the pipes before the great non-battle of McConnachie Pass in 1672 ... "

"She's making it up as she goes along," Bast confided to Neville.

"Which? The Bar drinking traditions, or the history?"

"Both. She's in that sort of mood."

Neville listened sympathetically as Bast recounted a list of the frustrations that had brought Dicey to her present state. Apparently Bloody idiots! were infesting the UN, thwarting the attempts of all reasonable people on abortion law reform, union rights protection, recreational drugs, waste disposal and even the weather!

"She was lots more fun before she started taking it all so seriously," Neville mourned.

"Fallen under a bad influence," agreed the Cat. "I blame the Old Guard, myself. But who knows, she may have found something to take her mind off it all ..."

Barman and six-foot-high Cat observed dispassionately as an Old Game began to take precedence in the butterfly mind of the Ardchoilleans' reluctant leader.

A blonde woman of difficult-to-determine age, wearing a green tunic over a floor-length blue dress, enters the bar and walks across to Alfred. They smile at each other, and she hands him an envelope.
"A letter from the Firstthane, dear," she says.

Alfred opens the envelope, takes out two sheets of paper, and reads the first of them out loud.
"Dear Alfred, congratulations on getting our proposal to quorum. Once that has gone to and hopefully been passed by the General Assembly, please start campaigning for the new one that's on the attached sheet... Edward H'son." He groans quietly. "I need another drink, what about you 'heart?"

She thinks for a moment, and replies that "A glass of a decent sparkling wine would go down quite nicely".

Alfred turns around to try and get Neville's attention.

A blonde woman of difficult-to-determine age, wearing a green tunic over a floor-length blue dress, enters the bar and walks across to Alfred. They smile at each other, and she hands him an envelope.
"A letter from the Firstthane, dear," she says.

Alfred opens the envelope, takes out two sheets of paper, and reads the first of them out loud.
"Dear Alfred, congratulations on getting our proposal to quorum. Once that has gone to and hopefully been passed by the General Assembly, please start campaigning for the new one that's on the attached sheet... Edward H'son." He groans quietly. "I need another drink, what about you 'heart?"

She thinks for a moment, and replies that "A glass of a decent sparkling wine would go down quite nicely".

Alfred turns around to try and get Neville's attention.


"I have it on good authority that Fohrey Lager is an excellent choice, if your taste runs into that type of beverage," the dragon pointed out. "You would not believe the extremes to which some patrons will go to imbibe the stuff!"

He turned back to Miss Midori, and smiled a sarcastic, charming little smile.

"You humans are all alike," he said, annunciating slowly, savoring the humor of the situation, making especially sure that Miss Johanna could hear him. "Always telling each other how you would resort instantly to violence in someone else's argument. Why, I'd make some racist comment about you right now, my dear, if only I understood what you humans use to define your races--and if you weren't such a highly evolved, superior example of the species."

He lowered his voice.

"I think there are two of them," he said. "I think that the boss is a racist and the underling is playing along--and just barely keeping a straight face. This could be fun. Why should I be a party-pooper when I can entertain? Watch what happens--I'm going to be showering them with favours all evening. Let's see how long the two of them can stew."

He motions to the barlord.

"Oh Neville," he said, "I was wondering if the bar has a candy-gram service. I'd like to get a big, heart-shaped box of chocolates, sent with my complements."

------------------

OOC: I would be ungratious if I didn't give my fellow posters an opportunity to remain involved in the manner in which they have so kindly suggested. I intend no such rudeness.

Midori sips more tea and feeling slightly better gets out her mobile phone and phones up for a taxi.

When she concludes the call she says chuckles saying "maybe its just as well the weapon detector works here. I wouldn't want my fist to turn into a balloon or anything like that. My taxi will be coming soon so I'll need to leave now to catch it.

I'll see you soon my friend"

She rises from the chair still feeling a bit unsteady on her feet but managing. After putting on her jacket she kisses Gurgle on the cheek and waves to them as she leaves heading back to the little house she has near UN HQ.

Gaeblyn tried the whiskey he'd been brought, and instantly spat it out.

"Did someone say that was strong? Weakest thing I've ever had. I'll need to bring back some real Darsomiri Flamewater next time, teach you all what a real drink is!"

Johannes, deciding to leave his counterpart to his whinging, wandered over to the apparent Barlord and the speaking cat.

"Uh... excuse me, and please excuse my, er, colleague. We're used to a much stronger drink in Darsomir, but that's no excuse for him being rude."

Johanna fare-welled Midori as she headed home.

Jason on the other hand stared blankly into the empty glass.... then to his shirt that had stained by the beer and back to his glass....

"My beer........ My Beer............. MY BEER" stated Jason... getting very loud by the end. By which time he started sucking on the Beer stains...

"Must... have.... Forhey's" he said in between sucks after a few futile attempts at trying to suck some beer from his shirt Jason's head collapsed onto the bar with an "ARGH...." Soft wimpers can be heard by those around him.


Johanna was watching... "So it didn't get a Quorum..." Johanna stated as she looked towards John... "I suppose I better get Jason home, before he gets sulky. Nice to meet you Gurgle. See you back at the Office, John."

With that she got up and manage to get Jason up on his feet, he leaned heavily in on her but she kept herself straight and got both of them out of the Bar.

Once they had both left John once again sighed... "Ah.. good to see you again Gurgle. What do you think of my Secretary as a person.... hang on... was there a rose in her hair?" he asked

The Barflies were in their usual good form from what Byron could see. Delegates and their staffs rubbing up other delegates. Humans, Aliens, Felines and whatever dragons are classified under all rubbing shoulder to shoulder. If ever there was an example of diverse cultures the UN Strangers Bar was it.
Byron turned to the Darsomirian.
Greetings, I am Esheram Byron, Benevolent Overlord to the Realm of Hibernia. Can I offer you a drink that should appease your colleague? Byron turned to Neville. Can you get the bottle of Vesputnik fine old Hibernian Poteen from the caustic Cleaning products press and a few shot glasses? And Perhaps Bast and Miss Riley would care to Join us?

Bazalonia']Johanna fare-welled Midori as she headed home.

Jason on the other hand stared blankly into the empty glass.... then to his shirt that had stained by the beer and back to his glass....

"My beer........ My Beer............. MY BEER" stated Jason... getting very loud by the end. By which time he started sucking on the Beer stains...

"Must... have.... Forhey's" he said in between sucks after a few futile attempts at trying to suck some beer from his shirt Jason's head collapsed onto the bar with an "ARGH...." Soft wimpers can be heard by those around him.


Johanna was watching... "So it didn't get a Quorum..." Johanna stated as she looked towards John... "I suppose I better get Jason home, before he gets sulky. Nice to meet you Gurgle. See you back at the Office, John."

With that she got up and manage to get Jason up on his feet, he leaned heavily in on her but she kept herself straight and got both of them out of the Bar.

Once they had both left John once again sighed... "Ah.. good to see you again Gurgle. What do you think of my Secretary as a person.... hang on... was there a rose in her hair?" he asked

"Farewell, Midori-chan. Take care of the little ones! Good luck getting home, Miss Johanna! I hope your friend can see straight in the morning!

"I'm sorry, Jason. Yes, that certainly was a rose in her hair. If I may say so, it helped her to relax, and she needed the moment's rest."

As the dragon spoke, the air around him suddenly started to smell like roses.

"Just a moment, now, I have to take a look at the latest resolution..."

Usint his tongue, the dragon pulled a small information-processing device from the diplomatic pouch that hung on a rope around his neck. Glancing down at it, he made a distasteful face.

"Oh, that won't do at all," he said. "They're trying to usurp the states' rights again. Got to nip this one in the bud." He set the device on the table in front of him and, again using his tongue, keyed in a message. "There we go."

The dragon turned back.

"So, Jason, how was your lager? You know, I had a barrelful of the stuff on your suggestion, and it was simply delicious--smooth, but with a kick like velveteen thunder!"

Dastardly Stench']"Farewell, Midori-chan. Take care of the little ones! Good luck getting home, Miss Johanna! I hope your friend can see straight in the morning!

"I'm sorry, Jason. Yes, that certainly was a rose in her hair. If I may say so, it helped her to relax, and she needed the moment's rest."

As the dragon spoke, the air around him suddenly started to smell like roses.

"Just a moment, now, I have to take a look at the latest resolution..."

Usint his tongue, the dragon pulled a small information-processing device from the diplomatic pouch that hung on a rope around his neck. Glancing down at it, he made a distasteful face.

"Oh, that won't do at all," he said. "They're trying to usurp the states' rights again. Got to nip this one in the bud." He set the device on the table in front of him and, again using his tongue, keyed in a message. "There we go."

The dragon turned back.

"So, Jason, how was your lager? You know, I had a barrelful of the stuff on your suggestion, and it was simply delicious--smooth, but with a kick like velveteen thunder!"


OOC: I think I have too many characters in this that starts with the Letter J... Johanna has taken Jason home... so he can maybe get a beer there and John's the only one left in the Bar.... He's the one that asked Gurgle about the rose.

a few minutes later during a lull in the current debate Kaigan Miromuta enters the strangers bar visably annoyed. Wearing his favourite navy blue suit and his tie loosened he orders a cup of green so he can calm down.

he notices Gurgle and bows to him and his companion.

"those fluffies have gone too far this time" he mutters as he heads over to them

Gurgle sniffed the air.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You're not Jason, you're John. Forgive me. A dragon's eyes are not the best...but his hearing..."

At this point, Mr. Kaigan bowed to Gurgle, and Gurgle, in his deep respect for his fellow diplomat, returned the gesture.

"What ever do you mean about the 'fluffies,' Mr. Kaigan? Anything that Dastardly Stench and I can do to help make the situation more tenable?"

Kaigan sits down and says "Gurgle san, the fluffies want a UN wide legalization of certain drugs. I'm sure you've read the proposal already and Midori san made a speech against it before she went home feeling unwell.

this is only the thin edge of the wedge. whats going to be next? tax breaks on cannabis sales?"

he sighs and drinks some of his tea introducing himself to John.

Johannes gave a jump when he heard someone address him.

"Oh, my, gave me a surprise there. So, Benevolent Overlord Byron," he couldn't help making it sound questioning (the bizarre titles other countries thought up! What's wrong with Exarch?), "I suppose my official title would be Representative to the UN for Her Holiness the Exarch Aristhia, but I usually prefer plain old Johannes.
"I'll certainly try your drink, Vespoosa funny old Iberian or whatever it's called. Once we get in some proper Flamewater, I hope you'll return the favour."

Kaigan sits down and says "Gurgle san, the fluffies want a UN wide legalization of certain drugs. I'm sure you've read the proposal already and Midori san made a speech against it before she went home feeling unwell.

this is only the thin edge of the wedge. whats going to be next? tax breaks on cannabis sales?"

he sighs and drinks some of his tea introducing himself to John.

"I'm quite aware of the issue. In fact, you may have noted that I presented my nation's position twice in open discussion. Though we have very liberal drug laws, Dastardly Stench has voted against the measure on the grounds that it does not rise to the level necessary for the United Nations to interfere in its member nations' matters.

"Just between you and me, if you do notice it, you'll be the only one. I was summarily ignored. They continued their blustery grandstanding about whether drugs were worthy of being legalized, ignoring the real issue that could turn around and bite them later.

"Still, it's not all to the bad. As a result of this exchange, Dastardly Stench has joined the National Sovernty Organization. It seems a good match."

"It's nice to meet you, Mr Kaigan. Ah yes, that Recreational drug proposal that's up on the floor. Well, I maybe would support a legalisation of Tea... but really, legalising all these drugs, even though such drugs may not directly harm others there is a certain case for in-direct harm... anyway now is not the time to debate such things."

oh, and Gurgle... Don't wory. I've been called worse things... like Johanna." John chuckled at his own jokeand called out for a glass of mlk.

Dastardly Stench']"I have it on good authority that Fohrey Lager is an excellent choice, if your taste runs into that type of beverage," the dragon pointed out. "You would not believe the extremes to which some patrons will go to imbibe the stuff!"

"Ah... thank you," she replied...

He turned back to Miss Midori

...and then told Alfred "but actually I think that I'll join you in having a whiskey, instead."

Kaigan chuckles and replies "actually my name is Kaigan Miromuta but Kaigan san is a lot easier for people to remember.

Nowadays is the word can mean 'Mr' or 'Ms' but its true meaning is 'honourable'. Its an insult to leave it off when addressing a samurai or a person who deserves the honour of the name"

turning to Gurgle he says "i hope you do well into the NSO. another nation in the fight will be helpful. the Empire of Kirisubo is well known for iits national sovereignty viewpoint but occasionally we find something we can support rather than oppose"

The dragon checked his blackberry.

"Oh dear," he said, "my statements appear to have disappeared. No matter."

He typed in another message.

"There. That should...get them to use their police-state tactics even more."

"So, Kaigan-san, you nation is already a member. Excellent! I knew that we would have much in common! What can you tell me about the Organization?"

"not much I'm afraid. Kirisubo isn't in the NSO" Kaigan replies "We're part of Gatesville, the infamous anti-un region. I'm a delegate for one of their franchises.

Either way we're both fighting the same battle. To rein in the NSUN and to ensure that nations can govern themselves without the UN interfering too much"

He relaxes back in his chair and sips at his tea while he contempletes the debate at hand.

"ah, please excuse me Kaigan san, I'm a bit exhausted after trying to campaign for a proposal that I authored, International Sign Language, it did not get a quorum." said John

As he found that a glass of milk had found it's way to his table. He picked it up and took a sip.

"As you probably have guessed, I'm not a beer drinker but Jason is quite enamoured with his Forhey's; he was very glad for the chance to come back here after the campainging ended and get his drink, though it seemed the drink ended up on him.

"Both Midori san and myself both like green tea while on duty" Kaigan replies "its better for you than most caffine based drinks. Lemon tea is also nice as well"

ooc: Haha...the gnome, I'd forgotten all about him, er, I meant, he's very important.

Darsomir...the reputation of this bar is that whatever you order, it is available.
Although, I think some glitch in the machinery can be arranged that the requested drink has failed to manifest in its correct form.
In fact, I think it would be an interesting storyline for Neville to get around, but don't worry, you'll get your 'firewater', Neville never fails.
That is if Ardchoille is happy working on yet another storyline. Always at the centre of things...;)

Neville stashed the rejected bottle of Firewater in a genuine Safe Place. It was one of the few in the UN building, which was currently infested with false Safe Places. They would lay in wait, imitating genuine Places, until an unsuspecting UN denizen stashed something there. Then off they'd go, with their characteristic did-you-hear-that? noise, and deposit the stashed article somewhere else entirely.

The creatures puzzled Neville, as the technique didn't seem much of a survival mechanism, but he was confident the Building Management would be on top of them in a few days. Putting the question out of his mind, he addressed the problem of the Firewater.

He couldn't have this sort of thing going on, of course. The Bar's reputation was at stake. He would have to have Words with the suppliers; or, if necessary, Gnomes with the suppliers. It was always useful to have that sort of back-up when dealing with the commercial classes.

On the other hand, it was possible that this was the good stuff, and it was the rude person who was at fault. Had his regular Darsomirian barman been adding a little something to the mix -- a little something to which the rep had become adjusted, so that he thought all Firewater should taste that way? It was not beyond the bounds of possibility, particularly if he had offended the home barman.

Neville resolved to make some quick calls to his Darsomirian contacts. In the meantime, there was Byron's interesting order to fill. The Prince -- no, King now -- had devoted many happy years to making himself immune, for all practical purposes, to anything that passed for alcohol, so he should be all right; and Dicey, too, had put in the hard yards. Bast never drank anything but milk, so his safety wasn't an issue.

But was Neville, an enrobed Barlord, justified in serving a bottle of Vesputnik Fine Old Hibernian Poteen from the Caustic Cleaning Products cupboard to an innocent, if offensive, stranger of unknown capacity? And could he do it also to the blameless underling whose guilt lay only in association?

Well, yes, he could. It was the duty of the inquiring mind to push back the boundaries of knowledge. Besides, it would be interesting. Besides, he deserved it. Besides, the guy might be Irish -- almost everyone was, this close to Paddy's Day -- and thus be genetically gifted with immunity to this particular potion. Besides, whatthehell, why not?

Neville removed the special polythermoplastonucleodeniumate shot glasses from their case and set them up on the bar. Donning a welding glove, he poured the brew.

Acolyte Gaeblyn looked up.

"So, do you have proper Darsomiri Flamewater? I can't imagine how, myself and Johannes over there are the first people to leave Darsomir for centuries, but if you've got it, get me one."

Johannes cringed at his counterpart's tone.

As he watched, Gurgle could almost have sworn that he saw the barlord grimace as he prepared what, from the safety precautions he took, the dragon could only surmise was a very strong drink.

Floccinaucinihilipilification does not become you, Neville, he thought to himself.

Acolyte Gaeblyn looked up.

"So, do you have proper Darsomiri Flamewater? I can't imagine how, myself and Johannes over there are the first people to leave Darsomir for centuries, but if you've got it, get me one."


"I did, but you just, er, rejected it rather forcefully. And though you may be the first people to leave the country for centuries, remember that alcohol knows no boundaries. As to what caused your mishap with the Firewater, I'll have enquiries made," Neville said smoothly.

"But in the meantime, I'm sure you wouldn't want to insult His Royal Highness here by refusing his offer of Vesputnik Fine Old Hibernian Poteen. One wouldn't want to cause a diplomatic incident, would one?" he added, leaning forward confidentially. "The King does not often favour newcomers with a ... challenge ... such as this."

Neville might be, politically, the last of the sans-culottes, but he had no qualms about using Byron's new monarchical mystique for his own ends.

Dastardly Stench']OOC: If my newfound friends the dragon-haters (innovative writing! kewl!) would like to turn this into a recurring theme, they should TG me and we can try to have a meeting of the minds.
OOC: Oh, if only I had the time...

Lata's not so much a dragon-hater as someone who has had several deeply ingrained perceptions of the world taken to the cleaners. Ecopoeians (outside of the UN team) have no idea that dragons, elves and such exist.

She'll get over it.

The sounds of drumming and partying started from behind the far wall of the bar. A door, that no one would have spotted had they looked, flew open and the noise escalated.
Led by a triumphant drummer, flanked by two trumpeters, the whole gnome contigent marched in. What was peculiar was that many were dressed in aprons and had put special white hats on, with pans in one hand, a spatula in another, while the burliest ones bore in a large table, complete with gas cookers and several bowls of ingredients.
Around every gnome's neck and arms hung strings of beads. While the younger ones ran around the bar laughing and bedecking bemused UN members with beads, the older ones stood around the table, busily beating at mixing bowls.

Slipping in during the mayhem, a woman in what was definitely not UN suggested dress-code clothing, and a rather large mask covering her face, wandered up to who was evidentially the chief gnome.
Taking a string of beads from around her wrist she curtseyed and offered it to him, saying something drowned out by the trumpets. His reply was also inaudible, but he seemed pleased. She stood up and announced "The gnomes and I would like to wish you a happy Shrove Tuesday, and for those who wish to compete, a pancake tossing contest will be held in 5 minutes. At the end the gnomes would like to invite you to eat with them."
Having finished, the woman went and sat down at the bar.

"Naked pancake-tossing?" asked Dicey, hopefully.

"Sounds almost as amusing as humans with no clothes on trying to cook bacon," agreed Bast.

Dicey eyed him balefully. She sat back on the bar-stool, re-fastening the top two buttons of her robe.

"Fish is not the only thing that gets battered with a frying-pan," she muttered, subsiding into thoughts of vengeance.

Byron took hold of one of the shot glasses, the pads of his fingers touching the unusually strong containers hardening instantly to the texture of veteran guitar players fingers, but this would pass.
The liquid was clear to the point of twinkling and it hissed a little as the shot glasses began to succumb slowly.
He threw the contents into his mouth and was hit as if Gurgle had landed on him. He fell over and moved as if break dancing for roughly 5 minutes before crawling back up onto the barstool. The effects were really devastating as he hiccupped loudly. That’s going to hurt in the morning he laughed sheepishly to Neville and then winked at the woman who had just entered the bar. He spoke out loudly and brashly, "this fellow would have ye think I was a lowly old king but your pair o pancakes there are down right imperial."
Byron smiled drunkenly and turned to Bast. He pointed to his chest and said "Me" and then pointing to the cat’s unamused face he said "OW" and chuckled till he fell off the chair again.
Picking himself up again he suddenly sobered up again as was the way with the Poteen for those who were used to its powers. New drinkers were known to be inebriated for weeks after only one shot and it took many years to work up some sort of immunity. "Jesus!" he exclaimed. "That has left me absolutely ravenous. Any food around Neville?" he enquired as he turned and beckoned Dicey, Gaeblin and Johannes to take their glasses before they melted forcing a visit by the UN Gnome Hazmat team to the bar, to clean up the environmental disaster that would be eating through the bar and several UN Floors.

[snip]

Picking himself up again he suddenly sobered up again as was the way with the Poteen for those who were used to its powers. New drinkers were known to be inebriated for weeks after only one shot and it took many years to work up some sort of immunity. "Jesus!" he exclaimed. "That has left me absolutely ravenous. Any food around Neville?" he enquired as he turned and beckoned Dicey, Gaeblin and Johannes to take their glasses before they melted forcing a visit by the UN Gnome Hazmat team to the bar, to clean up the environmental disaster that would be eating through the bar and several UN Floors.

"Well, good chap," the dragon intoned, "I'm not sure about this very moment, but I have it on good authority that, very soon, there will be a vast quantity of food available, if you don't mind pancakes."

Gurgle turned back to his part of the bar.

"Perhaps you can help me on this one, Kaigan-san. What's a pancake and how does one eat it?"

---------------------------

OOC: In that case, Lata will probably enjoy the large, heart-shaped box
of chocolates that Gurgle has recently sent her.

"Gurgle san" Kaigan replies "its a western food made with wheat flour, eggs, fat and sugar.

They're consumed all year round but they signifigant today because today is the day before the Christian period of lent.

I know from school that lent lasts 40 days and at the end of this period is the Christian festival of Easter.

Traditionally the day before Ash Wednesday is called Marti-gras or fat tuesday because all fats and sweet foods had to be used up before lent started"

"Shrove comes from shriving, which is part of the religious aspect. It is more to do with the perishable nature off eggs and milk. Since my state is avowedly atheist however, it is merely a nod to our cultural history - and that of the gnomes of course.
Pancakes can be eaten in several ways, from the basic lemon and sugar, to fruit fillings, savory, or as the gnome masterchef is making - the one with the gold tassle, crepe suzette, which involves cooking the pancakes in an orange and brandy sauce.
Half-way through cooking a pancake is 'tossed' into the air, and hopefully lands upside down in the pan. The less-expert tossers lead to hilarious disasters, and races while tossing the pancake are also extremely enjoyable."

Laughing at Bast's rather disgruntled expression, Hodgelett, (for it was her), deftly relieved a gnome of a bottle of milk for him and placed a black cat mask over Dicey's head. "Naked, Dicey? Where's the fun of no clothes? Dressing up is far more enjoyable."

John piped in.. "No big deal about it is made up of it at home, but if you do follow it, then those that don't become your friend for a day." A broad smile came across his face as waited for the pancakes to be ready

Kaigan smiles slightly and says "I'll give some them a try" drinking more green tea.

"You have Pancake Tuesday here too? But I thought that was a celebration of the Flame, don't know what this 'Lent' business is," Johannes said, before tentatively sipping his Poteen.

"By Her Holiness," he gasped after recovering, "what is that?"

Gaeblyn sniffed at his colleague, before sculling the drink before him, whereupon he turned a strange shade of green, and ran to the nearest bathroom.

"Thank you, Kaigan-san," the dragon said. "I've studied Christianity--in fact, several of its sects can be found practicing within Dastardly Stench's borders.

"On the other hand," he continued, "I'm sorry, old chaps, but I'm going to have to decline participation in this one. Sugar and carbs don't agree with my reptilian metabolism. I'm afraid that even a daintiness spell couldn't keep a lid on it if I started eating them. I think I'll stick to the drink.

"Speaking of which, my barrel's dry again. Neville, could you prepare a small sample of that stuff that you made with the gloves on? It's piqued my curiosity."

The inner Neville tried to simultaneously sigh with relief (because Hodgelett's Gnomic utterances had led to such a harmless diversion) and gasp with horror (because he could foresee explosions if Gurgle drank the incredibly powerful poteen).

The resultant internal argument (he breathed his right lung in, his left lung out) brought on such a lack of oxygen that the Barlord began to topple forward over the bar.

Fortunately it was into Dicey's arms he toppled. Dicey's vigorous version of the resuscitation Kiss of Life shook him all about and he opened his eyes ...

Only to awaken to the assumption that he was being thoroughly kissed by Bast. Dicey had carried out a few minor magical improvements on the black-cat mask Hodgelett had given her, blending it with her skin and making it decidedly realistic.

Neville, though not unadventurous, preferred to deal with his romantic entanglements one at a time; same gender, different species was too much, too fast. Wriggling from the pseudo-Bast's embrace with a desperate "Squark!" he bounced off Byron's knee, righted himself by clutching the Hibernian's shoulder and helplessly propelled the pair of them directly towards the pancake-tossing Masterchef.
___________________________________

(OOC: Open invitation to RP what happens next, particularly Randomea and VL, whose characters are probably nearest to the action, and Dastardly Stench, since, for all I know, Gurgle's order may already have been filled by the unobtrusive Violet Bracket. Neville, however, is temporarily at anyone's command. No weapons, no deaths.)

Neville, though not unadventurous, preferred to deal with his romantic entanglements one at a time; same gender, different species was too much, too fast. Wriggling from the pseudo-Bast's embrace with a desperate "Squark!" he bounced off Byron's knee, righted himself by clutching the Hibernian's shoulder and helplessly propelled the pair of them directly towards the pancake-tossing Masterchef.
___________________________________

(OOC: Open invitation to RP what happens next, particularly Randomea and VL, whose characters are probably nearest to the action, and Dastardly Stench, since, for all I know, Gurgle's order may already have been filled by the unobtrusive Violet Bracket. Neville, however, is temporarily at anyone's command. No weapons, no deaths.)

OOC:

You really think that Gurgle has to drink the fire water to cause trouble? (Someday, I'm going to have to get in the back story of how Gurgle came to have Magic Farts and how he first used the talent to free a kingdom from the ravages of the evil Queen Analretentia and her horrible henchman, Pomposso. HINT: it involves a dungeon and a genie with a BAD sense of humor.) :) :) :)

You HADDA ask! Heh heh heh.

IC:

There was no time to do anything but react. They were out of range of the dragon's tail, and heading straight for the contest! The dragon had only one recourse to save the day: deflect them with a stream of gas. So that is what he tried to do.

In a flash, he had raised his tail and brought to bare

OOC:

YESSSSSSSS!!!

IC:

his Munitions of Mercy.

OOC:

YESSS! YESSSSS!!!!!

IC:

With expert speed and precision, he fired a blast that, landing dead on target, sent the two ballistic barlords off safely to the side, preventing, for the moment, their fates from being sealed. They landed safely, if a little shaken, on a couch beside the contest. And that was when the exercise in precision ended and the real fun began.

In his haste, the dragon had not had the time to set the spell that governed his emissions, and, as they spread out into the bar room after they had been emitted, the mistake quickly became obvious. This was pure, unchanneled magic, and, anywhere that it touched, its chaotic nature quickly came through. It didn't seem to affect anything living, but everything else seemed to be fair game.

Dicey found her robes had taken on a new hue--one that, for the sake of politeness, we shall refer to as "suddenly brown." The master chef's apron turned green, and his hat wilted on the top of his head. Worse still, the three pancakes nearest the incident instantly stood up in their frying pans and began running around in circles and screaming. The Master Chef's frying pan responded by closing itself on its contents with a resounding WHUNG!!! Reshaping itself like a mouth, it then proceeded to start talking to the Master Chef.

"So," it said, "what's a nice guy like you doing in a pit like this?"

"Oh no," the dragon said. "What have I DONE?!?!?"

-----------------------

OOC:

All others are welcome to role play additional Magic Changes and their side-effects. :) :) :) I will continue to have fun with this one for a while, and may resort to some minor godmodding, as I did with the Dicey and, I presume, Bast (wasn't sure who the second one was, that's why I didn't mention any names). You have been warned.

Kaigan had seen a lot in the UN and nothing surprised him now. All he did was raise an eyebrow.

However his teacup now had a face and was looking back at him smiling.

"Gurgle san" he replies "thats a good question. my tea cup is smiling back at me. it must like green tea as much as i do"

Byron Stood up and brushed his now glistening gold robes off. Looking around the room he spied new strange and weirdly sentient Pottery glassware and delph. "I hink your going to need a refit" he shouted to Neville on his way to the bar.
There was only one thing to do. He lay under the G39 tap and opening his mouth he asked "Fill it up old Boy". The tap winked at him and proceded to pour while Byron swallowed as fast as could.
Voilet Bracket fainted in the snug as she took the full blast of the Dragons Magical Odour.

Gaeblyn, having recovered - somewhat - from the Poteen, returned from the bathroom, to see... madness.

Colours, everywhere. Talking kitchenware. Johannes, now a resplendent shade of burgandy, appeared to be in a state of shock. But that was how he had always appeared, so no change there. Apart from the burgandy, of course.

The Acolyte of the Flame sat on a lilac barstool, then stood hurriedly as it walked over to converse with a table. "Get me some real Flamewater! And quickly!"

John's milk turned to cheese after Gurgles... "Magical" release... also his chair started to get... a bit active... ... It was giving him a massage. Too tired to really properly react. John called out.. "Hey can I get some Crackers over here... I have suddenly found myself in possesion of some cheese."

He looked into his mug and noticed that it was blue Vein cheese. One of his favourite types of non-block cheese.

Ooc: Sorry I was internet-less for a bit, getting drunk...er I mean shooting. Yeah, that.
It's never dull around here with you around, DS, is it? :D

Ic: Hodgelett was a little puzzled to find her beads turn into flowers, and her skirt was now made out of grass, fortunately it had not decreased in size as she had no intention of being arrested for indecent exposure. "Seems it's suddenly turned into a Luha." Looking around her she amended her conclusion "or just chaos."

King Byron's fall seemed to have been light on his royal prosteria, but heavy on his purse as the G2 tap acted more like an animated petrol pump from a television ad.

Several pancakes seemed to have read the tale of the gingerbread man or 'Johnny cake' as she'd heard it called somewhere, and hopefully would meet the same fate. It would be a shame to waste good pancakes.

The Gnome Master Chef however was another matter. Chefs have a wonderful reputation for stroppiness and a gnome is no exception. After throwing his frying-pan aside, not caring whether he hit anyone, he proceeded to utter what can only be assumed to be gnomish obscenities and started marching towards the person he held to blame - Gurgle. Considering Dastardly Stench and the Gnomes seemed to have good relations normally it was going to be an interesting conversation.
ooc: have fun DS!

ic: Violet seemed to have flicked the extractors on full as the magic seemed to have stopped spreading. However, it occured to Hodgelett that Neville was nowhere in her line of sight. Then out of the corner of her eye she spotted him...held by his apron strings by a mischievous lamp, deciding to make use of its 'arms'. "Dicey or Bast, can't one of you do something? Gurgle looks like he's got his paws full."
Bast was sitting pretty smugly as his permanant 'nakedness' had rendered him immune, even if his favourite bowl had turned into a crystal ashtray. Obviously some witty remark was on the cards.

Alfred carefully released his glass, which had turned into a glass butterfly and was flapping its wings vigorously, making sure that its most likely flightpath would be away from his female companion.

OOC:

Randomea: Alright, Mr. Cheney, we believe you. SUUUUUUURE we do!

Everyone: I am deeply honored and humbled that you've taken my idea in so many original directions. Going to have to set some rules, though...

Rule One: Gurgle is fair game. If I can mess with Dicey and Bast, it would be hypocritical of me to hold Gurgle off limits. So...he's not!

Rule Two...will be explained...

IC:

"Look on the bright side, Kaigan-san," Gurgle returned, breaking away from the gnome, "at least it doesn't have--uh ohhhh." As the dragon spoke the words, the smile on that wonderful Mr. Kaigan's teacup changed to razor-sharp saw teeth.

"Wait a minute...if it changes when I start to...then it would really look better if it had no teeth and lipstick around the rim." It didn't change. "Hmmm. Only one change to a customer. Well...it's a good thing that there's none of the original cloud left. If there was, who knows, it could settle in and make the change." And then the cup had no teeth and lipstick around the rim.

"I've got it," Gurgle said. "It's just plain wild, unformed magic. If you think something, it does it temporarily. If you tell it something, it does it permanently...and doing something permanently uses up the magic. How terribly interresting. It would be even more interesting if some more of the unused cloud would turn poor Miss Dicey's garb to her favorite shade of blue." In a moment, it was done.

"Kaigan-san," the dragon said, "I think the problem is solved."

The gnome, angered at having been ignored, sputtered something in his native tongue, to which Gurgle replied directly. In a moment, a blue streak ran all the way down from the top of his head to the bottom of his apron. The gnome said something else, and, for a moment, a cloud seemed to form around the dragon's posterior. The gnome then left, a sadistic smile playing upon his lips.

"Oh dear," the dragon said. "Kaigan-san, do you know of any remedies for constipation? I don't need one now, but something tells me that, before too long, ..."

OOC:

It doesn't seem to matter what language the words are spoken in...

leaving his tea until the magic finally settles down Kaigan replies to Gurgle saying "I know off medicines that will cure it but i'm not sure what dose you'll need"

Just as John's crackers arrived so did the cheese revert to its original milk form.

"oh... Well." he said as he started munching on the cheese-less crackers and then drinking some milk.

"I don't know much about doctoring... but wouldn't the medicine needed for Gurgle be different to us humans. Since, you know, he is a reptile after all."

John quickly finished his crackers

"If Gurgle is right, all you have to do is say to your milk "turn into cheese!" or just order some from Neville." She changed her mind as she looked at the still-hanging barlord. "If you want faster service I suggest Violet."

"Time to test this out..." Hodgelett looked at the lamp and concentrated. Slowly the lamp began to stretch downwards, lowering Neville down slowly. His shirt also happened to unbutton itself for some reason, although why a lamp would have interest in a human...or shirt is anyone's guess.

Byron looked up momentarilly from his rapid consumption of G39 and looked around the bar. Suddenly both Violet and Lady Sophia were dressed in black satin lingerie. He beamed from ear to ear with the impish look of a mischievious boy. The Tap Intervened. "Round 2 old boy?". "Dont mind if I do!", Byron replied as he lay back getting comfortable.
"Thank the stars for Gurgles Majic bottom". cleared his lips before G39 poured past in the opposite direction.

*Wallace enters quietly as always and finds what has come to be his prefered, secluded table* *Settles into his chair and orders some tea before pulling out a book and resuming his reading*

The glass butterfly (which was formerly a glass of whiskey) flutters over to Bast and begins to circle his head...

A lazy twitch of one ear deterred the butterfly, causing, for all Bast knew or cared, earthquakes in a parallel world. The Cat had no time for chaos theory; he was far too busy with chaos fact. As usual, it centred on Dicey.

Recognising that she was unlikely to ever have such a chance again, the red-head had tapped directly into the once-in-a-lifetime concentration of wild magic. It was an irresistible opportunity to try out some of the Impossible Spells -- the ones the theorists at Ardchoille University deemed unachievable these days, owing to the wanton depletion of the Earth's natural magical layers by previous generations' misuse of now-banned F & SF plot twists.

At this very instant, if he was not mistaken, Bast could see that her fingers were moving in the first ominous gestures of Scattergood's Last Sp--.

I know what you're up to, Dicey, he warned telepathically. One millimetre more and I'll turn you into the lead singer in a born-again Christian rock group!

Dicey looked rebellious and crooked her little finger.

The teetotal lead singer!

Her ring finger followed.

The teetotal lead singer in a born-again Christian rock group who is saving herself for marriage!

Dicey pouted, uncurled her hands and began using them instead to teach the pet goat that Brother Tim of Findhorn kept downstairs at the bar how to knit itself from its own hair.

Relieved, Bast turned to see what he could do about Neville's plight, just in time to see Hodgelett's magic take effect. The scene seemed oddly familiar, somehow. The Randomean delegate was her beautiful self, but she looked to Bast's magical senses like a small green ball, hurling green globs of gunge at her target with a single grey hand.

But it worked, and by the time Bast could get there Neville and the lamp were getting on brilliantly. " ... One, but the lightbulb has got to really want to change," Neville was saying as the great Cat reached the pair.

With both threats dealt with, Bast turned to draw breath -- just in time to see the gnome's parting gift to Gurgle. He hurried to the soon-to-be-stricken dragon's side.

"Gurgle, I have to ask you a very personal question," Bast gasped. "Were you ever, at any time in your earlier life, painfully, undeservedly and extremely, er, blocked?"

Like all Cats, he found such matters difficult to speak of, preferring to bury the topic in well-dug pits of politeness, but this was no time for discretion. Gurgle faced a dire emergency.

"Why, yes!" agreed the dragon. "It was the morning after ... what you would think of as my eighteenth birthday. I'd expected to wake up with a hangover, but instead -- oh, my! Vesuvius!"

Bast nodded. "So it worked, then. Good."

His audience looked puzzled.

"You have to understand, Gurgle, I'm not like a human magician," Bast explained. "They have to study to learn how to call up magic and shape it. For them it's a form of energy. Their spells are like a carefully built electrical appliance, and the magic is the electricity that makes it go -- if they don't overload it and blow the circuits." The dragon nodded attentively; the explanation confirmed everything he had discovered of magical theory.

"I'm not one of their magical toasters, though," Bast continued. "What I am is a Magical Creature. It is my element. I swim in it like, like ... like a dolphin in UN-protected international waters used to do." He licked the back of a paw nervously, then resumed.

"As does the gnome," he said. "Now, I can't stop the gnome causing currents in the water, any more than he can stop me. So I can't undo the ill-wishing he's put upon you."

"But I thought you were going to help me," said the mighty dragon, pitifully. "I couldn't go through that again, Bast, I really couldn't."

"You won't have to, you already have," Bast reassured him. "See, what I'm going to do is swim across the gnome's current; deflect his with mine."

"Deflect it where?" Gurgle demanded.

"You'll see. Watch," Bast said. He arranged himself in classic Egyptian cat-god pose, front legs twin pillars, tail curled neatly around and across the paws, head raised imperially. The almond eyes widened, widened; then blinked once.

This time the streak was green, and ice formed briefly at the base of the dragon's tail.

"All done! And we know it worked because you told me it did, all those years ago," Bast said.

"You deflected the gnome's curse to the past?" ventured Gurgle.

"Exactly!" beamed Bast. "He did curse you, and you did suffer, poor fellow; but the suffering's all over, it's in the past, it's already happened and you don't have to go through the lest twinge of it again!"

"Thank you," Gurgle said, with sincere but puzzled gratitude. He snatched a handful of beer coasters and began scribbling formulae on them. No mere space-time anomaly was going to escape his questing intellect!

"Gurgle, I have to ask you a very personal question," Bast gasped. "Were you ever, at any time in your earlier life, painfully, undeservedly and extremely, er, blocked?"

Like all Cats, he found such matters difficult to speak of, preferring to bury the topic in well-dug pits of politeness, but this was no time for discretion. Gurgle faced a dire emergency.

"Why, yes!" agreed the dragon. "It was the morning after ... what you would think of as my eighteenth birthday. I'd expected to wake up with a hangover, but instead -- oh, my! Vesuvius!"

Bast nodded. "So it worked, then. Good."

His audience looked puzzled.

"You have to understand, Gurgle, I'm not like a human magician," Bast explained. "They have to study to learn how to call up magic and shape it. For them it's a form of energy. Their spells are like a carefully built electrical appliance, and the magic is the electricity that makes it go -- if they don't overload it and blow the circuits." The dragon nodded attentively; the explanation confirmed everything he had discovered of magical theory.

"I'm not one of their magical toasters, though," Bast continued. "What I am is a Magical Creature. It is my element. I swim in it like, like ... like a dolphin in UN-protected international waters used to do." He licked the back of a paw nervously, then resumed.

"As does the gnome," he said. "Now, I can't stop the gnome causing currents in the water, any more than he can stop me. So I can't undo the ill-wishing he's put upon you."

"But I thought you were going to help me," said the mighty dragon, pitifully. "I couldn't go through that again, Bast, I really couldn't."

"You won't have to, you already have," Bast reassured him. "See, what I'm going to do is swim across the gnome's current; deflect his with mine."

"Deflect it where?" Gurgle demanded.

"You'll see. Watch," Bast said. He arranged himself in classic Egyptian cat-god pose, front legs twin pillars, tail curled neatly around and across the paws, head raised imperially. The almond eyes widened, widened; then blinked once.

This time the streak was green, and ice formed briefly at the base of the dragon's tail.

"All done! And we know it worked because you told me it did, all those years ago," Bast said.

"You deflected the gnome's curse to the past?" ventured Gurgle.

"Exactly!" beamed Bast. "He did curse you, and you did suffer, poor fellow; but the suffering's all over, it's in the past, it's already happened and you don't have to go through the lest twinge of it again!"

"Thank you," Gurgle said, with sincere but puzzled gratitude. He snatched a handful of beer coasters and began scribbling formulae on them. No mere space-time anomaly was going to escape his questing intellect!

It wasn't that it was an anomaly, precisely...but that it was a repeatable phenominon. More to the point, it was describable. It was like a Fast Fourier Transform--a group of reasonable assumptions that could be used to limit the complexity of a vastly complex system of actions and reactions.

Gurgle was well-versed on theories like Special Relativity and Universal Strings. What he had failed to grasp was how magic worked within these theories.

The universe, theory holds, is the collision of no less than twelve time-space dimensions. By manipulating the dimensions, it was possible to set up bubble universes, like the Magical Realm. When Bast said that he swam in magic, it had occurred to Gurgle that he was actually being honest--that magic itself was the controlled interchange of these dimensions, and that, through some grand scheme of nature, Bast was able to percieve and directly manipulate them on a limited basis.

To help keep his theory safe from prying eyes, Gurgle scribbled his formulae in Old Silmaril, an extinct tongue once used by a group of Mountain Elves. Another advantage or the tongue was that it used base-12 arythmatic, so that fractions of three were non-repeating decimals.

If he was right, he could use the wattage of his brain as an inducer. He'd have to get it just right, though. It could be dangerous if he didn't control the reaction.

The dragon closed his eyes and relaxed. In a moment, the bar around him was gone, replaced by the inner peace of his Still Spot. Then, he concentrated. The genie had left a spell within him. When it had spawned other spells without being used up itself, Gurgle knew that it would be detectable. Sure enough, the dragon could feel the magic within himself--not as something harmful, but certainly as something foreign. Concentrating, he found himself in contact with it, not expanding it, but warping the world to bring it into sharper focus. Then, all that was left was to bring about a controlled use of the stuff.

The Master Chef Dwarf's eyes went wide as the spell appeared. He had been trying to quiet the frying pan in front of him for some time now, but all that he had succeeded in doing was getting it to stop speaking and start flopping about like a fish out of water. Gurgle changed that. He set the frying pan right. Then, her released the spell, carefully restoring the dimensions to the way they were before he began his meditation.

The Dwarf turned around to stare at the dragon, but, after a moment, merely turned away in disgust. He picked his frying pan back up.

"That was interesting," he said. "How long was I gone?"

Johannes, gradually de-burgundifying, decided against taking another sip of the Poteen, if that was the result.

"I suppose," he said, addressing Byron, "that I should return the... honour... of national drinks. Barman! Could you please get a bottle of Flamewater, and," counting the people around him, "four glasses."

As the magic's effects fade away the glass butterfly reverts to being a drinking glass half-filled with whiskey, and drops down...


_____________________________________________________

OOC: Take it from there, anybody who wants to...

his tea cup now restored to its normal state Kaigan drinks more tea before it goes cold.

"lifes never dull here" he says to no one in particular.

"Damnit", Otterby exclaimed with barely suppressed fury, "all that magicking around and all we get is whiskey. Why couldn't it turn into Guinness"?

He still drank it any way, as his mother had taught him: 'The smart otter picks the twig in summer for the autumn nesting den'.

Or something along those lines.

Dicey snaffled Otterby's glass the minute he finished drinking. It had once been a glass butterfly; its atoms might still retain the memory of the shape. The creature had been so beautiful, it was worth a bit of time experimenting to see if she could breed more. What an ornament it would be to the fields and forests of Ardchoille! Believing herself unobserved, she slipped it into her handbag.

"Expecting a butterfly to emerge from the crystal-is, Dicey?" murmured Neville.

It had been a long, hard day, and the pun had been dreadful, but Dicey really shouldn't have gone off and left the Bar staff to deal with what she'd done with the last, tiniest bit of residual magic.

Nonetheless, once Neville and Violet had managed to distribute nets to all present, several delegates quite enjoyed trapping their drinks on the wing. There was some agitation to make it a permanent feature of the Bar, but Violet firmly put a stop to that.

"I will not have you encouraging bar-flies!" she said, flapping her apron.

Nobody was quite brave enough to ask who the 'you' was, or whom the 'bar-flies' referred to, either. Subdued, Neville and the customers resumed their usual activities.

"You're too late, Miss Violet," the dragon said.

She did not answer. The dragon's expression changed to one of concern.

"Miss Violet, can you hear me?" he asked. Again, no response.

"Oh dear. Kaigan-san, can YOU hear me?" No answer.

"Drat. I must've shifted myself into an adjecent dimension when I worked that last spell!" To test this, Gurgle reached out for his pen. Sure enough, his tongue went straight through the pen and the table on which it was lieing.

"I'm going to have to straighten this out!" he exclaimed.

And he began to concentrate.

------------------------------

WARNING: If you thought the Sorcerer's Apprentice was bad, you should try The Thing That Learned Magic the Hard Way... :) :) :)

This is your chance to get even with me for godmodding. Gurgle is now officially fair game.

"Drat. I must've shifted myself into an adjecent dimension when I worked that last spell!" To test this, Gurgle reached out for his pen. Sure enough, his tongue went straight through the pen and the table on which it was lieing.

"I'm going to have to straighten this out!" he exclaimed.

And he began to concentrate.

"Who the bloody hell's talking", muttered Otterby turning round and spotting the large figure of the dragon leaning over the table, "Gurgle, why are you sticking your tongue through a pen".

Bemused, Otterby reached for his Guinness glass, only to discover to his horror that his hand went through it and that he too, like Gurgle, had mysteriously entered an adjacent dimension.

"Wait Gurgle", he said, grabbing the dragon's wing, "have you stopped to think what might happened if you try and re-align the dimensions".

"Who the bloody hell's talking", muttered Otterby turning round and spotting the large figure of the dragon leaning over the table, "Gurgle, why are you sticking your tongue through a pen".

Bemused, Otterby reached for his Guinness glass, only to discover to his horror that his hand went through it and that he too, like Gurgle, had mysteriously entered an adjacent dimension.

"Wait Gurgle", he said, grabbing the dragon's wing, "have you stopped to think what might happened if you try and re-align the dimensions".

"Why, Mr. Otterby!" the dragon exclaimed. "I didn't know that you'd come along for the ride! This changes things! I can't allow YOU to be harmed by my misdeeds! My body could probably stand up to a great deal of punishment as I tried to get home--but I could never expect a human to be subjected to the same forces! It wouldn't be fair!"

"On the brighter side, though, the theory seems to work!"

"Do you think we can contact Bast? He seems to have more experience in this interdimensional thing than I do."

------------------

OOC:

Now, if John could go along for the ride and have his hand go through his beer glass, that would be an awesome next step in the running gag.

Dastardly Stench']"Why, Mr. Otterby!" the dragon exclaimed. "I didn't know that you'd come along for the ride! This changes things! I can't allow YOU to be harmed by my misdeeds! My body could probably stand up to a great deal of punishment as I tried to get home--but I could never expect a human to be subjected to the same forces! It wouldn't be fair!"

"On the brighter side, though, the theory seems to work!"

"Do you think we can contact Bast? He seems to have more experience in this interdimensional thing than I do."

"Please, by all means try Bast, I'm sure he'd understand this far more than I would, though that isn't saying much as I'm completely disorientated. Has this happened to him before"?

At this point a glowing violet aura surrounded Otterby and he began to levitate a few centimetres off the ground. Otterby took a look at himself and then said as evenly as he could manage:

"Gurgle, is there something else I ought to know about this adjacent dimension business"?

"It's keyed to the impulses of your brain," the dragon replied. "Just concentrate on staying where you are and you should be fine." Then he began to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"Now, let's see...Bast...Bast. Oh dear. I don't think I'm going to be able to do this unaided. I'm going to need more magical power!" He stood up for a moment and, with a thunderous flatch, summoned some more "mojo." It wasn't long before had an aura all his own. "Now...Bast, if you can understand this message, Mr. Otterby and I are trapped in an adjacent dimension and need a means of egress. Can you help?"

as long as i can still piss in th corner what do i give a f (ignore this) ((sounds of running water is heard between songs being played by Kings of Leon))

http://www.kingsofleon.com/kolflash.html

"Can you see that?"

Neville, who had just removed a drunken underaged student who had somehow sneaked in wearing ID belonging to the Pissedoffwhitemen delegation, was too distracted to pay attention to Bast's question. The minor affray had put such terrible creases in his new brocade waistcoat.

Bast, however, was nothing if not persistent.

"Look!" he commanded, addressing the bar at large. "There's a sign there, just above the table where Gurgle and Otterby were sitting."

"The one that says, This Way To The Egress?" asked Violet.

Bast nodded hopefully.

"Not interested," yawned Violet. "I've already seen an Egress."

The Ardchoille Cat was baffled. You'd almost think the appearance of a sign floating in the air with nothing to hold it up was commonplace in the Bar. Yet most of the magic nations' delegates took care to restrain their powers in the UN building, fearing an interview with the Building Manager and his gnomic enforcers far more than anything their own governments might do.

So-o-o, Bast reasoned, the sign had to come from a Magical Creature. Nobody expected them to restrain their powers, since they acted merely by existing. But the only Magical Creatures around at the moment were himself and Gurgle.

Hang on, Gurgle wasn't around. His pen was on the table, though, as was Otterby's Guinness.

Gurgle would never willingly have left his pen; it was a symbol of some honour Bast had never quite understood, though it evidently meant a lot to the dragon. And to imagine that Otterby, or, indeed, anyone, would choose to leave a Guinness undrunk was a thought too shocking to contemplate.

"They're still here, then."

Deep in thought, Bast walked to the spot at which the sign was pointing, extended a single claw and scribed the shape of a door on the nearby wall. After a bit of decorative fiddling, he reached down and opened it.

"Care to step through, Mr Otterby?"

As the Compadrian delegate stood undecided on the threshold, Gurgle's head snaked around him and through the opening.

It was an odd scene. Otterby, hesitating until somebody made his mind up by writing him a plot-developing, non-godmoding post, could be seen quite clearly, though a little transparently.

Gurgle, however, was quite naturalistically solid -- as far as his shoulders. The rest of him simply disappeared at the door frame.

"Well, at least I can have a drink while we work out what to do next," he said philosophically. "Obviously I can't fit through the door. Incidentally, Bast, it's a very odd door. Why did you put that crescent moon cut-out at the top?"

"I had to. It's positional magic," Bast explained, indicating the matching doors on either side, with their stylised 'male' and 'female' silhouettes. "That's why I couldn't make the door big enough for you to get through, Gurgle. It just wouldn't have been logical there."

There were some in the Bar who might have questioned this line of reasoning, on the grounds that the door Bast had made wasn't logical, either. But the regulars had learned that too much questioning of events slowed down the drinking something fierce.

With only four more days to go to St Patrick's Day, it just wasn't worth the risk.

"Ah Bast, you've saved us", exclaimed Otterby with a sort of wretched joy and he then flung himself weeping upon the startled cat.

"Yes, there there Leonard, nothing to be worried about", Anthony Holt chimed in, "you've had a nasty shock, that's all. Is there any reason why he's still transparent".

"Oh that's nothing unusual", replied Bast, though his voice was somewhat muffled by the figure of Otterby, "it'll wear off in couple of days, but from this point onwards he'll probably remain prone to bouts of transparency every now and again".

"Shouldn't we cordon off that table", Gurgle butted in.

"Splendid idea", chimed Neville and walked over to the table in question and placed a large 'Beware Of The Egress" sign, next to it.

All this distraction had left the gnome contingent rather annoyed as people had tried to use pancakes to bring down the glass butterflies instead of the rather more useful game of tossing.
However, they'd had a competition amongst themselves and the Head Chef was declared the winner - doing a three pancake toss with a pan flip and a mid-air sauce drizzle on the third toss.
Somewhat mollified, and his hat returned to normal the Head Chef dished up a last serving of three types of pancakes. On the far left pile he set out a savory filling of green Tie curried peppers and vegetables, with a meat option. In the middle the pancakes were dusted with fine icing sugar. On the right Guinness and orange juice had been simmered to form a rich deep orange sauce.
The King Gnome stood up from his portable throne, bowed to the room, gave a stern look at the overuse of magic in Gurgle, Dicey and Bast's direction, then waddled off.

That the gnomes knew how to release Gurgle was a reasonable suspicion. No-one would dare ask them though, would they?

Jason burst through the door in a rush, No one really knew why, it was unlike Jason to be in a rush for anything. He quickly got to the bar, ordered his Forhey's in a rush, and before his Forhey's was done, he ran off looking for the Gent's toilet. However instead he found the door that Bast had made in the Wall, he ran through that and slightly disturbingly found himself back in the room he thought he'd left. He was nearly about to burst... Why did he have to buy thise 12-pack of Soda's. Anyway he quickly spotted the real toilets and made his way to them.

After releiving himself he felt like he was leviating, there was someone washing their hands in the toilet and instead of starting another tap he used the one already running. He went to shake the water of his hands but realised his hands where bone dry. "Uh... what's going on? said as the man who was washing his hands turned off the tap and left... no response.

"Okay...." Jason said as he made his way out of the Toilet and into the Bar.

"Now I'll be able to enjoy my Forhey's... now that Johanna is not here."

With the calm of a steamhammer, Gurgle said something just barely intelligable. The Cheif Chef Gnome took notice, however, and issued a heated reply. They continued to exchange words--Gurgle speaking calmly and the gnome becoming a little angrier each time he spoke. Finally, the gnome clenched his fist, and lightning arced around his hand as he held it up.

This caused the King Gnome to enter into the argument. With his security contingent. In a moment, the Chief Chef Gnome found himself encased in a rectangular glass room, his spell unable to reach through the walls. He roared, but then shook his head and lowered his hand. Gurgle spoke, again politely and calmly, to the King Gnome, who replied in an equally calm and serious manner.

"If you insist," the dragon said.

There was a soft flatulent noise. It seemed muffled, as if it came from another room.

"Now," the dragon said, "what we really need here is for this doorway, door and all, to temporarily--oh, for about a minute or so--become large enough for me to, shall we say, pass through it, and for the door itself to, shall we say, pass through anything that it would otherwise have knocked over. He was using his personal magic in the way that he had observed earlier on.

The door did as the dragon had specified, and it only took a moment for him to reenter the room, stepping carefully over Bast and Otterby as he did so. Then, the doorway shrunk back down to size.

"Now, the only thing that we've got to worry about is what would happen if there was some left over..."

The Chief Chef Gnome spoke again, and, with a resounding "poof," a cloud over Gurgle's back end suddenly blackened. Before the poor dragon could get out of its way, a bolt of lightning cracked (OOC: pun intended IC:) into a rather sensative portion of his anatomy. The dragon shrieked.

"Spanky spanky," the gnome said, a thick accent showing that English was not a tongue that came easily to him. Then he said something else, which caused the dragon to grumble, "Bad pun. Bad!"

A flower in a large pot to the left, which had suddenly developed eyes, nose and a mouth, looked up at him.

"What pun was that?" it asked.

"He said that the situation had been rectified."

The door returned to its original size, and Gurgle, glad that this episode was coming to an end, closed it.

"Gurgle!" Hodgelett yelled, but it was too late. The Bazlonian was stuck on the otherside quite unaware what was going on. He must have slipped through during the gnomes' argument, and was now quite stuck - and unable to hear that he was in the wrong dimension.
"This is going to drag on for a long time I fear."

There was a spluttering sound and everyone looked at Gurgle. How ever it was only the sound of the Happy Tap running dry.
"Sorry about that old chap" the Tap said winking at Byron who was still in a horizontal position under it. "It appears I need a refill" and with that the Tap changed back into its normal form.
Byron was in another dimention. one of the beer sozzled mind and the room was running round him in large sweeping circles. It had been quite some time since he had emptied a whole Keg of Guiness Brew 39 and was thinking quite clearly although clearly sozzled.
He swaggered over to Gurgle bouncing off Bast and pinching Violets bottom with a cheeky wink on the way.
"Yesh Knowsh, Ive been chinking abou me buddy the tap chap and it seemsh to me that, ............ *Insert pause and byrons facial expression changes to What am i doing here before suddenly looking enlightened and remembering*....The tap there was only useful to me while it could serve me Guinnesh and as soon as it was no longer ushfull it reverberated, no retorted ish no, reverted even to its natural state. Ah yes I will mourn the loss of a true friend. Turning to Voilet he Yelled "Why do the good die Young?" and he threw his arms around her ensuring to pinch her gently on the Bottom again.

John sighed, it seemed that Jason was always go himself into situations that he did not understand.

John guot and and his Mobile phone rang... It was Johanna. Jason had left "to go to the toilet" and had not return. She thought he might have gone down to the Bar.

"I'll go get him, We both better get back to work anyway."

John went through the magic door and got Jason to follow him and head back to work.

"See you all later." John exclaimed as he and Jason left.

ooc: hooray for discontinuity...and that's a tricky word to spell...

"IF THERE'S ANYONE ELSE ON THAT SIDE OF THE DOOR, PLEASE COME BACK THROUGH SO I CAN CLOSE IT!" the dragon called out.

Soon after he spoke, a flood of flightless fairies surged through the door, chattering amongst themselves as they surged through. The flow died down, utnil, finally, one last fairy walked through, stubbed its toe on the door, turned, shook its fist at the poor thing, and ran sobbing out of the room.

"I certainly hope that was everyone," Gurgle said with a sigh.

Neville pouted. He'd been looking forward to teasing Jason. He'd planned to make the glass of Forhey's look even more irresistible than usual -- he'd even been going to use the glass with the Forhey's crest, and put those fake glycerine drops they used in the commercials on it so it'd look even colder than it was -- and then keep handing it to Jason and watching his other-dimensional hand pass right through it.

But now Jason was back in the right dimension and hauled off by the strong, stern call of duty -- or by John, whose encouraging grip on his henchman's upper arm had seemed persuasive bordering on custodial. The flood of flightless fairies had slowed to a trickle (nice name, that: Trickle), the gnomic pancake-makers had tossed their parting pikelet and the St Patrick's Day celebrations had gone rather low-key, owing to Byron's apparently having passed out in Violet's arms. Even Gurgle seemed subdued.

"So," Neville began, adddressing Bast, "you were saying ...?"

Bast looked blank.

Neville sighed. A Barlord was supposed to be the recipient of confidences, the listening ear into which maudlin regrets could be poured, the fount of all gossip. Cats like Bast made life difficult.

"About Dicey," Neville encouraged. "You know ... UNOG ... a bad influence?"

"Oh, that. Yeah. She's gone all serious since she got mixed up with that lot. You know," continued the Cat, "a bunch of guys were fighting off the mutants in the UN basement the other day -- just for fun, like, to pass the time -- and she came out and yelled at them? Said some people had proposals to write, thank you very much, and if they couldn't keep the noise down she'd complain to the Building Management. If the Building Management hadn't been right there in the thick of it I don't know what would've happened." He sighed.

"It's a shame they have to grow up," the Cat mourned. "Humans are so cute when they're little."

Hodgelett realised she was still dressed in her Shrove Tuesday costume. Muttering some excuse she walked rather quickly into the Ladies' and emerged 5 or so minutes later in more traditional attire.
After checking her gadget she noticed that the airwaves were focused on the trade union proposal. "Very interesting, just been reading a paper on trade unions, public disorder and protest rights in the light of rather recent strikes by students not wanting to work for the government when they graduate."
Closing her gadget she added "well that's enough politics for today, I've got the rest of the day off. You've better not turned anything green unless it's got blue curaco or midori in it Neville!"

"Come on Byron, have another refill, you're still far too sober", remarked Otterby rather acidly (yet with a degree of friendly fondness) to the still maudlin figure of the King of Venerable Libertarians. "At this rate, you won't have a hangover in the morning and what would the world be coming to then, eh?"

Dastardly Stench']Soon after he spoke, a flood of flightless fairies surged through the door, chattering amongst themselves as they surged through. The flow died down, utnil, finally, one last fairy walked through, stubbed its toe on the door, turned, shook its fist at the poor thing, and ran sobbing out of the room.


Alfred's female companion (OOC: whom I'll introduce now, as he doesn't seem to be getting around to doing so... She's his wife, Lady Elizabeth Hilda Tanaquil Weorthing-Sweynsson, who's actually a member of Godwinnia's diplomatic corps and is observing the NSUN for her homeland's government...) looked at the fairies in amusement, but then a worried expression crossed her face.
"Oh dear," she remarked. "Aren't those gremlins?"

Ambassador Lane barges in, waving her hair like she just don't care.

"It passed! Anyone for a drink? I'll pay for it, and then I'm going on strike to get wages that allow me to pay for your drinks!"

"I didn't turn anything green," Neville answered, looking rather worriedly at the welcoming glass of sherry he had been pouring for Lady Elizabeth.

His attention switched to the waving mane of Ambassador Lane.

"I didn't know Lane was an Irish name," he mused. "The colour suits you, though. I suppose it's just sprayed on? It'd be a bit -- well, you know -- after St Paddy's Day. Green looks good on you, too," he added, turning to Hodgelett and running his eyes appreciatively over her 'more traditional' attire. "But then, anything would."

His comments collected some rather odd stares from the clientele. But he paid them no heed; his Barlordian instinct was worrying away at something Lady Elizabeth had said.

Gremlins? But he'd always been so careful! She must have been mistaken. He didn't want to think about the alternative. Not when he imagined what the Building Management would say about having to get pest exterminators in to decontaminate the whole UN building from basement to roof. Especially with the mutants already a bit upset.

No, they were simply flightless fairies from another dimension. The sort of thing that could happen to anyone. She must have been mistaken.

He poured congratulatory drinks for all on the Groot Gouda tab and wondered if he should give Violet the rest of the night off. She'd want to celebrate the Triumph of the Workers in proper fashion. Though singing The Red Flag in three-part harmony wasn't his idea of celebration.

Alfred's female companion (OOC: whom I'll introduce now, as he doesn't seem to be getting around to doing so... She's his wife, Lady Elizabeth Hilda Tanaquil Weorthing-Sweynsson, who's actually a member of Godwinnia's diplomatic corps and is observing the NSUN for her homeland's government...) looked at the fairies in amusement, but then a worried expression crossed her face.
"Oh dear," she remarked. "Aren't those gremlins?"

"No," Gurgle replied, "just a bunch of brownies having a bad day. The gremlins never left the bar.

"Neville, could you prepare a large bowl of beef stew for our friends? On my tab, of course."

Shortly after Gurgle finished speaking, all the cieling lights burned out at the same time.

"You see," Gurgle said, "brownies are sort of a countermanding force to gremlins."

Sure enough, even as he was explaining, the brownies found some string, hurled it into the light fixtures and began climbing up to the ceiling, carrying new bulbs for the lights.

Byron was in a deep coma. His mind portrayed a misty scene where the Emperor Walked among trees to a clearing where a group of stange looking folk in weird garb had assembled. A huge fish called the Congregation to order as Byron strolled to the dolmen shaped podium. The crowd of creatures hushed down ready and waiting the Hibernian Emperors address.
"Weird folk of the forrest, I walk in your domain to convey greetings. Your time is past and the clearing shall be no more." A portal developed in the middle of the clearing and the weird folk walked into the light.

Byrons eyes flickered open. after a couple of moments where he gathered his senses he exclaimed "WOW! what a mad dream." Or was it?

The Compadrian helped a glass to Byrons hand and he swallowed the drink down and called for another. Violet obliged and returned with a glass of G39 and scornfully warned "You are taking it easy today!" some what worried that he had suffered some brain damage.

He poured congratulatory drinks for all on the Groot Gouda tab

St Edmund's vote having been cast against Groot Gouda's proposal, Alfred and Elizabeth agree with each other that it wouldn't be right for them to participate in this round of drinks at that nation's expense...

Dastardly Stench']"No," Gurgle replied, "just a bunch of brownies having a bad day. The gremlins never left the bar." Shortly after Gurgle finished speaking, all the ceiling lights burned out at the same time.

"You see," Gurgle said, "brownies are sort of a countermanding force to gremlins."

Sure enough, even as he was explaining, the brownies found some string, hurled it into the light fixtures and began climbing up to the ceiling, carrying new bulbs for the lights.

"Ah, I see," Elizabeth replied. "We have a few brownies around back home on Godwinnia, too, but they're a bit larger and a lot shyer about being seen by strangers... and, well, brownish, rather than bright green like these ones."
She paused.
"Or is it that that isn't their natural colour? Have they, perchance, changed it for St Patrick's Day?"

St Edmund's vote having been cast against Groot Gouda's proposal, Alfred and Elizabeth agree with each other that it wouldn't be right for them to participate in this round of drinks at that nation's expense...

Otterby of course having voted in favour of the proposal, quaffed his complimentary drink happily, yet he felt a slight unease when he saw that written on the underside of his beer mat were the words:

"First general meeting of the Gnomish Workers Union (GWU), tonight at 8:00 P.M., gnomes of the world unite!".

Otterby of course having voted in favour of the proposal, quaffed his complimentary drink happily, yet he felt a slight unease when he saw that written on the underside of his beer mat were the words:

"First general meeting of the Gnomish Workers Union (GWU), tonight at 8:00 P.M., gnomes of the world unite!".


Alfred saw Otterby's worried expression, and checked the underside of another beer mat where he found the same message.

"But are the resolutions that the UN passes to affect its member-nations' behaviour actually binding on its central secretariat as well?" he mused, thinking that this was a point which he'd better have his mission's legal adviser check...

"Oh well, if the gnomes are mistreated, they should stand up for their rights." said Mrs Lane haugtily. "And Alfred, Elizabeth, do have a drink. I insist. Do they still sell those fine Ecopoeian stouts?".

Lane sat down and took off her green scarf. She took the favourite spot of the Gouda ambassador, a cosy corner next to a beautiful stained glass. The floor still showed the repairs of two years ago, when a small meteorite crashed into the bar, although most dismiss this as a drink-induced hallucination.

Gremlins, eh? She thought. Just now I used all my animal-friendly traps to get rid of the mice. I'll be getting questions about my declaration forms now...

Having read the message, Otterby turned round to see a small cluster of gnomes distributing pamphlets to the regulars of the Strangers Bar. Taking one, he turned it over to see that it said:

"WE the gnomish employees of the U.N, toiling with the use of our labour to be destined to the serving of others.

DECLARE that unless we are granted rights equal to all other workers in equivalent positions, subject to international law, shall go on strike for a 24 hour period, to be determined by our general committee.

Gnomes of the world unite!"

All of a sudden, Otterby felt desperately in need of the Happy Tap.

Seeing the flyer, Gurgle was thunderstruck. The gnomes who worked around the bar weren't employed by international standards? Something needed to be done about this!

The dragon pulled his cell phone out of the diplomatic pouch that he wore around his neck. In a moment, he had his home country on the line. For a minute or two, they hemmed and hawed in English, then Gurgle switched over to a rather darkly-entoned fairie dialect. (Ever the intellectual, Gurgle had taken it upon himself to understand the various tongues of the creatures to be found in the Magical realm.) "Good," he said finally, "send an organizing squad at once."

A magical portal opened above the bar and through it zipped a small group of Fart Fairies.

OOC:

Lest you forget who's writing this post... :) :) :)

IC:

Most fairies fly on magic wings, but Fart Fairies, having wings too small even for that, rely upon jet propulsion to get their lift. They tended to be a bit high strung, but always seemed in good spirits. In a moment, five or ten of them had rocketed into the work area and began to engage the gnomes in animated and very friendly--perhaps too friendly--conversation.

"Union organizers," Gurgle said. "They can show the Gnomes how to establish a fair, legal Union and make things work without destroying the things that give this bar its special ambience. Of course, the Gnomish Union will have to do its own collective bargaining..."

After taking part in one of the discussions, the Chief Chef Gnome walked slowly up to Gurgle.

"You know," he said, "when you do da diplomat t'ings, you pretty good. You stick to wat you gude at and stay outta da magic stuff, an' maybe we be friens afta all."

"Why, I am charmed and delighted," Gurgle replied with a mischievous smile. "I do hope that I can live up to your terms." The dragon wasn't sure how other locals were going to take to his actions. He was hoping that the Fart Faries, experienced unionists all, would be able to add a pragmatic touch to what is often an unnecessarily undiplomatic process by which a union forms and negotiates its first contract. These particular ones were known not just for their union activities, but for their strong work ethic on the job. They were shining examples of how unionism at its best could work for everyone.

"Nice work Gurgle", called out Otterby and then slipped and fell with a sound that to the untrained ear was audible as *bump*.

So the Gnomes were going out? Thoughtful of them to give notice. Neville mentally ran through the Bar's supplies: yep, there was enough of everything to get them through 24 hours. There were a couple of deliveries slated for tomorrow, though. Well, it'd just be a test of the suppliers; if they were the sort who'd cross a picket line, this would show them up for what they were.

Must have a word with the chef, though. Couldn't have him trying to bring in fresh food. Or coming up with clever names for menu items -- Solidarity Sausage or Brotherhood Beef or (please, no!) Fraternity Fries. And of course Violet would have to have the day off. For one thing, she'd want to be in on the action, and for another, he didn't want her facing any picket-line dilemmas, either.

The trouble was, the Bar was simply essential for the continued health and well-being of some delegates. In fact, for the continued existence of some delegations. Well, he'd do what other members of the caring professions did: provide a skeleton staff, to wit, himself, to deal with any genuine alcohol-related emergencies, such as Byron.

He was reasonably sure that Dicey and Gurgle would be on-side; between the two of them, they should be able to counter anyone trying to break the strike by trucking in supplies magically. Not that anyone in their right mind would want to break a 24-hour strike, but it didn't do to leave these things to chance ...

Neville felt a mild paternal pride. It was encouraging, watching a new little union take its first uncertain steps; sort of renewed your faith in life in general.

Memo to self, he cautioned.Do not refer to Gnomes as 'a little union'.

As Gurgle watched the new union taking shape, one of the Fart Fairies flew up and landed next to him. She was a blue-eyed blonde with a stunning figure. If she had been human, she would no doubt have needed to repel the opposite gender with something nasty. She looked up at the dragon, and it was as if he had fallen in love.

"Thank you for involving us in these negotiations," she said. "You realize that most of the problems in this workplace were the result of intramural rivalries. In fact, the real reason why the staff will be holding a demonstration strike is so that the union can set up a system to resolve those conflicts before they turn into incidents."

"The praise of a lovely young lady," the dragon replied, "is always a valuable comodity."

"You think I'm pretty?" she asked.

"The humans often keep other mammals for companionship. Until today, I didn't understand why one would go out of one's way to procure...a puppy or a kitten--though your intellect certainly exceeds that of any such creature."

"I know what you mean. We're not the same species, but I like you, too. You're the only non-fairy with The Jets who doesn't try to overwhelm people with them." Then, she changed the subject.

"You know, this bar has a gremlin problem," she said.

"So I'm told," the dragon said. "There are some brownies here who, to put it mildly, have taken it upon themselves to resolve the issue."

"Well they're going to have their hands full tomorrow," the Fairy replied. "With the gnomes holding their demonstration, the gremlins are going to have a lot of room to roam in."

"Oh dear. I'll pass the word. What is your name, anyway?"

"Why, I'm Flatulla."

"Thank you, my dear."

"Think nothing of it."

Hodgelett had been going through the history of UN resolutions and was sitting at the bar thoughtfully, chewing the end of a pen and watching the gnomes setting up a 'picket' and gathering huge piles of leaflets with her mind elsewhere.
She'd already expressed her disapproval of the Euthanasia Resolution and support for the repeal bandied about the various UN offices. Perhaps it was time for proactive protection of National Sovereignty.
"Dicey, do you think with some help a proposal protecting the right of States to decide for themselves on certain listed contentious issues, such as euthanasia if Resolution 43 is repealed, would win support?" She remembered an idea she'd jotted down a long time ago. "And what about the right to move, reside and work freely throughout the UN - limited of course by war conditions?" She sighed. "Oh well, it doesn't matter, there's no chance of being a delegate in the foreseeable future."
Hodgelett returned to staring past Gurgle's right ear.

ooc: a bit more shop-talking than usual, but if anyone likes either of those feel free to take them up. Gives me a further excuse to not do my coursework. *looks at the time and date* Ok, maybe that's a bad thing.

Flatulla had found a stack of coasters to sit on, and she and Gurgle continued their conversation.

"But what sense does it make," she said, "to just kowtow to unreasonable measures? You can't just expect whole, entire nations to--."

"You know," he replied, "that's one of the great ironies of democracy. It's called 'tyranny of the majority,' and it's at the heart of the age-old question, 'where do you draw the line?' In diplomacy, there are ways to deal with tyrants, my dear. A nation can go rogue, ignore the law and deal with the consequences if it gets caught. It can obey the law and work for its repeal--in fact, we've seen a suprising number of measures repealed in the last few months. To help in efforts such as this, it can also join international groups, as Dastardly Stench has joined the National Sovereignty Organization. Perhaps the affects aren't as direct as, oh, starting a war over a disapproved measure, but working peacefully has its advantages. In this plane, a man named Ghandi once said that he didn't believe in violence because the bad things that it caused lingered far longer than the good things that it caused. I couldn't agree more. That is why, even in my most flagrant displays of anger, I've always been careful to be extremely gentle with those around me. Diplomacy can be hard work, but it can also yield long-term benefits." He made sure that Hodgelett could hear that last.

"I see," Flatulla replied in her high-pitched voice. "So...what you're saying is that, when given the choice of knuckling under or going to battle, find another choice. That's...not always easy to do, but I can see your point."

"That is the essence of the Diplomat's work--that, and preventing crises rather than having to cure them. Why do you think I called you in today? Today, you're a Diplomat, too."

Flatula smiled sweetly. She seemed happy with her new station in life. "It seems so important when you put it that way," she said.

"Well, you've got your work cut out for you," the dragon said. "I don't expect that keeping the gremlins down will be easy.

"While we're on the subject," the dragon continued, "there's one in the powerjunction by the touch screen behind the bar."

"I'll take care of it!" Flatulla said, and, as fast as she could stand up, jetted off to the scene of the crime.

Of course, Gurgle's tail got there almost as fast as she did, and it opened up the electrical box with great deftness. Sure enough, there inside was a little gremlin, chewing on the power wires. As it noticed that it had been found out, it smiled a big smile, its teeth still chomped down on the wiring.

Flatulla popped up to the top of the bar and quickly threw a switch. There was a loud buzzing sound, and the gremlin suddenly began to glow several different incandescant shades as it straightened and vibrated back and forth, its feet popping out of the power box as it moved. In a moment, Flatulla turned the switch back off, and the gremlin fell to the ground, grumbling as the smoke rose off of its blackened body. It was still grumbling a few minutes later as two gnomes took over and escourted it out of the room.

"You've got to be more careful, my dear," Gurgle chided as she returned to the table. "You could've killed the poor thing."

"Not really," she replied with a mischievous grin. "Gremlins are all naturally grounded. Electricity can't really harm them. Just makes them turn all kinds of pretty colors."

"I suppose, then, that I stand corrected."

"It's OK, Gurgle. You're an ambassador. You don't have to know these things."

"Then it's a good thing that you're here, isn't it?"

outside the bar time was flowing faster and although it didin't seem that long since Midori had fainted in the bar a few weeks had passed.

Kaigan and Midori enter again, her bump not yet showing but still looking pale.

Midori shakes her head and runs to the ladies while Kaigan orders two cups of green tea from the bar.

"whats the story with this Neville?" he asks when he sees the handbills about the Gnomes union.

Midori appears a few minutes later looking slightly better but wondering to herself how bad morning sickness could get.

Byron, was for all intensive purposes now sober due to an insistance by a much manhandled Violet. He viewed the occurences in the bar with the look of a man who should have known better. However the Happy Tap incident was a moment in time too precious to pass up even at his diplomatic level.
The Delegacy staff had returned to the 40th floor to work on replies to the various resolutions being proposed and there was the Issue of the New Delegates arrival.
The New Delegate was a Penguin. Byrons policy of diversity of realm members was at least working but alas the membership was dwindling away. He pulled out a piece of paper and a few coloured pens from his briefcase which was carried by a member of his Harem. He wrote the Following....

WANTED!
New Member nations for a socially progressive region of members. Equality of status Garunteed. UN Membership desired but not necessary.
Join the Realm of Hibernia Today! (http://www.nationstates.net/cgi-bin/index.cgi/70775/page=display_region/region=the_realm_of_hibernia)

He approached Neville. "Is there a notice board around here that I can Pin this Up?" he asked tentively and simultainiously ordered a Guinness 39, under the watchful eye of a concerned Violet.

Midori emerges from the ladies looking a little better and joins Kaigan at the bar. they take their teas to a table and Midori remarks "I thought that the gnomes would have had a union already" after seeing the pamphlet.

A gremlin sneaked under Kaigan and Midori's table, from left to right, with a snyde look on its face.

In a moment, it was running back from right to left with a very frightened look on its face, and two Fart Faries with miniature rolling pins in the air behind it.

Midori spots Gurgle amongst all the chaos which she now takes a normal for the strangers bar.

she walks over to him and asks "whats going on here?"

Johanna came back into the bar, her long hair still up, but at least it was not in a bun. But it was done into some other style, nothing outlandish. (OOC: I just have no idea what type of hairstyle to give her... something more easy going than the Bun she had before... but not that much of a difference.)

Johanna deftly steped around the activity in the bar, it was like she had been in the Bar for ages and learnt by practice how to avoid other customers... but she couldn'y have... couldn'y she?

Even with the Gremlins, the GWU and any of the Fart Fairies that where still around, none of this seemed to phase Johanna as she spotted Gurgle and made her way towards him. As he closer she also notices Midori talking with Gurgle.

"Midori san, great to see you again."She said with a little bow. "Gurgle." She followed up acknowloging the Dragon.

Midori returns the bow and replies "good to see you again too, Johanna san, i've brought my boss this time"

ooc: how about http://www.dressytresses.com/hair/gallery/instruct/long-clamp/gallerypic.jpg http://www.dressytresses.com/hair/gallery/default.asp has plenty of styles ;)

ic: Hodgelett eyed the bar-top with suspicion. She'd threatened to bang her head against it if the Gruebergian representative didn't bring out that Euthanasia repeal soon...and it looked like there'd be a long wait.
"I, er..think I'll need a strong drink."
Either she could put it off long enough that she wouldn't have to do it...or get drunk enough not to care.

OOC: I was thinking of something similiar but on the top of the head... I scratched that Idea but ... yes... She has that hairstyle... And no I certainly did not bookmark that link... no siree... Absolutely not..... (whispered conspiritorial to an imaginery person next to me)Do you think they bought it?... Yeah Same here.

IC:

"I hope the two little ambassadors aren't causing too much trouble..."

"Midori-chan, Miss Johanna! So good to see that you made it back intact. I hope that the little one is coming along well, Midori-chan. You certainly do seem to have acquired that matronly glow that you humans so often speak of."

As Gurgle spoke, a Gremlin with a fork tried to skewer his tail. The little beast found that the dragon's scales were too thick for his would-be weapon to have any affect. Like lightning, the prehensile tail wrapped it up, then sent it spinning toward a nearby table, where two other gremlins were playing "lumberjack" with the table legs. The went down like tenpins. Of course, the commotion caught the attention of a nearby Gnome who was doing some cleaning. The Gremlins' expressions turned to panic as he threw a switch on a vacuum cleaner. In a moment, they were nicely bagged.

"What's going on," the dragon said, "is that the Gnomes who help with the bar have formed a union and will be having a 24-hour demonstration strike starting at precisely 8 O'Clock this evening. Mind you, their employer has agreed to negotiate in good faith, so the strike, if you wish to call it that, is more of a practice session than the real thing. I also brought in some of Dastardly Stench's best union organizers--a troup of Fart Fairies--and they helped to keep the whole baloon well-aired."

As the dragon finished speaking, Flatulla came in for a landing on the edge of the table. "I'm off shift now," she announced. "Anybody mind if I join the group?"

"Neville," the dragon said, "could you procure for this lady an appropriately sized container of sweet bean nectar? Only thing that keeps up with the
fairies' metabolism. They have other foods, but, without this stuff, they lose
their power of flight."

Johannes and Acolyte Gaeblyn suddenly snapped back into action, having remained frozen for several days.

"Oh my," Johannes said, looking at his watch, "we nearly missed the Late Dusk celebration."

"Well, good that we recovered," Gaeblyn responded tersely.

Addressing the Bar, Gaeblyn spoke out:
"Everyone, it is now my duty to begin the celebration of Late Dusk, one of the foremost holidays in Darsomir. This holiday is about remembering those who have past away, so I ask, as representative of the Flame, that you spend a few moments in thought."

A few seconds later, he continued. "Alright, now onto the main part of this holiday. Bartender! Get everyone here a Flamewater, and quickly!"

"Gurgle san, I had a scan last week and the twins are doing well. they're content to be still for the moment but sooner or later they'll get bigger and more active.

I don't think we've been introduced to your lady friend yet"

Never one to miss an opportune moment for a drink, Sir Albert looks up and announces..."twins, have a round on Bahgum, make that two rounds, one each, by eck......"

"Gurgle san, I had a scan last week and the twins are doing well. they're content to be still for the moment but sooner or later they'll get bigger and more active.

I don't think we've been introduced to your lady friend yet"

"Oh. I'm sorry!" the dragon said, an embarrased glow spreading over his face. "This is Miss Flatulla, one of the union organizers to which I have previously referred. Her task, and that of her fellow unionists, is to make sure both that the work around the bar is amply compensated and that it is performed to the highest standards of quality."

"a noble aim, miss Flatulla" Midori replies "and a very important job as well. I'm sure you'll have the Gnomes organised in no time"

she turns to the ambassador from Bahgum and gentle declines the offer saying "in my delicate condition alcohol is bad for me but thank you all the same"

Byron, was for all intensive purposes now sober due to an insistance by a much manhandled Violet. He viewed the occurences in the bar with the look of a man who should have known better. However the Happy Tap incident was a moment in time too precious to pass up even at his diplomatic level.
The Delegacy staff had returned to the 40th floor to work on replies to the various resolutions being proposed and there was the Issue of the New Delegates arrival.
The New Delegate was a Penguin. Byrons policy of diversity of realm members was at least working but alas the membership was dwindling away. He pulled out a piece of paper and a few coloured pens from his briefcase which was carried by a member of his Harem. He wrote the Following....

WANTED!
New Member nations for a socially progressive region of members. Equality of status Garunteed. UN Membership desired but not necessary.
Join the Realm of Hibernia Today! (http://www.nationstates.net/cgi-bin/index.cgi/70775/page=display_region/region=the_realm_of_hibernia)

He approached Neville. "Is there a notice board around here that I can Pin this Up?" he asked tentively and simultainiously ordered a Guinness 39, under the watchful eye of a concerned Violet.

"Byron...I mean your Majesty, how are you, so lovely to see you back in this fine establishment", cried out a slightly inebriated (well, let's be honest, smashed) Otterby. "Do we all have to line up to kiss your hand or are you willing to foresake your royal priviliges for our sake".

Whoop! Neville, I got a powerful thirst! Whaddya recommend?

In previous occasions, the entry of a delegation from the Holy Otaku Church of the Eternal Kawaii was usually accompanied by (off-key) singing from the otaku paying their respects to the bar and the Shrine of the Manifestation festooning its far end. This time, however, there was no singing. And no smiles, either. Instead, a very serious-looking Happiness Police Captain and three cohorts marched into the bar. Behind them were three black-clad, silent figures--the little-seen Shirt Ninja, the elite military shock troops of the Eternal Kawaii.

They weren't even trying to be inconspicuous. That couldn't be good news.

The Happiness Police Captain marched over to Neville, and forgoing the usual bowing and friendly words, said simply, "Kennyites. Where are they?"

Neville stood there, looking at the sailor-suited young lady, dumbfounded. "You mean, Omigodtheykilledkenny? You're looking for Ambassador Riley, miss?" Former Ambassador, Neville reminded himself. He also reminded himself to check to see if Riley bothered to pay his tab before putting in his resignation.

"Yes, him, or any of his...people," the HP Captain replied. She slid a sheet of paper on the bar in front of Neville. It was titled simply, HAVE YOU SEEN THIS OTAKU? with a picture of the HOCEK UN Nuncio beneath it, and below that, instructions to contact the HOCEK NSUN delegation. The Captain added, "He was last seen talking with Ambassador Riley. We haven't heard from him since, and quite frankly, we're fearing the worst."

"We're under orders to detain and question any member of the Kennyite delegation that may be remaining," one of the Shirt Ninja replied in a voice that could cut glass. "We trust that since they're no longer NSUN accredited, you won't have a problem if we find one here?"

[OOC: This is in response to a post (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=10634520&postcount=132) from the recent UN proposal debate thread. I'm moving it here since it apparently took place within the NSUN HQ.]

Johanna greeted Miss Flatula...

trying not to breath with her nose.

"Nice to meet you Miss Flatula... Am I correct in guess you are from the Magical Realm of Dastardly Stench... like Gurgle?"

"Yes, him, or any of his...people," the HP Captain replied. She slid a sheet of paper on the bar in front of Neville. It was titled simply, HAVE YOU SEEN THIS OTAKU? with a picture of the HOCEK UN Nuncio beneath it, and below that, instructions to contact the HOCEK NSUN delegation. The Captain added, "He was last seen talking with Ambassador Riley. We haven't heard from him since, and quite frankly, we're fearing the worst."In a dank, dimly lit basement chamber somewhere deep within the bowels of the United Nations' extensive underground real estate, the blue-robed Nuncio sat tied to a chair, Riley and members of the OMGTKK UN mission security detail standing over him. A lone lamp hanging from the ceiling burned the diplomat's eyes. The president's order to conduct aggressive interrogation of the otaku had proven fruitless thus far. Not even the Stripper Commandos' gallant efforts to "soften up" the Nuncio for questioning -- including multiple swirlies in the men's room, followed by lengthy administrations of Indian burns, purple nurples, wet Willys, noogies, and of course, wedgies, as well as forcing the representative to endure hours of Cher music -- had compelled their target to speak. Now Riley was holding up a booklet of some of the Nuncio's favorite reading material.

"You sure like your dirty cartoon porn, don't you, Nuncio?" he mocked the envoy, waving the naughty hangai manta drawings over their famously devout owners' nose. The Kennyite scoffed. "Hypocrite."

"Now ..." Riley continued as he produced a lighter from his pants pocket. "We can do this the easy way, or ..." He clicked the lighter and dangled the comic inches above the flame. "... We can do this the hard way. ...

"What do you know ... about the nuclear penguins??"

The Nuncio watched as Riley drew the flame tantalizingly closer to the drawings. He stirred in his chair and shifted his head as though he were about to say something.

"You finally got something to say, Nuncio?"

"Grrrmmmmphhh!! RRRmmmmph!! Mmmmmmrrrr!!" came the captive's muffled screams.

"Same old bullshit he's been giving me all day," Riley sighed as he readied to light up the filthy cartoons.

"I keep telling you, Ambassador," Cmdr. Chiang, Riley's security attache, interrupted him. "You have to take the gag off before you question him."

The two men looked very confused. "Do you think that they gave us the wrong directions intentionally?"

"..." The other man nodded.

The first looked critically at the second. "Was that a yes, Serph?"

"..." Another nod.

"Anyway, it looks like a bar. I think we have a few minutes to relax." He realized that Serph was no longer standing next to him.

"Coming or not, Kenji?"

Gaeblyn approached the Otaku, trying not to attract the attention of the Shirt Ninjas. While he didn't think much of most other nations, he knew danger when he saw it.

"Am I to understand you are from a very religious nation?," he asked the first of the Otaku he reached. "How do you cope with the continuing... blasphemy? How do you cope with people only taking the barest interest in your religious ceremonies, even when they involve strong alcohol?"

... "We trust that since they're no longer NSUN accredited, you won't have a problem if we find one here?"

"The Kennyites rarely drop by here," Neville responded, adding a mental thank goddess. "The amount of liquor they keep in their offices, they don't need to. Add to that the deal they appear to have arranged with certain large trans-national entertainment conglomerates and they just have no need for social interaction with other delegations."

His mind kept up an involuntary chorus of praise to the deity. Neville couldn't remember the last time he'd been anywhere near any formal religious ceremony (except, of course, the Barlordian Mysteries), but he was certainly grateful to whatever god was keeping a watchful eye on him. So far his involvement with the Kennyites had been limited to replacing empty glasses with full ones for the clearly insane Jack Riley; that was the way he intended to keep it.

"Nor have I seen your Otaku recently," he added truthfully. "Ain't nobody here but us chickens."

From the corner of his eye he could see the Darsomiri making diplomatic approaches to other members of the HOCEK delegation (if the phrase "Darsomiri diplomatic approaches" wasn't one of those self-defeating ones, like "military intelligence" or "honest merchant"). Quietly he pressed the buttons that sent metal shields over most breakables on display -- Neville had seen enough movies to know what always happens to the bottles in front of the mirror behind the bar.

Not that he expected anything untoward, such as a fight breaking out. It was just that reality had a tendency to slip its moorings when the otaku got their chanting really revved up -- and when your reality includes convivial dragons, fart fairies and sundry gloriously drunken monarchs, witches, otter-worshippers and the occasional penguin, slipped moorings can take you into some really, really uncharted waters.

"I wish they'd get a move on with that Maritime Safety legislation," Neville fumed to himself, foreseeing squalls, cyclones, global warming and that damned rainforest butterfly all set to descend on the Strangers' Bar within the next few minutes.

The Thessadorian ambassador entered in a conspicuously tight white T-shirt, and as always, Ambassador Brown was in position, ready to hit on her.

"Now now, George! I have a job to do."

"Surely you have time for one drink," Brown protested.

The Thessadorian paused. "I think I've made my position quite clear on the matter," she said with annoyance.

"Well, go over it one more time, just so I have it straight."

She sighed irritatedly. "OK, then. Fine. 'Even if there were a worldwide nuclear catastrophe, and the resulting radiation poisoning deprived every man on Earth the use of their genitals, and even if you miraculously managed to escape such a cruel fate, and you were the only man left on Earth to scratch my many horny, horny itches, I still wouldn't do you!'"

"But ... but what if I put a paper bag over my head ..."

"Oh, knock it off, George! I don't have the time. Riley sent me up to distract the shirt ninja."

She quickly found the fierce defenders at the bar, along with some teenage girls strangely clad in tiny little sailor outfits. She made her way to Neville's post near her targets, and leaned up toward the bar, practically resting her ample endowment on the counter.

"Mug of Iron City™, please," she cooed, muttering to herself about how Sen. Sulla had gotten her hooked on that particular brand. Moments later, the mug slid toward her.

She picked it up and turned toward the burly Kawaiians, sensuously tickling the suds she was holding with her ruby-red lips. "So," she said seductively. "You're ninja, huh? Employing martial arts in defense of your country? I find that ... sexy."

"Oh!" she uttered as she "accidentally" spilled the contents of her mug all over her front. "I seemed to have spilled beer all over my brand new T-shirt! Oh, it was so cute, too! I better shake the excess off; don't want it to stain!" She giggled as she vigorously shook her torso; even a blind man could tell she wasn't wearing a bra. And that she was smuggling raisins.

She studied her new friends; they hadn't taken their eyes off her, yet the cold, stern expressions on their faces had not changed. She hoped they were enjoying the show.

Bazalonia']Johanna greeted Miss Flatula...

trying not to breath with her nose.

"Nice to meet you Miss Flatula... Am I correct in guess you are from the Magical Realm of Dastardly Stench... like Gurgle?"

"Yes," she said, turning her head in a gesture or shiness. "Gurgle told us about...certain things that...non-Stenchers prefer." She was quiet for a moment, as if contemplating what she was going to say next. "We've all tried to make ourselves dainty for you, honest!" She blurted out.

"It's all alright," Gurgle said. "You've made a noble effort, and there's nothing more that one can ask." A sound came from another part of the dragon's body, and, in a moment, the table smelled like a fine French parfume.

"Good," Flatulla replied. "I didn't want to cause any trouble. It's the first time in this universe for all of us, and we didn't really know what to expect." As she finished speaking, looked down at the cup of firewater in her hands. Though it was small by human standards, it took both or her hands to hold it. "Liquid courage--just what I need right now," she muttered, and took a long, hard drag.

Instantly, she closed her eyes and smiled. "Ooooo," she said. "This stuff is good!" And then she opened her eyes again, and Gurgle could see that they had a new, firey glow to them.

"Be careful with that stuff, Miss Flatulla," Gurgle said. "You can never be sure what it's going to--."

"Ohh, that's okaayy," she said. "I'll be reeealy careful." And she took another long, hard drag.

------------------

OOC:

Riddle me this, Batman: what do a truck, a gun, an ant, a lost job and, in a few minutes, Miss Flatulla all have in common?

:) :) :)

"Oh!" she uttered as she "accidentally" spilled the contents of her mug all over her front. "I seemed to have spilled beer all over my brand new T-shirt! Oh, it was so cute, too! I better shake the excess off; don't want it to stain!" She giggled as she vigorously shook her torso; even a blind man could tell she wasn't wearing a bra. And that she was smuggling raisins.

The two Kriovalians couldn't help but notice the ambassador's...distress. "It really was cute," Kenji offered.

"..."

"Maybe if she took it off, she could clean it before the beer sets in, like those dancing girls in that Telekar bar?"

"..." Serph nodded by way of confirmation.

"I feel bad for them. They were always spilling something on their shirts. But they were very efficient at taking them off."

"..." This silence was altogether different. The Chief Paladin looked around for the actual *bar* part of the bar. Kenji in problem-solving mode typically meant that Serph would require large quantities of alcohol. Not that it usually helped - Serph was practically immune to its effects. But he could pretend otherwise if needed.

ooc: DS, remember the last time we had one of those in the Bar? We ended up changing a whole table...I'm surprised with enough alcohol fumes in the air the whole place doesn't go up :eek:
I'm afraid my character will be fairly useless this time...

ic: The new, better worded euthansia repeal hadn't appeared as Hodgelett stared blearily at her mail on her gadget. It's possible that she wouldn't have been able to tell if it had anyway.
The bar didn't look any softer yet either.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd drank so much, but it was enough to identify a pair...no four....of lost looking men swaying in the middle of the Bar. She waved to them from her barstool, knowing that the least they could want was to talk to Neville or Violet.
"Neville, anotherr pleathe, and thethe four look like new cuthtomerz."

OOC: oh, we couldn't have that now, could we?

Not to worry. I'm sure that I can resist the temptation...

----------------

IC:

Gurgle sat beside the table, looking at the latest UN proposal on his laptop.

"Whoever did this should be fired," he said. "They can't even put together a proper sentence. You register a vessel in a STATE, not a SHIP. This stuff really makes me see red sometimes."

"Yes, but you know what they mean," Flatulla said, her cherubic voice having taken on a singsong quality since the firewater had gotten into her system. " It's not like you have to get hot over their every word."

"I'd love a world in which that was the case," the dragon replied, "but, if we leave something like this to chance, the next thing you know, some greedy scheister is going to come along and blow the whole thing to kingdom come. Right now, as it's written, this measure is just BURNING to be taken advantage of."

"Really? Hot stuff, huh?"

"Not only can they not put together a complete sentence, but they can't even get their logic straight. They define ships and vessels and set down the rules for engagement, but the whole thing is missing the two most important words that it can't make sense without: 'IN WATER.' As I said, whoever wrote this has to be a FLAMING A--er--MORON."

-----------------

OOC: Uh oh! Temptation!

----------------

IC:

"As written, this measure could be made to apply to freight trains, or even air transport. I'm afraid I'm going to have to vote to burn this one just because it's so incredibly sloppy," the dragon finished. "Terrible pity," he continued. "It has the rudiments of a good measure about it."

"Awww," Flatulla said, her eyes glowing with compassion, "poor dragon. Maybe they can pass an ammendment after it's on the books."

"No," the dragon said, "the time to go to the volcano is before it erupts! One mustn't let oneself get caught up in the heat of the moment."

---------------------

OOC: Oh no!!! MORE temptation!!! Cut it out, characters!

---------------------

IC:

"Mmm. Sounds like a wise decision," the fairy said, taking another drag from her cup. "Sometimes you have to show a little bit of fire and brimstone."

"Well, sometimes, it's the only way to be warm-hearted about something."

---------------------

OOC: Ooohhhhh, I think I'm gonna have to...

--------------------

IC:

Flatulla finished her drink. "I like this stuff," she said. "It makes me feel warm all over."

---------------------

OOC: THAT DOES IT!!

---------------------

IC:

Satisfied with his lobbying job for the day, the dragon closed his computer case.

Flatulla's body started to tense up. "Uhh ohhhh," she said, "I suddenly don't feel that well...I think I need to go to the ladies'--." As she began speaking, she stood up. At the end of the sentence, her worst fears were realized as a fireball shot through the room and ended up in a nearby metal garbage can. A gremlin in the can hollered, and then emerged, black as soot, with a gnome in hot persuit.

It is a special case of evolution, a very delicate balance, that allows a Fart Fairy to fly without actually burning anything outside of its body. That balance was disrupted now, as the flamewater gave yet another instance of how it got its name. Of course, tipsy as she was, Flatullla was hardly in the best state for the demanding task of controlling the new chemical reactions that gripped her strong-but-tiny body.

"I--I've got to get--." A spasm wracked her body, followed by an explosion. A fireball flew out, bounced off the floor and weaved a trail past Hodgelett, through the ninjas, past the Thessadorian ambassador and into the ventellator shaft. In a moment, there were voices rising from the shaft--voices with a distinctly Kennian accent.

"Oh my God," one of the voices said, "it missed!"

Flatulla jumped down from the table, her face turned white as ash. She was going to have to get out of the bar before the unthinkable happened.

Both Kaigan's and Midori's cell phones ring and they answer them.

Kaigan listens nodding and has a serious look on his face.

Midori however looks shocked. Kaigan goes over to her and says "Midori san, i'll go back to the office and deal with this. You need to think of the twins"

Kaigan leaves the bar in a hurry leaving his tea and getting back to their office.

The Happiness Police Captain turned to Gaeblyn, and flashed him a winning (if rather cold) smile, saying, "I'm glad you seem to understand our problem. Yes, it IS rather difficult keeping one's faith in the face of all...this," waving an arm to encompass the drunken and somewhat smelly reverie going on around them. "But one must do what one can. Tell me, have you seen any Kennyites lately?"

The Shirt Ninja deftly worked their way through the bar, rearranging the furniture and the occasional patron as they searched the place for Kennyites. Luckily, noone appeared to be hurt as they went through the place like a tornado.

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

It's a little-known feature of HOCEK culture (or in this case, subculture), that despite their draconian teachings about sexual modesty, they possess a thriving market in what can only be described as pornographic cartoons. Only a handful of social anthropologists have attempted to analyze this phenomenon, and the only conclusion they have drawn has been, "out of sight, out of mind." The ecchi material is apparently tolerated by the simple fact that noone in The Eternal Kawaii admits to its existence.

So it was that in the dimly lit sub-sub-sub-sub-basement of the NSUN HQ, the HOCEK Nuncio was staring in disbelief as Riley threatened a copy of Love-Love Kittens #3 with a cigarette lighter. Not that it was a particluarly rare or valuable item (in fact, the fandom had rated it a letdown from the lurid guest-artist backup story in Love-Love Kittens #2), but the fact that anyone outside HOCEK territory even knew of its existence was disturbing. His face scowled as the Kennyite ambassador taunted him, flaunting the comic in front of him. The abuse and second-rate torture he could handle, but this? What on earth... he thought, ...is he doing waving around such trash in the first place? He tried to yell, "PUT THAT AWAY, YOU FOOL, YOU'RE EMBARASSING YOURSELF!!!"

Sadly, all that managed to make its way through the Nuncio's gag was a muffled scream, and yet another attempt at cross-cultural communication fell flat on its face.

With Miss Flatulla off in the Lady's Room and Mr. Kaigan having left, Gurgle was able to concentrate on other matters. A Shirt Ninja who had wandered to close had found himself ever-so-gently escourted by a rather large, pre-hensile tail to a seat next to the dragon. He also found that the air around him had taken on the scent of apple blossoms in early spring--a sign that this was not an abduction, but rather a more or less friendly quizzing.

"Now, Mr. Ninja, I must admit that I'm at a slight loss here. Why are you looking for the Kenneyites?"

He made a mental note to ask Midori-chan if she could tell him anything about the call on her cell phone, and if he could do anything to help. Dastardly Stench and Kirisubo were arranging an ambassadorial exchange, after all. Only formalities prevented the two nations from being allies--and the dragon was not much of one to hang on ceremony when there were functional issues to be dealt with.

Midori sat down as she took in the bad news. Only a few months previously Kaigan had met with Emperor Akahito and Crown Princess Fujiko.

Now the Emperor was dead and the date of his funeral was set.

She thought that they would both be needed there and she drank some tea as she thought.

The Shirt Ninja turned and was about to deliver a Destructive Ram Seizure kick, when he found himself face to muzzle with a very large dragon. Fortunately, his madrassa-dojo training included possibilities like this (there are some very strange things in the more remote forested areas of The Eternal Kawaii.) Without batting an eye he stiffened, bowed politely, saying "Ryujin-sama!" addressing Gurgle formally. Quite formally, in fact, using a term of politeness usually reserved for Manifestations.

"Your Lordship speaks of our enemies," he added, "craven heathens who attack without warning, and have no respect for the Cute One or Its ways. We intend to clear the NSUN HQ of their foul presence unless our Nuncio is returned to us."

Deep in the underground recesses of UN Headquarters, Riley stared down at his prey; sixteen hours, and the Nuncio hadn't uttered a peep. He'd grown tired of this game, and his mind was racing for a way to weasel out of it. He turned to his security attache.

"Commander, clearly this fool knows nothing of the nuclear penguins. I want to let him go, but I don't want to cause problems with the HOCEK scum once I do. We need to plot a way out of this that would absolve the Federal Republic of all guilt."

"Well, Ambassador, I think I have an idea that might ..."

"Hold up, hold up, Commander. No need to rush this. I want to finish my comic first."

Cmdr. Chiang groaned as Riley plopped down into a chair to enjoy his Love-Love Kittens ...

Sir Albert returns from his brief foray into the UN, luckily the enmergency six pack and bottle of brandy lasted for the journey and so he was only in a slightly grumpy mood. To cheer hisself up he announces a round at the bar, afterall what should a nation with a huge economy spend it's money on? Returning to his seat, Sir Albert stops for a moment and leaves a pint on the bar for Neville, that strange lass Dicey, that chap from the venerable librarians or whatever and a beer barrel labelled UNOG in order that any of the people he has met on his travels (mostly from his table to the bar and back) should have a drink if they missed the round. His task completed, he tips his flat cap and nods off with a pint expertly balanced....

The Shirt Ninja turned and was about to deliver a Destructive Ram Seizure kick, when he found himself face to muzzle with a very large dragon. Fortunately, his madrassa-dojo training included possibilities like this (there are some very strange things in the more remote forested areas of The Eternal Kawaii.) Without batting an eye he stiffened, bowed politely, saying "Ryujin-sama!" addressing Gurgle formally. Quite formally, in fact, using a term of politeness usually reserved for Manifestations.

"Your Lordship speaks of our enemies," he added, "craven heathens who attack without warning, and have no respect for the Cute One or Its ways. We intend to clear the NSUN HQ of their foul presence unless our Nuncio is returned to us."

"I understand," the Dragon said. "An important diplomat has been abducted. This is not acceptable.

"Say the word, good sir, and I shall place at your disposal several members of the Dastardly Stench Special Forces, the Silent But Deadly brigade."

Gurgle clicked his tongue and, as if out of nowhere, a man dressed in a black (actually, very dark brown) uniform all but appeared out of nowhere and was seen to be standing behind the dragon. He clicked his tongue again and the man, for all practical purposes, disappeared.

"They are highly trained and highly competant. If there's a problem, they can help you get to the bottom of it."

As the dragon spoke, the sound of a muffled explosion came from the ladies' room.

Then another sound came. This one sounded suspiciously like a BUMP.

Midori drinks more tea and answers her phone when it rings.

She speaks in Kirisuban to Kaigan who brings her up to date with the news.

the date of the state funeral had ben set and Crown Princess Fujiko had cut short a trip to return to Kirisubo. Her coronation would take place the day after the funeral.

Midori nods as she talks and she's also told that she'll have to travel to Psyker Bearserkers for a state wedding that will take place at the same time as the Emperors funeral.

She listens knowing she would like to have been going home but duty called yet again.

Midori drinks more tea and answers her phone when it rings.

She speaks in Kirisuban to Kaigan who brings her up to date with the news.

the date of the state funeral had ben set and Crown Princess Fujiko had cut short a trip to return to Kirisubo. Her coronation would take place the day after the funeral.

Midori nods as she talks and she's also told that she'll have to travel to Psyker Bearserkers for a state wedding that will take place at the same time as the Emperors funeral.

She listens knowing she would like to have been going home but duty called yet again.

Gurgle finished speaking with a man dressed in what could best be described as a black ninja suit.

"Remember, if you find them, DO NOT ENGAGE. The whole point of this thing is to PREVENT casualties. And be sure and give my regards to the Gnome King before you set out."

"Right, then," the man replied. "Anything else, sir?"

"That will be all, Colonel. Dismissed."

The man turned and left. In a moment, he had blended into the background and it was impossible to tell that he had ever been in the room, except for a lingering hint of scent.

As he left, Midori-chan chanced to pick up her cell phone. Of course, Gurgle could not help but hear the entire conversation.

"Oh dear, Midori-chan! That's horrible news! I say, would it be permissible for Dastardly Stench to send goodwill ambassadors to offer our condolences, and well-wishes for the new ruler?"

Midori having finished her call replies "Gurgle san, I never realised you spoke Kirisuban but you are welcome to send a representative to the funeral and coronation if your nation wants to.

Kaigan sama will be there as well and i'm sure that other nations will send representatives too"

"I'd be more than honoured to attend madam", chimed in Otterby, with as much solemnity as he could manage after 3 pints of Guinness 39.

"Otterby san" Midori says "Kaigan sama is handling the guest list at the moment. If you ring the Kirisuban office he can make the arrangements but I'll tell him you're interested as well"

Midori goes over to bar and gets the remote control for the TV in the corner.

she switches it on and locates the english speaking channel, KNN.

The news is dominated by the Emperors death and Midori catches up with developments.

The latest report covers the landing of Crown Princess Fujiko's plane as she returns home having cut short a state visit to Hok-Tu.

"Otterby san" Midori says "Kaigan sama is handling the guest list at the moment. If you ring the Kirisuban office he can make the arrangements but I'll tell him you're interested as well"

"Could you tell me their number please"? asked Otterby whilst bumping against the bar counter.

Midori gives Ambassador Otterby the number of their office and drinks more of her tea.

There was another report as civilians in Edo were being asked about their feelings. Everyone was saddened but hopeful that the Crown Princess would be able to carry on where her father had left off.

"Hodgelett Tirith, you are drunk," Neville remonstrated fondly, as the Randomean delegate's head lolled toward the counter. Truth to tell, he was too enchanted by her intoxicated lisp to notice any other events in the Bar. Thus he missed the sight of Bast exiting with Dicey dangling from his mouth by the neck of her robe, like a giant kitten for the giant Cat.

Fortunately, more than one mobile phone recorded the sight; within seconds it was on the Net.

Within one minute it was being denounced in the Holy Republic of Fundamentally Flawed as yet more evidence of ungodliness on the part of Ardchoille; within two it was being "awwww!-ed" over sentimentally by people who liked cats, even six-foot-tall ones; and within half an hour it had been knocked out of the 'odd-spot' section of most major news services by a far more interesting tale about little old ladies around the world neglecting their shivering grandchildren to knit jumpers for oil-soaked fairy penguins.

Meanwhile, Neville pursued his hopeless passion, sliding one of his prized cross-stitched cushions under Hodgelett's head to protect her slumbers from discomfort. That done, he returned to his Barlordian duties with one practised sweep of his eyes around the Bar.

Followed by a practised closing of said eyes. There were too many things here he really, really didn't want to see.

The Kriovalians, for example. Neville recognised the pair and winced. The two Paladins were renowned for an extraordinary inventiveness even when sober. With some of the Bar's best under their belts, and the wonderful Acme time-manipulators that Neville had all too eagerly installed flashing their green lights to tempt them ...

He would have liked to go hide in the storeroom. Unfortunately, there was an incipient crisis: that Darsomiri god-botherer was chatting up his Kawaiian counterpart. With Otterby uttering otterly blessings on all and sundry, the stage was setting itself for a nice little three-cornered religious stoush.

Meanwhile Gurgle the dragon was apparently taking steps to unravel a (shudder) Kennyite plot, the Thessadorian delegate was ... oh, my, yes, the Thessadorian delegate was, indeed ... please, gods, keep her away from Sir Albert -- and ominous thumps were coming from sub-sub-basement level, though whether it was the Gnomes' union voting or just some development in the ongoing UNOG quest for world domination was something Neville preferred to leave unclear.

All told, it was almost a relief to hear the Kirisubans' doleful news. At least an Imperial funeral would take the delegates' minds off their usual pursuits. Bit tough on the Emperor, but there you go.

Followed by a practised closing of said eyes. There were too many things here he really, really didn't want to see.

The Kriovalians, for example. Neville recognised the pair and winced. The two Paladins were renowned for an extraordinary inventiveness even when sober. With some of the Bar's best under their belts, and the wonderful Acme time-manipulators that Neville had all too eagerly installed flashing their green lights to tempt them ...

It wasn't that Serph tried particularly hard to attract attention, but his position in Krioval made him a natural target. He led two of the founder tribes (gradually being condensed into one), as well as the Guild of Paladins. Rumors abounded that he had made a pact with the Gods, or with the Demon Lord, or that he was a God, or Demon Lord. None of these were true - completely. His impact on some people led others to affirm his parents' choice of name for the paladin. Serph rose, overwhelmed, and receded, and many swore that the intensity depended on lunar phase. He had decided, after the events some months ago, that careful silence often averted crisis, and even now he was attempting to determine whether he was among friends.

Kenji was a different being entirely. Many thought him a sentient robot created by his eccentric aunt. They failed to realize that most robots would have had a far greater range of emotional expression than did Kenji. Still, his "group" was one thing he considered greater than a scientific curiosity, and he knew how to handle most of the other members of the Guild without having to raise his voice. Granted, that was nowhere as good as Serph, who could command an action without speaking at all, but it was still valuable.

Enter the third. He raced into the bar, nearly colliding with Serph. He was Shinji, the youngest of the Guild administrators, and by far the second-most impulsive (the title for first went to Hiroshi - no contest there). "You couldn't have waited five more seconds?"

"Get ready faster next time," Kenji replied indifferently.

Serph gestured toward the bar, and by extension, Neville.

"Yeah! Let's get hammered!" Shinji said, a bit loudly, attempting to drag the hesitant Serph toward the bartender. The three advanced like a phalanx. "What've you got?" he asked Neville, grinning ear-to-ear.

"To be twenty-two again," Kenji said dryly. "I wonder when that one will grow up."

"One does not get 'hammered' at the Strangers Bar," said Neville. "Save that for whatever student sinkhole you frequent at home. One can get 'plastered', however; a much more artistic and meditative process. Also slower, and thus more enjoyable." He weighed up his clients.

"For you, sir, I would suggest a schooner of Forhey's, often known as The Unattainable." He smirked as he pushed the foaming glass to Shinji, thinking how annoyed the Bazalonian staffer Jason would be that someone else was making inroads into the Bar's supply.

"And for you, gentlemen," he continued, addressing the older duo, "do you wish to be challenged or cheered, soothed or seduced, teased or titillated? Or is it just a quick lights-out you're wanting? The Bar is at your -- well, no, not actually at your throats ... nor at your disposal, either ... at your command? Yes? Right: the Bar Is At Your Command!"

Violet watched suspiciously. Neville at his most grandiose (particularly with sweeping hand gestures) was always a dangerous sign. He'd obviously been watching Cabaret again on his day off. In her humble opinion, nothing looked sillier than a Bloke-Next-Door type trying to be decadent.

Stephanie suddenly snapped back into action.

"Hang on... what am I doing here? Didn't Enn die? Yeah, okay, it's apparently back... but still not in the UN. So, I guess I shouldn't be here."

Walking to the door, she paused.

"Oh, all right. Something for the old hands.

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT GAY SCIENCE IS?" she yelled out, and left the Bar. Possibly for good.

"What an odd question to ask," Johannes muttered to no-one in particular, as he and Gaeblyn shuddered back into movement. "Do you think anyone here knows the answer?"

"Something to do with some chap called Nietschze", replied Otterby, "not too sure what else I can say about it really".

"And for you, gentlemen," he continued, addressing the older duo, "do you wish to be challenged or cheered, soothed or seduced, teased or titillated? Or is it just a quick lights-out you're wanting? The Bar is at your -- well, no, not actually at your throats ... nor at your disposal, either ... at your command? Yes? Right: the Bar Is At Your Command!"

"I believe I do not fully understand this," Kenji said, glancing toward the other two paladins. "Does he mean...?"

"..." Serph may not have spoken, but the silence interrupted Kenji nonetheless. It was a unique talent, to be sure.

"I think they'll like this," Shinji said, gulping down a third of the contents of his glass greedily.

"Have you remembered your preparations?" Kenji asked the younger man.

"Shinji..." Serph's voice warned, though not harshly. There was a moment of silence during which, if one listened carefully, one could have heard an almost inaudible click. Reality adjusted itself to the change readily enough, not that anybody would have recognized the difference. The three were now immune to the more debilitating effects of alcohol.

Kenji looked at Shinji again. "You must be more cautious. We cannot have you transform here and devour the bar patrons." Oblivious of the impact of his statement, he turned back toward Neville. "Do you have a specific recommendation?"

Serph looked on in a mixture of bemusement and concern, and he reminded himself why it was that he restricted his speech. He was also pondering the marvel that apparently same-sex relationships had reached the plane of science. This definitely required further investigation. A lot of further investigation.

The problem with being an Ambassador Aromatus was that, every time something smelled fishy, you had to call in the chaps from security. Curse this ferral hearing, the dragon thought, and curse Rube Goldberg! Then, he used his tail like a cuestick on a nearby gremlin. The gremlin slammed into a table. The vibrations caused a glass on the table to fall over. The drink inside of the glass fell on the ground, partly on the gremlin. The glass rolled onto another glass. The other glass fell off the table. It landed on a fork. The fork had a piece of cheese on its other end. This was catapulted up into the fuse box on a nearby pillar. The fuse box shorted out, jarring loose a hot wire. The hot wire came down on the spilled drink. The gremlin, suddenly electrified, started turning all sorts of flashy neon colors and vibrating back and forth. It was spectacular to watch.

In a few minutes, a couple of gnomes arrived to clean it up.

The dragon was not in a good mood now. Security reports were arriving that the sounds coming through the ventillation shaft were consistent with some form of torture being conducted within the very building.

--------------

OOC: would those involved in this please tg me about how to proceed? I have three nations: Dastardly Stench, Falsonia and Marionetonia.

--------------

IC: Then, the dragon happened to overhear conversation around a new arrival called Senshi where he was told, in essance, not to devour other patrons. The wiley dragon requested a quick background check on the new arrivals, who were there under the auspices of Krioval.

----------

OOC: could Krioval please TG me and let me know what such a check would turn up. If you don't, I'll just play it as if there are no records of the patrons from your deligation.

-----------

Fortunately, the affects of the all-too-literally-named fire water seemed to be finally wearing off on Flatulla the Fart Fairy. She had returned from the ladies' room with only an occasional puff of smoke appearing from beneath her garments.

It was turning into quite an evening.

Hodgelett felt her head finally hit the bar...well she'd kept her word and apparently the Gruenbergian delegate hadn't kept his. The fact that another euthanasia propsal had been submitted again without discussion would hardly have comforted her had she known.
Nor the fact she hadn't in fact hit the bar at all, but Neville's finely crafted cushion.

OOC: Marionetonia is a posting puppet for Dastardly Stench--hence its name.

:) :) :)

-----------------------------

IC:

It had taken them several hours, but the records crew had come up with quite a pile of...information...on the three "gentlemen" from Krioval.

The most interesting part of it all was the nation itself. From the magical realm, higher-order beings gave vague reports of trans-human activity in the nation. Nothing could be confirmed, but something was up.

The top of the list was the one named Serph. Kriobal's power system was a jury-rigged combination of tribes, guilds and professions, with a few politicians thrown in for good measure. Somehow, Serph had managed to end up being Grand High Everything. He was the leader of two MAJOR tribes and an IMPORTANT Guild. He was credited with having quite a head on his shoulders, though. He had been instrumental in Krioval's development of matter-energy transfer technology.

This item was actually of some interest to the dragon, on a professional level. Dastardly Stench had moved to the Magical Realm from the universe that the dragon currently occupied. They still maintained--rented, actually--research facilities on this side of the magic portal. They had advanced quantum mechanical technology--they were experts in using quantum entwinement for instantaneous point-to-point information transfer, and this not only allowed them to send and receive messages quickly over vast distances, but to make some incredibly fast information technology. It was fairly easy to turn matter into energy, but to reverse the process in a controlled manner--which would allow for any of a dozen incredibly useful transportation and resource-allocation technologies--was the dream of half the research staff. Krioval's computers, by all accounts, weren't quite as advanced as Dastardly Stench's. This was a natural starting point for trade, and even joint research, negotiations that could benefit both nations.

There higher-level beings claimed that they could not define Serph's energy signature--as if he was hiding something beneath that human skin of his. Between this and the oh-so-careless comments at the bar, the dragon deduced that he was dealing with a trans-human. This was further affirmed by a snap of magic energy that the dragon had felt coming from them as they had stood at the bar. He hoped that the man(?) would turn out to be friendly. Gurgle had dealt with transdimensionals before, and he knew from experience that he would be helpless against one of them.

Then, there was the one called Shinji. He was a close confidant of Serph--in fact, there were even whispered rumors that the two were lovers. If so, the dragon would feel compassion for the poor man. Krioval's society had a strict taboo against homosexuality (not being wired for human mating rituals, the dragon did not understand why some members of this other species had so much trouble accepting what was obviously a part of their genetic make-up). He was also a noted scientist--in fact, he and Serph had come through the same educational system.

That left the younger one, Kenji. There was practically no information available on him.

The dragon decided that it would be in his nation's best interests to open discussions with these...representatives. If they were friends, then their respective nations could benefit from any alliance formed. If not, well...you keep your friends close, but you keep your enemies closer. It would be good to know what powers they could manifest when untransformed.

Excusing himself from Midori-chan, he walked--VERY carefully, a few paces to the gentlemen at the bar. As he drew close, he noted that the magic talisman in the diplomatic pouch, the one allowed him to understand any language, ceased to function. Damping field. Heavy hitter.

Another step and he noticed Hodgelet lieing face-down on a cushion by the bar. His tail methodically scooped up the cloth from an otherwise unoccupied table and gently set it over her, like a coverlet.

Kirisoban society seemed based on an oriental model. These didn't like to talk shop immediately, preferring to interact socially first. Bribes were also often smiled upon...so...

"Gentlemen," he began. "Gurgle the Dragon. Dastardly Stench. Might I offer you another round of what you're having on my tab?"

***

In the subbasement, Pierre "Pewie Lepep" LeRoma was not having an easy time of things. His men's search for the Kenneyites had come up VERY empty so far. No one had realized how extensive the subbasement levels actually were. Still, he and the rest of the SBD's soldiered on.

At length, he began to hear what sounded like a woman's voice. He motioned his troops to head toward it. As he drew closer, he recognised a distinct Bronx drawl. It sounded very hostile.

"I don't care WHAT your honor tells you! I wanna ANSAH, an' I wan' it NOOOOWWW!"

There was a sniff. A growl of dissatisfaction. Footsteps coming toward them. Everyone hid.

The door burst open. There stood the Gnome Queen, a rolling pin in her hand.

"If you guys really wanna listen in on our domestic disputes, GET YAH BUTTS IN HERE!" She turned back to her husband, who was sitting horrified in a gilded chair in the room behind the door.

"NOW," the Queen continued, "about that HUSSY you were seen GOING OUT WITH last night!"

------------------

OOC: An' I bet you thought I was gonna godmod the Kenneyites... :) :) :)

"Gentlemen," he began. "Gurgle the Dragon. Dastardly Stench. Might I offer you another round of what you're having on my tab?"

"Acceptable," Kenji said, barely looking up.

Serph regarded the dragon coolly. "..."

The third paladin almost jumped off his seat in enthusiasm. "Sounds good. Sound good, Serph?"

Serph nodded his assent. "...sounds good."

OOC: While I failed to mention this in my TG, homosexuality is hardly taboo in Krioval. The population is about 65% male (thanks to social pressure to have sons coupled with liberal abortion laws), of whom nearly one in three are homosexual or bisexual (possibly thanks to the overabundance of males). About one in eight to one in six women are lesbians or bisexual. In the Guild especially, homosexuality is not only commonplace, but almost a way of life.

"Any chance of taking up your offer Gurgle", chimed in Otterby, eyeing the Paladins with a touch of nervousness.

OOC: An' I bet you thought I was gonna godmod the Kenneyites... :) :) :)[OOC: I did actually.

[Still I'd like to know how your men knew to search for us in the sub-basement ...]

OOC: While I failed to mention this in my TG, homosexuality is hardly taboo in Krioval. The population is about 65% male (thanks to social pressure to have sons coupled with liberal abortion laws), of whom nearly one in three are homosexual or bisexual (possibly thanks to the overabundance of males). About one in eight to one in six women are lesbians or bisexual. In the Guild especially, homosexuality is not only commonplace, but almost a way of life.[Gah. I wonder how you people breed.]

The HOCEK NSUN Nuncio waited patiently while Riley thumbed through his copy of the Kawaiian H-manga. With nothing else to do, and noticing the guards were nearly as bored and distracted as their boss, the otaku quietly gnawed through the gag around his mouth. Finally freeing it, he glared at the Kennyite ambassador, and said, "What...exactly...is your problem, Riley? Are you having a bad run at the Lucky Unico lately?"

Riley or his designated agents were expected to make a decent haul from time to time at the Eternal Kawaii's world famous casinos. It was a little arrangement the Nuncio had thought he had worked out with him at the conclusion of the ceasefire talks between their two nations. A small kickback from the somewhat (no, make that massively) padded reparations bill the HOCEK had submitted. The Nuncio shook his head at the Kennyite leering over the comic, and hmmed.

"Or maybe you're looking for something less financial and more...artistic?"

Deep in the underground recesses of UN Headquarters, Riley stared down at his prey; sixteen hours, and the Nuncio hadn't uttered a peep. He'd grown tired of this game, and his mind was racing for a way to weasel out of it. He turned to his security attache.

"Commander, clearly this fool knows nothing of the nuclear penguins. I want to let him go, but I don't want to cause problems with the HOCEK scum once I do. We need to plot a way out of this that would absolve the Federal Republic of all guilt."

"Well, Ambassador, I think I have an idea that might ..."

"Hold up, hold up, Commander. No need to rush this. I want to finish my comic first."

Cmdr. Chiang groaned as Riley plopped down into a chair to enjoy his Love-Love Kittens ...The HOCEK NSUN Nuncio waited patiently while Riley thumbed through his copy of the Kawaiian H-manga. With nothing else to do, and noticing the guards were nearly as bored and distracted as their boss, the otaku quietly gnawed through the gag around his mouth. Finally freeing it, he glared at the Kennyite ambassador, and said, "What...exactly...is your problem, Riley? Are you having a bad run at the Lucky Unico lately?"

Riley or his designated agents were expected to make a decent haul from time to time at the Eternal Kawaii's world famous casinos. It was a little arrangement the Nuncio had thought he had worked out with him at the conclusion of the ceasefire talks between their two nations. A small kickback from the somewhat (no, make that massively) padded reparations bill the HOCEK had submitted. The Nuncio shook his head at the Kennyite leering over the comic, and hmmed.

"Or maybe you're looking for something less financial and more...artistic?"Riley looked up from his reading material. "Oh, so now you're willing to talk?!" he snapped. "Amazing how animated your conversation becomes when the subject turns to dirty little pictures! I tell you, Nuncio ..."

One among the Federal Republic's security detail hurried into the room and whispered in Riley's ear: "It's ready, sir."

Riley nodded appreciatively at the woman, then turned back to his captive. "I tell you, Nuncio," he repeated, with a markedly more cheerful voice. "I hope you don't mind having your interrogations taped! Look into that hidden camera" -- Riley pointed at the lamp hanging down from the ceiling -- "because you're on 'Bound and Gagged!'"

At this, cheering broke out behind the two men as a door flew open and in walked an entourage of people, network stars, cameramen and others in the production crew. A fair amount of them were holding balloons.

A young man with a microphone approached and greeted the envoy. "Hello, Nuncio," he said. "I'm so glad to meet you. I'm Ryan Seacrest, host of Fox's brand new reality series, 'Bound and Gagged'! We watch what hilarious antics ensue when unsuspecting people are kidnapped, tortured and falsely imprisoned!! It's a premise as screwy as that cable-news racket we run!!"

The crowd behind him laughed hysterically. "And you're our first victim!" Seacrest declared. "We sure got you good, didn't we? This week, we look at what happens between two rivals on the UN floor, next week we ..."

Seacrest suddenly flashed Riley a very concerned look. He was sure the Nuncio would notice if this reality TV show never aired. Riley, however, didn't look worried at all; he had the utmost confidence in Fox to develop a crappy reality show at the last minute. Rupert Murdock was one of the Federal Republic's corporate sponsors.

Seacrest returned to the star of the moment, as the attractive women who had accompanied him into the room began to untie the Kawaiian's binds and remove the gnawed gag. "And because of your patience and good sportsmanship, Fox would like to reward you with twelve UN credits, good at any UN gift shop or store!" He produced a few tattered notes bearing Catherine Gratwick's grim portrait from his suit pocket. "Except the Strangers' Bar -- they're not covered by our insurance. You also win two gold coupons for all-day treatments at the HOCEK OMGTKK Cultural Exchange Center and Kawaiian Health Spa! Enjoy your new freedom in style!"

The girls helped the poor man out of his chair as the crowd cheered once more. Immediately the Nuncio's gaze turned on Riley, who was smiling sheepishly and waving at him, still holding that stupid comic. Riley thought the otaku's face reddened with rage ...

"Do you have a specific recommendation?"
If there was one way to Neville's heart ... well, actually, the ways to that susceptible organ were legion. But one of the best-trodden was to ask his advice.

"There is always this for the discerning palate," he purred, producing a chilled beaker of Fine Yeldan Ale (TM) and handing it with a flourish to Kenji.

"But for some customers, I keep ... this." He produced a polished wooden presentation box decorated with an obscure coat-of-arms and a slight dent on the lid.

"Zamundan Brandy," the Barlord said reverently, unclasping the catch to display a squat black bottle sealed in red wax. Extracting it, he broke the seal with some ceremony and gently poured a small amount into a vessel so fragile it made bubbles look clumsy. He warmed it in his hands for a few seconds before handing it over to Serph.

"Eventually the Bar will run out," Neville mourned, shamefacedly admitting to the noble institution's one weakness. "And then there will be no more. The producers never recovered from the great Zamundan earthquake. We managed to secure the last remaining shipment, miraculously preserved under tonnes of rubble. Our ... agent ... got there even before the Telidian rescue teams. It was brought here by goat-train, through manifold perils."

"*cough* Brother Tim's thirst *cough*" muttered Violet, aware of the temptation the elixir must have presented to the little monk from Findhorn. Neville ignored the interpolation.

"By the way," he said delicately, "I would naturally prefer that our valued customers remained uneaten, but should any unfortunate incidents occur, we are protected by the Acme Timeline Alternator."

He checked, just to make sure; yes, all the display panel lights were glowing green. The downward glance brought Otterby into his sight.

"Oh, very well," he sighed, and poured the well-pickled ambassador a generous unbreakable tumbler of Compadria's finest.

"And may the blessings of your otters be upon you," he added sympathetically. "Tomorrow morning, you're really going to need 'em."

"There is always this for the discerning palate," he purred, producing a chilled beaker of Fine Yeldan Ale (TM) and handing it with a flourish to Kenji.

"Very good," Kenji offered. "But I am confused. What use has a communist country for trademarks?"

"Zamundan Brandy," the Barlord said reverently, unclasping the catch to display a squat black bottle sealed in red wax. Extracting it, he broke the seal with some ceremony and gently poured a small amount into a vessel so fragile it made bubbles look clumsy. He warmed it in his hands for a few seconds before handing it over to Serph.

This was an upper-class drink, or rather, *beverage*. Serph regarded it suspiciously. At the nonverbal urging of Shinji, who was apparently testing the extent to which his innate skill could be applied, Serph sampled the liquid. For a glorious instant, the Chief Paladin felt at one with the universe. When the vision faded, Serph found himself able to better repel physical attacks. Because as we all know, when people experience unity with all Creation, they naturally become that much better at beating the hell out of some part of it.

"By the way," he said delicately, "I would naturally prefer that our valued customers remained uneaten, but should any unfortunate incidents occur, we are protected by the Acme Timeline Alternator."

"Not bad," Serph said. "Why not use your alternator to sustain its production?"

"By the way," he said delicately, "I would naturally prefer that our valued customers remained uneaten, but should any unfortunate incidents occur, we are protected by the Acme Timeline Alternator."

Tongue apparently loosened a bit by the Fine Yeldan Ale (trademark consciously omitted), Kenji answered blithely, "Don't worry. We ate before we arrived."

This was an upper-class drink, or rather, *beverage*. Serph regarded it suspiciously. At the nonverbal urging of Shinji, who was apparently testing the extent to which his innate skill could be applied, Serph sampled the liquid. For a glorious instant, the Chief Paladin felt at one with the universe. When the vision faded, Serph found himself able to better repel physical attacks. Because as we all know, when people experience unity with all Creation, they naturally become that much better at beating the hell out of some part of it.

"By the way," he said delicately, "I would naturally prefer that our valued customers remained uneaten, but should any unfortunate incidents occur, we are protected by the Acme Timeline Alternator."


"Not bad," Serph said. "Why not use your alternator to sustain its production?"

"By the way," he said delicately, "I would naturally prefer that our valued customers remained uneaten, but should any unfortunate incidents occur, we are protected by the Acme Timeline Alternator."

Tongue apparently loosened a bit by the Fine Yeldan Ale (trademark consciously omitted), Kenji answered blithely, "Don't worry. We ate before we arrived."

"Not a bad choice," said the Dragon. "Keeps the annebriation from hitting too suddenly. Anyway, Neville, could I have another barrel of that wonderful variety of whiskey that you were serving?"

----------------------------------------

OOC: Don't understand "take up your offer."

The SBD's ***didn't*** know to look in the sub basement. They just ***happened to get to it*** when the Gnome Queen was giving the hubby a little quality time... :) :) :)

----------------------------------------

IC:

The SBD's were all set to come out of hiding when they heard a loud clamor one level below them. Slowly, carefully, undetectably, they made their way to the source of the confusion. They were almost there when Pewie small but magnanimous contribution to the local atmosphere.

Hogelett awoke long enough to look blearily at her gadget. Her department had submitted to discussion in her absence a very draft Nat.Sov. proposal she'd written and stuck in a dark corner somewhere. Now there was uproar all across the UN.
Not a good day to wake up from a druken stupor into.
She signalled for another strong drink before passing out again.

The dragon's cell phone rang, and he answered it.

"Yes. They did? Oh, wonderful. If the Shirt Ninjas find that out, it could start a war. Well don't just stand there, Pewie, introduce yourself to the good people now. Warn them. Extend our offer to act as a go-between. We just might be able to salvage the peace!" The line hung up.

The dragon turned back to the three gentlemen at the bar, looking directly at Serph, who, though he spoke so little that the dragon was tempted to plant a sarcastic line or two, obviously had the most say--though by no means the only say--of the entourage.

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm sticking my nose in somewhere that it doesn't belong--but I'm not sure whether I'll regret it more if I do of if I don't. Wars have been started over less, and I'd rather not have one start here.

"Anyway, I am actually here on business. Word has reached me about your matter transfer technology. I don't know whether you've heard about our Information Technology or not, but it's quite bleeding edge, both in terms of its capabilities and its innovative use of the laws of quantum physics. Perhaps we can form a joint research group, leading to an alliance and an embassy swap. Both of our nations could profit from it."

The dragon had also seen the look on Serph's face after he had imbibed the liquid refreshment that Gurgle had purchased for him. It made the dragon wish that it existed in sufficient quantities for him to have a good drag. Perhaps he could interest Neville in letting a bottle or two slip out of inventory and into the vaunted Dastardly Stench analytical labs, the Brown Nose Club.

Then again, perhaps he could get a second opinion. As the dragon spoke with his new acquaintances, two of the Union Negotiators, twin brothers, K'pau and K'peu, jetted by.

"Excuse me, boys," the dragon said, his voice dripping with congeniality, "I was wondering what these gentlemen's beverage tastes like. There doesn't seem to be enough for me. Would either of you be interested in a round on my tab?"

At first, the looks he got were not pleasant. The boys had obviously heard about what had happened to their counterpart, Flatulla.

"Oh, it's a different beverage entirely," the dragon said.

They flew in and landed on the bar.

"Well," K'pau said, a look of slight worry taking over his features, "if it's not what you gave her..."

"Excellent. Neville?"

In a moment, the beverage was served, and a slow, liesurely imbibement ensued. The verdict?

"Nine point eight, nine point seven, nine point eight--and the FRENCH judge gives it a seven point five!"

"I take it that it meets your standard of approval, then."

"Yes. Don't mean to take advantage of your hospitality and run, but we've got to find Miss Flatulla and get back."

"Go ahead, boys."

And the funniest thing happened. Shortly after K'pau, who had done the drinking, lept into the air, the bar began to smell of fine perfume.

"Ben Franklin, eat your heart out," muttered the dragon. "I've got to get my tail around a bottle of that stuff.

"Oh...Neville...?" he called.

"Not bad," Serph said. "Why not use your alternator to sustain its production?"

Neville looked at him blankly. Good lord, did these people think that fine liquor was just a matter of chemistry? Of physics? Or technology, even?

"Uh ... it doesn't work like that?" he answered doubtfully, his voice questioning because he wasn't at all sure he'd even understood what the Paladin was saying -- the words, yes, but the intent? Were they trying to persuade him to switch timelines to a moment where Zamundaland hadn't been destroyed, just so the nation could continue to produce its superb brandy?

Neville shook his head as though tormented by midges. The last thing he wanted to do was get into a debate with a bunch of god-damn demi-gods on whether a given action was ethical.

His eyes skittered hopefully around his other customers, begging for something he could deal with -- a nice bar-room brawl, a raucous singalong, some dubious sexual advances, theft, riot or revolution -- something more within a Barlord's job description.

Ahhh! Hodgelett to the rescue, even when she was unconscious. Wonderful woman.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, I just have to do something about the Randomean delegate, she's, er, uncomfortable. Violet will look after you," he said cravenly, sweeping the unresisting Hodgelett off to arrange her decorously and decoratively in the ancient Rocking-chair of Komokom (and incidentally laying himself open to a charge of godmoding-between-friends; but what can you expect, if people will leave their diplomats scattered untidily around the place?).

Violet mentally chalked up another mark on her Get Neville Later slate and served everyone drinks. She didn't care how obscure their discussions got; she was on double-time-and-a-half, public holiday rates.

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm sticking my nose in somewhere that it doesn't belong--but I'm not sure whether I'll regret it more if I do of if I don't. Wars have been started over less, and I'd rather not have one start here.

"Anyway, I am actually here on business. Word has reached me about your matter transfer technology. I don't know whether you've heard about our Information Technology or not, but it's quite bleeding edge, both in terms of its capabilities and its innovative use of the laws of quantum physics. Perhaps we can form a joint research group, leading to an alliance and an embassy swap. Both of our nations could profit from it."

"Intriguing," Kenji said, focusing his attention on the dragon. "Were you looking to deal with the government of Krioval or the Guild of Paladins to effect such an exchange? And what form would this joint research group take?"

"Uh ... it doesn't work like that?" [snip]

"Your reputation preceeds you," Shinji said softly, an irrepressible grin already spreading across his face.

"..." Serph shrugged serenely, and turned to watch Kenji negotiate.

"Intriguing," Kenji said, focusing his attention on the dragon. "Were you looking to deal with the government of Krioval or the Guild of Paladins to effect such an exchange? And what form would this joint research group take?"



"Your reputation preceeds you," Shinji said softly, an irrepressible grin already spreading across his face.

"..." Serph shrugged serenely, and turned to watch Kenji negotiate.

Gurgle looked back at Neville as he all-too-lovingly began to shift Hodgelet's body in preparation to move it. He wondered what had happened to the makeshift coverlet that he had put over Hodgelet. There it was on the floor beneath her. It must have fallen off during her moment of consciousness in between her times of stupor. He hoped that Neville wouldn't trip on it.

He turned back to Kenji. Sounded like a fishing expedition. He wanted to know what to expect--was Dastardly Stench interested in violence or in cooperation? Were they impatient, unmoving or efficient? The answeres, of course were, in order, the latter and efficient. The dragon would show this by indicating what he knew and attempting to bring the diplomat into the negotiations as a valued partner, emphasizing the mutual benefits of the deal.

"That's why I'm talking with you," the dragon said. "Neville is not the only one with a reputation that preceeds him. I am told that your vociferous friend Serph has high rank in the Guild and in two of your nation's highest-ranking tribes. Given this information, it would seem at first glance that the difference between the guild and the government might, at this point, be trivial. First glances can sometimes be deceiving, however. That is why your advice on this matter, if honestly given, would be an excellent start to a long and fast international friendship."

He turned to Violet, who had taken over the bar. "And I would consider it a special favour," he told her, "if I could receive two more bottles of that Zumundaland Brandy. It seems to have performed most wonderfully in a recent taste trial."

What he wasn't telling her was that, in the Magical Realm, they could ensure an unending supply of the wondrous drink. Other places could synthesize the chemicals, but, in the Dominion of Dastardly Stench, despite the name of the place, they could work magic.

"That's why I'm talking with you," the dragon said. "Neville is not the only one with a reputation that preceeds him. I am told that your vociferous friend Serph has high rank in the Guild and in two of your nation's highest-ranking tribes. Given this information, it would seem at first glance that the difference between the guild and the government might, at this point, be trivial. First glances can sometimes be deceiving, however. That is why your advice on this matter, if honestly given, would be an excellent start to a long and fast international friendship."

Kenji remained unmoved. "Vociferous? Serph? An unusual juxtaposition." He paused, and turned slightly to gauge Serph's reaction. There was none, save for the tiniest nod. Kenji returned his full attentions to the dragon. "The government of Krioval is headed by the President and the Senate. Disputes are resolved in the courts. The Guild, the temples, and the tribes are involved to various degrees in decisions of government, but the office of Chief Paladin is not equivalent to that of the President. If it is a matter of efficiency..."

Serph interrupted, softly yet clearly. "We will receive your delegation in Valak at your convenience. Please give us at least three days' notice prior to your arrival. Will they come by sea, air, or spacecraft?"

He turned to Violet, who had taken over the bar. "And I would consider it a special favour," he told her, "if I could receive two more bottles of that Zumundaland Brandy. It seems to have performed most wonderfully in a recent taste trial."

Serph listened with satisfaction. The effects of the brandy were unpredictable, to say the least. When combined with the essence of the Asura, it had led to increased combat ability. It could be surmised that the spirit was able to augment one's innate abilities, but even that much was uncertain. The Chief Paladin found himself wishing luck on whoever partook of the strange liquid, and he inwardly wondered whether an earthquake was always just an earthquake.

*Adaine renters the bar having been working overtime at work, orders something chocolatey. watches the newcomers, especially Selph seeing he isn't talking much*

OOC: sorry I haven't been on lately. I haven't had a computer for ages.

The HOCEK NSUN Nuncio stared blankly at Ryan Seacrest, who was babbling something about a television show. He glanced over at Riley, who was watching nonchalantly, as if kidnapping and abusing fellow diplomats were of no more concern to him than what was on the menu at the NSUN HQ cafeteria. These people are stark, raving insane, he thought. As he was helped to his feet, his anger rose, his face getting as red as the light over the camera filming...

...filming him? The otaku blanched as Ryan's inane babbling finally making sense. He was being filmed! Possibly live, for all he knew!

The Nuncio stiffened, and bowed formally to the girls, to Ryan, and finally to Riley. Flashing a smile, he waved at the camera, shouting "YATTA!" as if he'd won the grand prize on a Kawaiian TV game show.

It wasn't an act. Kawaiian TV game shows are pretty rough affairs, with kidnapping and abuse as common, almost expected themes in many of them. The possibility that the Kennyite ambassador had made up this whole "FOX reality show" cover story out of thin air never even occurred to the Nuncio.

The Nuncio grinned and mugged for the cameras, examining his "prizes" as he was led over to Riley. He slapped Riley on the back and said, "Well now, looks like I'll have to celebrate my good fortune. Perhaps you'd care to join me in the Strangers' Bar?"

The Nuncio grinned and mugged for the cameras, examining his "prizes" as he was led over to Riley. He slapped Riley on the back and said, "Well now, looks like I'll have to celebrate my good fortune. Perhaps you'd care to join me in the Strangers' Bar?"

It was precisely then that a man dressed in black (well, actually, extremely dark brown) so that even his face was completely obscured appeared seemingly out of nowhere right next to Nuncio.

"I wouldn't recommend that right out, sir," he said, a prim brittish accent coloring his speech. "I've been instructed to warn you, sir, that members of your nation, to wit, the Shirt Ninjas, have commenced search and destroy operations against those who have been holding you. If the matter isn't resolved diplomacticacticallaaaaaay," the man paused to take a deep breath, "the gentleman standing next to you may be subject to violent actions the moment you enter the bar. It is our humblest recommendation that you check in with your home embassy and terminate hostilities before anything else is terminated, sir. Good day, sir, and...henceforth, we'll be watching to ensure your safety."

With that, the man took another deep breath and then disappeared in a puff of green-and-brown smoke.

Gaeblyn looked up, to see a messenger at the door.

"What is it?"

After a short, tense whispered discussion, he turned to the Bar.

"It seems that His Holiness Berenon has passed away. I must return to Darsomir, to ensure that the... correct person is elected to the Exarchy. Johannes, you can stay. I doubt I'll return, I don't see the point."

With that, he left.

Johannes turned to the barman, and said, "Well, thank the Flame he's gone! There's no way they'd let him become Exarch. Well, I hope not. Anyway, let everyone here have a Flamewater, in recognition of His Holiness Berenon!"

The Nuncio grinned and mugged for the cameras, examining his "prizes" as he was led over to Riley. He slapped Riley on the back and said, "Well now, looks like I'll have to celebrate my good fortune. Perhaps you'd care to join me in the Strangers' Bar?""You got it, my good man," replied Riley, slapping the Nuncio's back and leading him toward the door, chatting it up as though the Nuncio were a longtime friend. He was sure there was nothing at all to cause alarm at the Strangers' Bar, certainly not any Shirt Ninja lying in wait for him ...

Midori's phone goes off again and she answers it.

she listens as she leaves the bar having to go off on her next state visit.

[OOC: Ignored. You're missing the point. And you're assuming omniscience for yourself.]


OOC: Not even close. The Shirt Ninjas told Gurgle that they were going to kill off the Kennyites. Gurgle relayed the message to the SBD's. He also relayed a picture of the diplomat, which he found in the appropriate diplomatic registry. They found the diplomat and relayed the message. No omniscience necessary.

Nonetheless, since you obviously wish to stick with your little clique--as evidenced not only by your ignoring of my post on shoddy pretenses but also by your refusal to tg me and give me any information to work with after I asked you to do so--the post is written so that the diplomat can do what he will, and I'll have no more to do with your self-absorbed little world. Have a nice life.

Otterby watched the scuffles between the Shirt Ninjas and Riley with a kind of relaxed bemusement. Meanwhile his mind rolled over the possibilities that the Shirt Ninjas raised, they looked remarkably impressive and Otterby fancied that if the ailing Compadrian military could use their skills it might save them from the threats of invasion that the intelligence services had been hearing about, ever since the landmines repeal had failed. The names of several prominent militarised nations had come up in the discussions, Ottarkus preserve us, what if we were invaded? Who would they appeal to, DEFCON?

No, best stick to the Ninjas for the time being. And Guinness. Of those two things in life, you could be certain about.

The NSUN HOCEK Nuncio face-palmed as the three Shirt Ninja pounced Riley from all directions. As they dragged him along the bar, he briefly thought of letting them enjoy pummelling the Kennyite ambassador; it probably would do the man a world of good. However, good manners overruled personal satisfaction, and he called out to the Ninja, "HALT!"

One of them, about to inflict an excruciatingly painful and highly comic punishment upon the ambassador (involving a bottle of scotch, an ashtray and a bucket full of beer-nuts), dropped the diplomat unceremoniusly and bowed deeply, barking "Nuncio-sensei!" The others bowed in turn, and one blurted out, "you're safe, sir?"

The Nuncio turned to the Happiness Police captain and said, "What on earth is going on here?"

She bowed like the ninja and said, "Good to have you back, sir. We were afraid we'd have to hunt the Kennyites down one by one--you've brought their ringleader to us. Good job."

The Nuncio looked around a little nervously. Technically, the Shirt Ninja detachment to the HOCEK NSUN Nunciate answered directly to him. It looked, though, like the Happiness Police had stepped in and were exercising a little of their "oversight". This is not good, he thought.

*Adaine watched the proceedings with intrest and amusement sipping on a sweetened cappaccino*

Neville folded his arms on the bar and put his head down on top of them. This tactic had always served him well in Kindergarten at Toongabbie Primary School, and he saw no reason not to employ it again. He scrunched his eyes up tight and pretended very hard that he wasn't there, and if he was, he was invisible.

It may not have been mature or responsible, but it was certainly preferable to having anything to do with HOCEK in relation to the Kennyites in relation to Gurgle of Dastardly Stench in relation to -- or possibly in contravention of -- Krioval.

After some minutes of this, with nothing untoward having happened, he extended one arm to hook Adaine's cappucino, the other to secure Otterby's Guinness, and, combining the two beverages, drank them down.

(Dutch courage has a lot to recommend it, but, for sheer insane bravado, the combination of Italian and Irish can't be beaten.)

"Ahem!" Neville said, looking the Happiness Police Captain straight in the eye (a proceeding which required considerable strength of character, given the attributes of Happiness Police officers in general).

"Ahem! Except in the case of Hibernians and other Celts, who, even the Management recognises, have a genetic predisposition which cannot be over-ridden, brawling is not permitted in the Strangers' Bar!

"The UN has a perfectly good Fight Room on one of the upper floors if you must get physical," he added disapprovingly, slipping free replacements to Adaine and Otterby. "I urge you to adjourn there forthwith."

Hodgelett awoke again to find herself in a rocking chair on the other side of the room that she started off at. Feeling grateful to whoever had moved her there (and as such for any god modding involved) she did notice that her large bundle of files was sitting behind her stool, half hidden by a blanket. She hoped it wouldn't be in the way of what looked like yet another diplomatic misunderstanding...or someone had just received the Stranger's Bar official birthday bumps.

The smell of freshly roasted coffee beans wafted over. Hodgelett lost no time elaborately miming across the room to Violet her wishes, using strange gestures such as drinking from an imaginary cup, smelling the aroma from said cup, a sleeping->awake but dozy->drinking->wide awake mime, picking up two somethings and dropping them in the cup and stirring with an imaginary spoon...