NationStates Jolt Archive

Wolfgang 013, who'd recently slipped out of the bar unnoticed to defend his native language, English, against a delegation from some speck of a nation called Octovanyo or some such rot, walked back in and sat back down at the bar. Anyone listening closely would hear him "speaking dog" by, essentially, growling, snarling, and barking quietly to himself. "Another sparkling grape juice, please, Mr. Neville." He rubbed his temples. We're the leaders of the free world. You'd think they could put a little effort into speaking their own language...

Christelle shook the man's hand.

"Christelle Zyryanov, of Ariddia. I do believe they have a bottle or two of Ariddian grapefruit vodka around here, but it's an acquired taste." She looked at him curiously. "Altanar... You have a king, haven't you?"

"That is correct....your knowledge of my country is impressive, especially since not too many people have heard of us yet. I have heard a little bit of Ariddia...our values as nations are not completely different," Jaris smiles

He looks around the bar. "This grapefruit vodka sounds interesting....I'll have to try it. Wine isn't too exotic by comparison, but we make some fine wine. I doubt they have any of ours here, but I'll have to rectify that so that you can try it."

Christelle smiled.

"I'm afraid I don't know all that much else about your country, though I'd be happy to hear all about it. And to taste some of your fine wine," she added with a slight grin. "They may actually have some here. You'd be surprised at the strange drinks there are on offer. Not to mention the food." She shuddered. "In fact, it's probably best not to mention the food..."

Anravelle gently glided into the room. Distracted, worried, stressed, downright drained and still trying to maintain her façade of “Ithanian grace” but she needn't have bothered.

"Nobody would notice if I started clucking like a chicken… they’re either too drunk or too self-obsessed" she felt a small mental sigh, "politicians are politicians wherever you go." Her mind quickly adding "you’re one too" to keep her in check.

Looking at the collection of drunks and delegates she couldn’t help but ask why she’d bothered straightening every stray hair, ironing out every wrinkle, and blending every millimetre of make-up.

What did she think she would face? A room full of prying eyes analysing every tiny detail like vultures?... maybe in her nightmares but in reality she knew it was always going to be this didn’t she? Prying vultures don’t stumble into an office two floors over theirs and ask whether you’re the “hostess” they called for do they now? No...

She let out a small giggle and thought of how ridiculous she must look now; mocha ruffled skirt and high collared jacket with a salmon pink blouse and fluffy cravat. It might be the fashion in Ithania (for the next three weeks then it’d change again, to what she didn’t know but something equally ridiculous and probably grey.) but here…

Trying not to be noticed she sauntered over to most shaded seat at the bar, "first time nerves don't show well in bad lighting.. or at least they didn't when with other first times"

Asking for apricot, camomile, and honey tea she closed her eyes and hoped that’d stop her mind from being so erratic and let her get on with becoming "politically responsible" again... the sooner she should be forgiven at home, the better.

(OOC: I apologise for the length and terrible flow of structure but I’m not used to RP sadly, I promise they’ll get shorter soon.)

Especially in the Strangers' Bar, where a flying bottle was likely enough to ruin your clothes.

"Oh, by the way, Ambassador Zyryanov, Neville's been asking me to make sure everyone knows about a new service we've introduced," said Violet, halting briefly as she deftly served drinks.

"It's a variant on that Acme alternate timeline thing, you know, that stops people being killed here? If anything happens to your outfit, you just have to stand in front of Neville and let him point this sort of little torch-thing at you, and it takes you back to a few seconds before, when your clothes were perfect.

"Of course, it means that for a few seconds you're standing there totally naked in the middle of the Bar, but Neville doesn't mind in the least, he says, and hardly anybody's even noticed."

"In fact, it's probably best not to mention the food..."

Neville would have been happy to demonstrate the new gadget, but he was out the back, in the kitchen, his arm awkwardly around the shoulder of a wildly sobbing chef.

"I've no patience with you, Dazza," he said crossly. "You know eavesdroppers only ever hear no good of themselves. You shouldn't keep the bar mikes on out here. Anyway, everybody who matters knows you're the greatest master of Australian fusion-cuisine on the planet."

He paused for a moment, wondering if this was the right time. Staff were so touchy.

"Though I have been meaning to have a chat to you about that Roast Sentient with Mango Sauce and Vegetable Au Gratin item on last night's menu. There were a few complaints about the choice of vegetable.

"Oh, and next time you might like to try Fine Yeldan Cheese, the Yeldans are very strong supporters of the Bar ..."

"Hmm....even at the risk of being naked for a bit, it's good to know my wardrobe will remain intact," Jaris laughs. "As for the wine, if they do have some, I'd be happy to offer you some....if we can locate the bartender, that is," he says to Christelle.

"Thanks," Christelle told the Archoillean delegate, "but between having my clothes stained and standing naked in front of everyone... I'm not entirely convinced everyone would avert their eyes."

Still, it sounds incredible... I wonder what else they've been inventing around here. The wonders of a fractal world (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Earth)...

She turned back to Krytellin.
"I'm sure the bartender will appear shortly. Usually there's always someone around... And thank you, yes," she added with a smile, "I wouldn't mind that."



(OOC: I apologise for the length and terrible flow of structure but I’m not used to RP sadly, I promise they’ll get shorter soon.)

OOC: There's no requirement for RPs to be short. In fact, some of us enjoy reading long RPs, and yours was good. Welcome to the Strangers' Bar. :)

... if we can locate the bartender, that is,"

OOC: Neville the Barlord is out in the kitchen trying to soothe the cook. Violet Bracket, the barmaid, was there a minute ago, telling you about Neville's latest gadget. The Ardchoillean delegation is, respectively, trying to avoid notice in the General Assembly (Dicey), flirting ineptly (Bast), and sitting in her apartment dreaming innocent dreams of OMGTKK's Sammy Faisano (the intern, poor kid).

Which translates as: I'm the player behind several of the staff, but they're not Ardchoilleans. If nobody actually says you've been served, just assume you have; the service in the Bar is so very professional, sometimes you just don't see it happen.

OOC: info about the staff noted. :)

IC: Jaris deftly finagles two glasses of a rare Altanari vintage from the barmaid. "I hope you like this one. They actually grow the grapes for this particular wine in the mountains around our capital back home," he says handing a glass to Christelle.

Jaris deftly finagles two glasses of a rare Altanari vintage from the barmaid. "I hope you like this one. They actually grow the grapes for this particular wine in the mountains around our capital back home," he says handing a glass to Christelle.

"Thank you." Christelle took the glass delicately. "Mountains, you say? We haven't got any mountains in Ariddia. Lots of forests, some hills, but no mountains." She looked at him curiously. "I'd be interested to hear more about your country."

"Thank you." Christelle took the glass delicately. "Mountains, you say? We haven't got any mountains in Ariddia. Lots of forests, some hills, but no mountains." She looked at him curiously. "I'd be interested to hear more about your country."

Jaris grins in response. "That would be a long story, since we're pretty obscure at the moment. We're a small country at the moment, but growing fast. We spent most of our history in isolation, but our current king, and his predecessor, decided that we should join the greater world. We're governed by a monarchy, but it's a constitutional one. We have an elected Assembly and a Senate composed of nobles, which share power equally to propose and enact legislation. They can even override the king's edicts, with sufficient votes, which was a big change recently enacted by our current ruler, King Aelkyn."

"As far as our social outlook, we're a pretty openminded country...or at least we like to think so, but then again, doesn't everyone?" Jaris grins and sips his wine. "Mmm, they actually got the good wine. Where was I? Oh yes....socially speaking, we tend to be progressive and more liberal minded in nature, and frequently welcome people from countries that are less....openminded. That's actually our goal in coming to the UN....trying to bring that kind of philosophy to the rest of the world. It seems like we might have a bit of a challenge with that though, judging from the debates I've seen so far. I could ramble on about home forever though...is there anything specific you'd like to know? I'd be quite interested to hear about your home as well."

"It sounds like you'll be a very useful addition to the General Assembly," Christelle told him. "Let's see... Well, my country's a republic. We have a Prime Secretary, who's both head of State and head of government. Actually the last elections were just a few weeks ago, and we have a new leader. Prime Secretary Khadhim (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Nuriyah_bint_Rashad_Khadhim). She's replaced Prime Secretary Ud (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Aj_Ud)..."

She fell silent for a moment, then took a sip of her wine and smiled.
"This if very good!" Another pause. "It's going to... take a while before some of us get used to the change. Aj Ud was our leader for 45 years. By the end he could barely walk." She smiled fondly. "At least now he'll be able to relax and enjoy his retirement... Anyway," she added brightly, "yes, my country also welcomes refugees, and other immigrants too, so we have a very diverse population. My own not-so-distant ancestors were immigrants. But there are also quite a lot of Ariddians living abroad... There may even be some in Altanar, for all I know."

"It sounds like you'll be a very useful addition to the General Assembly," Christelle told him. "Let's see... Well, my country's a republic. We have a Prime Secretary, who's both head of State and head of government. Actually the last elections were just a few weeks ago, and we have a new leader. Prime Secretary Khadhim (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Nuriyah_bint_Rashad_Khadhim). She's replaced Prime Secretary Ud (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Aj_Ud)..."

She fell silent for a moment, then took a sip of her wine and smiled.
"This if very good!" Another pause. "It's going to... take a while before some of us get used to the change. Aj Ud was our leader for 45 years. By the end he could barely walk." She smiled fondly. "At least now he'll be able to relax and enjoy his retirement... Anyway," she added brightly, "yes, my country also welcomes refugees, and other immigrants too, so we have a very diverse population. My own not-so-distant ancestors were immigrants. But there are also quite a lot of Ariddians living abroad... There may even be some in Altanar, for all I know."

"Hmm, it seems like my country is at the beginning of a road similar to one yours has already taken," Jaris replies. "For many years, my country was very isolated, because our rulers feared that contact with the outside world would threaten our unity and our values. But the previous few kings have opened us to the wider world, and I think we've actually grown stronger as a result. Our population is not so diverse as of yet, but we're hoping that will change. People from a lot of different nations have arrived in Altanar in the past few years, so I bet there have been at least a few Ariddians among them. If they're as friendly as you, I certainly hope so, anyway," the ambassador grins.

Christelle returned Jaris' smile.

"There's a lot to learn from opening up to the world. I wish your people every success. Perhaps we can even give you advice if you ever want it." She took another sip of her wine. "Exchanging ambassadors would be a first step."

Ambassador Barfanger lumbers into the bar. (A rare occasion!) As usual, he's puffing on his cigar, which, as usual, he's forgotten to light. He spots the ambassador from Altanar.

"Hey, barkeep," he calls, "give the new guy an Olde Frothingslosh on my tab. He's got his head inserted about our marriage proposal, but he's still OK with us".

He trudges over and plops down on a seat against the wall. (Dwarves have a thing about keeping their backs to the wall.) He takes the cigar out of his mouth and studies the should-be-lit end with a puzzled frown.

Christelle returned Jaris' smile. "There's a lot to learn from opening up to the world. I wish your people every success. Perhaps we can even give you advice if you ever want it." She took another sip of her wine. "Exchanging ambassadors would be a first step."

Jaris nods. "Advice is good. Good advice is even better. As to an exchange of ambassadors, I would need to confirm that with my government, but I have no doubt they would be eager to do so."

Ambassador Barfanger lumbers into the bar. (A rare occasion!) As usual, he's puffing on his cigar, which, as usual, he's forgotten to light. He spots the ambassador from Altanar. "Hey, barkeep," he calls, "give the new guy an Olde Frothingslosh on my tab. He's got his head inserted about our marriage proposal, but he's still OK with us".

Jaris grins at the comment. "I'm glad you didn't take it personally. I'll stand you to a drink as well, if you're interested."

Christelle smiled.

"I'll have to talk to my government too, of course." She looked over at Ambassador Barfanger, hoping he did not intend to light that cigar. "That 'marriage proposal' is going to be an uphill struggle. Half of those who oppose it seem to be barely literate. Present company excepted," of course, she added quickly, with an apologetic smile at Jaris.

Kaigan and Yukiko gave their farewells and left for the general assembly together leaving Midori and the babies.

Midori made herself comfortable wondering how long it would be until she was back debating in the chamber as the twins started to fall asleep.

Christelle smiled.

"I'll have to talk to my government too, of course." She looked over at Ambassador Barfanger, hoping he did not intend to light that cigar. "That 'marriage proposal' is going to be an uphill struggle. Half of those who oppose it seem to be barely literate. Present company excepted," of course, she added quickly, with an apologetic smile at Jaris.

Jaris grinned wryly. "Thank you for that exception.....I'd hate to be lumped in with some of the other debaters I heard. Reading the thing before commenting on it helps."

Wolfgang, who'd been mildly listening in, turned towards the new delegate. "The damned Read-Nothings population seems to be on the rise, too. I swear some of these countries are sending delegates to us as their punishment for some heinous crime or something. And most of them just sit there and indicate their votes, without providing any constructive criticism or anything." He sighed, then mumbled, "And I have this job for life, too."

"I'm pretty new here, so I haven't noticed such an unfortunate trend yet. But I'll certainly do my small part to counteract it," Jaris said to the new arrival. "I think some of the other delegates may be forgetting that they're actually representing their country here, and it does reflect upon their home to some extent."

The Wolf Guardians;11819136']"... I swear some of these countries are sending delegates to us as their punishment for some heinous crime or something."[OOC: Don't insult Dicey by comparing her to all these cretins. :p]

OOC: Of course not. Dicey is a character beyond compare. Whatever her crimes, they pale in comparison to those of some of the slugs we have here. I want to name the irritating ones so badly, but I won't. Plus, I don't think Wolfgang knows that about her, either :)

IC: "Yes, quite. It could be arranged to tattoo a reminder to their retinas!" He was obviously in a bad mood. He downed his admittedly pointless drink, his free hand hovering next to his HSD gun, waiting for the inevitable urge to use it.

"Such a reminder would probably work, but I am sure most would object to it," Jaris replies delicately. "Of course, that could be said for everything that happens here, from what I have seen so far."

"You know, they probably wouldn't notice it was there, anyway. Most of 'em barely have a pulse, near as I can tell. You know, one of 'em's actually put forth a proposal to make every UN-Member citizen earn the same amount regardless of how much training, time, effort, experience, et cetera that they have? How utterly wrong." He saw a gnome walking by outside the bar, and very, very quickly drew the HSD weapon and blasted the little bugger to bits. Ten seconds later, the gnome, in a holographically-generated daze, collected itself and wobbled down the hallway. "That's better." He visibly relaxed.

A very short, stocky figure with a soup-bowl haircut and walrus mustache, wearing a military uniform, appears in the door of the bar and gazes around.

"Aw, geez," someone mutters, "another one of them Ausserland dwarves."

It's Major General Anselm G. Blorck, Deputy Minister for Foreign Affairs (National Security Affairs).

General Blorck (http://h1.ripway.com/reclaim/Blorck_A_G.gif)

The General spots Ambassador Barfanger, plods over, and plops down... er climbs up and plops down in a chair at his table.

"Hey, Blackie! I didn't know you were in town!" Barfanger says. "How come?"

"Aw, it's that [expletive deleted] bugs and gas garbage," the General growls. "His Royal Bossness blew a half-dozen gaskets and told me to get my [expletive deleted] out here and stick that [expletive deleted] up the [expletive deleted] Kennyites' [expletive deleted]. Just when I was set to head down to the beach for a few days, too."

The deleted expletives are strings of shockingly foul curses and rude words. Luckily, they're in Old Dwarvish, and Barfanger is the only one of the patrons who speaks the language.

"Been here long?" the Ambassador asks.

"Naw, just got here. Stuck my head in the Assembly hall, but some feeble-minded dweeb was going on about marrying a turnip or something. Figured I better go find the beer."

"Well, you found it," Barfanger chortles.

Ambassador Zyryanov took another sip of her wine. The mood in the Bar had turned understandable grumpy and edgy, but she herself remained calm.

"Perhaps we should move debates here into the Strangers' Bar, and not inform... certain representatives," she suggested mildly... then shook her head. "No, wait. Forget that. I come here to get away from it all. Too bad..."

After going slightly wide-eyed at the sight of a gun being pulled, the representative from Altanar regained his composure.

"You know, I actually thought I had a coherent and fairly well-thought-out argument against that proposal. But then, the debate got hijacked by the representatives from Brainlessistan and such. It almost makes me want to change my vote to avoid guilt by association," Jaris sighed. "I think hiding out here and having a drink or two might be the better option, though."

Angrily, Sammy stormed into the establishment, igniting a chorus of seethings and hissings as he had never heard. The unofficial Hate Kenny Convention was apparently now in full swing at the Strangers' Bar; even the Ausserlanders had shown up. If the cold reception to his disarmament proposal hadn't made him feel bad enough, the patrons assembled were sure to make him feel worse. And reading the transcript from the marriage debate that morning had only infuriated him more.

"Someone forget to tell me about the party?" he whispered evilly to Christelle as he passed her by.

He roared at the barlord as he made his way toward the Wolf Guardians' table: "Yo, Neville! An Arrogant Bastard Ale! And no wussy 22-ouncer this time, either! Bring me a fucking Growler!" And with that, he plopped down in a chair facing the only customer who seemed even remotely pleased to see him.

"Yo, fuck business (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=11819892&postcount=22), Wolfgang," he groused. "Give me your fucking holograph gun!"

Wolfgang, hearing the word, "Brainlessistan", looked around quickly and conspicuously. He then leaned towards Jaris and whispered, "I wouldn't say THAT quite so loudly. The UN DEFCON has a lot of allies, including our Commonwealth, and, Cluichistan has a Death Star." Speaking at a normal level, he continued. "You can't have a debate here on such a silly topic. Even if that's how one nation wants to do it, you can't realistically expect the UN to pass such a minority ideal as a Resolution for all members. That's just plain stupid." He downed another glass of grape juice, then continued dog-mumbling to himself.

Christelle smiled sweetly at Sammy as he passed.

"It's a constant party here. You should know that by now."

She finished her wine, and gave Jaris a smile of thanks.

"That was lovely. Would you care for some grapefruit vodka?"

Angrily, Sammy stormed into the establishment, igniting a chorus of seethings and hissings as he had never heard. The unofficial Hate Kenny Convention was apparently now in full swing at the Strangers' Bar; even the Ausserlanders had shown up. If the cold reception to his disarmament proposal hadn't made him feel bad enough, the patrons assembled were sure to make him feel worse. And reading the transcript from the marriage debate that morning had only infuriated him more.

"Someone forget to tell me about the party?" he whispered evilly to Christelle as he passed her by.

He roared at the barlord ss he made his way toward the Wolf Guardians' table: "Yo, Neville! An Arrogant Bastard Ale! And no wussy 22-ounzer this time, either! Bring me a fucking Growler!" And with that, he plopped down in a chair facing the only customer who seemed even remotely pleased to see him.

"Yo, fuck business (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=11819892&postcount=22), Wolfgang," he groused. "Give me your fucking holograph gun!"

Wolfgang, with the "old west" flare of twirling the pistol around, handed it off to Sammy. "Have fun. We should go kill that entire room." He drew another pistol, and shot another innocent gnome passing by the Bar. "I should go find their offices. That'd be quite the stress relief."

Ambassador Ahlmann trudges into the bar. Looking around, she spots the disgruntled-looking Sammy Faisano. Then she sees General Blorck sitting with Hurlbot Barfanger and grins broadly.

"Neville," she calls, "send old Sammy an Iron City on me, please. He's gonna need it."

Lori waves to the other patrons as she trudges over to join her dwarven colleagues.

Wolfgang, hearing the word, "Brainlessistan", looked around quickly and conspicuously. He then leaned towards Jaris and whispered, "I wouldn't say THAT quite so loudly. The UN DEFCON has a lot of allies, including our Commonwealth, and, Cluichistan has a Death Star." Speaking at a normal level, he continued. "You can't have a debate here on such a silly topic. Even if that's how one nation wants to do it, you can't realistically expect the UN to pass such a minority ideal as a Resolution for all members. That's just plain stupid." He downed another glass of grape juice, then continued dog-mumbling to himself.

"Oh, that remark was more meant towards the incoherent stream of people that seemed to enjoy arguing about something they hadn't even read. They certainly made it harder for me to be on my side," Jaris replied.

Christelle smiled sweetly at Sammy as he passed.

"It's a constant party here. You should know that by now."

She finished her wine, and gave Jaris a smile of thanks.

"That was lovely. Would you care for some grapefruit vodka?"

"Actually, yes I would. I am always up for trying something new," Jaris smiled.

"Actually, yes I would. I am always up for trying something new," Jaris smiled.

"Well, I can't promise you'll like it, but..." Christelle turned to the barmaid, who soon handed them each a new glass. "Santé!"

The Ambassador from Community Property walked up to the bar, eyes burning with anger, looked at Neville, and said. “I'll take a tankard of Arrogant Bastard Ale.”

Neville gaped. “You don't drink,” he said simply.

“No, I don't,” she said.

He silently slid her the tankard. She chugged it.

“D_mn_d Brainlessistanis,” she growled and, slamming the tankard back on the bar, she straightened her bright red hemp sarong, adjusted the huge wicker handbag draped over her shoulder, and strode back to the Floor.

OOC: Thanks for the correction, Kenny.

The Wolf Guardians;11821341']Wolfgang, with the "old west" flare of twirling the pistol around, handed it off to Sammy. "Have fun. We should go kill that entire room." He drew another pistol, and shot another innocent gnome passing by the Bar. "I should go find their offices. That'd be quite the stress relief."Gratefully Sammy seized the pistol, considered aiming it at the Ausserlander gnomes, then at the hippy lady downing the tankard of Arrogant Bastard Ale (http://www.arrogantbastard.com/index2.html), then finally held it to his own temple, and promptly blew his head off.

It had reconstituted itself within a second, and instantly its owner was filled with amazing relief: most of his anger was gone, and he didn't have the urge to say "fuck" or "yo" quite so much anymore. "Sick!" Sammy said approvingly as he examined the gun, setting it down so he could take up the Iron City that had just arrived on behalf of "that lovely lady over there." He gladly raised the aluminum bottle to Yossarian's cousin sitting across the way with her back to the wall.

Still, as he downed half the beer and slammed it down on the table with a satisfied gasp, he couldn't get thoughts of MAD out of his head. "Ya think the other side would be so snitty if they had the frickin' Death Star?" he asked Wolfgang.
__________________
Sammy Faisano simulated death count: 1

"Ha! Of course not!" Wolfgang barked. "The thing is, MAD is perfect! There are only two outcomes: Everybody wins, or everybody loses. You can't defeat an enemy in such a standoff. Since no one wants to lose, which everyone would do, it's in everyone's best interest to ensure everyone else wins, too! The only thing to thing to worry about are those who are completely unstable (OOC: *cough*North Korea*cough*), and most of them grasp the concept of total destruction." He sighed and took another swig of his nonalcoholic drink, though he didn't really know why. "And, you can keep the gun, too. I'm going to give one to each of my friends here. We'll be so unstressed, we'll be sure to win anything." Another drink. "Makes for great mock-gunfights, too, if you ever want to play. Oh, and duelling. That's pretty fun, there. Scares the hell out of me every time I 'die', even though I expect it completely."

"Well, I can't promise you'll like it, but..." Christelle turned to the barmaid, who soon handed them each a new glass. "Santé!"

Jaris took a quick swig from the glass, looked at the glass curiously, sniffed it, then raised the glass back to his lips and finished the drink off. "Well, you were right in it being an acquired taste, but it's definitely not bad, especially in comparison to some of the things I've been asked to drink before."

Stewart Kennededski entered the bar.

Hmm. The brochure really doesn't do this place justice, he thought, looking around at the intriguing characters sipping their drinks.

To his right, a couple sat sharing an enormous fudge sundae, laughing over their neighbors' apparent incompetence at figuring out how to play checkers.

In front of him stood the bartender, sliding a tankard across the bar to a seemingly furious lady.

And to his left, there was... oh my. There was a man with a nametag, the moniker on which Stewart couldn't quite make out. Salmon, or Samuel, or something like that. The reason Stewart was having trouble maintaining his usually calm demeanor wasn't the poor handwriting on the nametag, however. No, the reason Stewart's legs were buckling, the reason his face was suddenly white as the bottle of Caribbean Rum on the shelf behind Neville, the reason his eyes began to roll back into his head was that the man with the illegible nametag had just pulled the trigger on a gun pointed directly at his right temple.

Stewart caught a rushed glimpse of Neville in front of him, then the shelf above the bartender, and finally the tobacco-stained ceiling as he fell backwards in a quiet faint.

"Medic!" Wolfgang barked to his computer. It summoned a holographic wolf medic, who looked at the fallen delegate. "He's fine," it grumbled. It grabbed the man's collar, picked him up of the floor a ways, and slapped him repeatedly until he awoke. Putting his fists on his hips, the hologram sarcastically proclaimed, 'My job here is done!" and vanished.

The Wolf Guardians;11821782']"Ha! Of course not!" Wolfgang barked. "The thing is, MAD is perfect! There are only two outcomes: Everybody wins, or everybody loses. You can't defeat an enemy in such a standoff. Since no one wants to lose, which everyone would do, it's in everyone's best interest to ensure everyone else wins, too! The only thing to thing to worry about are those who are completely unstable (OOC: *cough*North Korea*cough*), and most of them grasp the concept of total destruction." He sighed and took another swig of his nonalcoholic drink, though he didn't really know why. "And, you can keep the gun, too. I'm going to give one to each of my friends here. We'll be so unstressed, we'll be sure to win anything." Another drink. "Makes for great mock-gunfights, too, if you ever want to play. Oh, and duelling. That's pretty fun, there. Scares the hell out of me every time I 'die', even though I expect it completely.""You know, Wolfgang, when you're right, you're right. I can't believe some of the douchebaggery I've had to endure over this!" Sammy smiled as he stole another swig from his Iron City. "Luckily, once this bitch passes, these delegations won't be a problem anymore." Nervously he regarded his more hostile barmates, realizing he and Wolfgang were completely surrounded, and instantly grateful for the Federal Republic's massive nuclear deterrent. He snatched up the gun once more. "Just imagine all the wars that could be prevented if everyone carried one of these babies around with them! Thanks for the souvenir, by the by."

The kid pondered the last few dregs in the bottom of his bottle. He had long since gotten over his initial alarm at arriving at UNHQ to finding oddities like dwarves, dragons, dolphins, otters, elves -- even the futuristic wolfman (or man-wolf?) seated across from him. He never thought this phase of getting his first proposal off the ground would be easy, but at least he was holding his own, and he had right-thinking allies in the fight. Momentarily he dispensed with the gobbledy-gook, as he stood up suddenly and held his beer aloft, crying out defiantly: "To mutually assured destruction!" Ignoring the jeers and catcalls he got in reply, he downed the last of his Iron City and set down the bottle with a hardy belch.

"Anyway, I gotta check back in on the 'drafting' session," the Kennyite said as he offered Wolfgang his hand. "Say hi to Tom Margera for me; we went to high school together, you know." Then, turning to Neville, he announced, "Wolfgang's next round is on my tab," stepping over the fainted man before the hologram had a chance to revive him.

Stewart awoke to some sort of dog in a doctor's outfit slapping him repeatedly.

"Gah!" he yelled, retreating from the blows and covering his face with his hands. When he finally summoned the courage to peek through his fingers, the animal was gone.

Shaken, Stewart rushed to the nearest barstool and took a seat.

"Um... thanks!" he called out to the bar's patrons behind him, hoping that whoever was responsible for waking him up would respond.

Too dumbfounded to say anything else at the moment, he tapped the bartender on the shoulder and pointed to the bottle of spiced rum sporting a picture of a mohawked squirrel. Saint Jello's PunkRum always cheered him up.

Jaris took a quick swig from the glass, looked at the glass curiously, sniffed it, then raised the glass back to his lips and finished the drink off. "Well, you were right in it being an acquired taste, but it's definitely not bad, especially in comparison to some of the things I've been asked to drink before."

Christelle laughed lightly.

"If you don't like it, you can say so. A lot of people don't."

She glanced somewhat distastefully at Faisano as the man blew his own head off, and quieted a sneaking urge to assist him. Then she stood in alarm as an unidentified newcomer fainted at the sight.

"Welcome to the Strangers' Bar," she told him mock-solemnly when he came round, lifting her glass. "You'll get used to it soon enough."

St Jello Biafra;11822038']Stewart awoke to some sort of dog in a doctor's outfit slapping him repeatedly.

"Gah!" he yelled, retreating from the blows and covering his face with his hands. When he finally summoned the courage to peek through his fingers, the animal was gone.

Shaken, Stewart rushed to the nearest barstool and took a seat.

"Um... thanks!" he called out to the bar's patrons behind him, hoping that whoever was responsible for waking him up would respond.

Too dumbfounded to say anything else at the moment, he tapped the bartender on the shoulder and pointed to the bottle of spiced rum sporting a picture of a mohawked squirrel. Saint Jello's PunkRum always cheered him up.

"Just ignore the holomedic," Wolfgang said, thoroughly enjoying himself. "He can be a bit bitter. Would you like a simulation gun, to take the edge off? It's done wonders for my countrymen. Or I could even shoot you for you."

The sight of people shooting their heads off, and wolfish people in medical attire, made Jaris forget the taste of the Ariddian beverage. The Altanari ambassador shook his head as if to clear it, thinking wryly, I came here to see what the rest of the world was like. Be careful what you wish for...

"Oh, it's not bad....I've had worse," Jaris replied to Christelle. "Have you ever had Argali yak-blood milk? If not, I recommend you keep it that way....normally I'm all in favor of expanding one's horizons, but...." Jaris shuddered as he recalled that particular custom from back home.

"And yes, welcome," he calls out to the new arrival. "Hopefully your faint didn't cause any permanent damage..."

"Yak-blood milk?" Christelle shuddered. "How's that made? Do I even want to know?"

Selvia Mannuschrat, on her third drink by now, sat and watched with amusement the entire exchange. She chuckled to herself as the Kennyite blew his own head off. She was a bit funny in the head like that. Came from her kids.

She eyed Wolfgang. He was an interesting sort... she wondered what he'd think of the Empire if he ever actually visited like he said he would. She chuckled a bit to herself as she thought about what might happen if any Imperial Engineers got their hands on him.

Overhearing the conversation between the Arriddian and the Altanarian discussing drinks, she decided that it was time to meet some new folks. Pendankr and Umdiroplach left her stuck in the office all the time while they were off debating or drinking.

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation about Yak-blood milk. There's a similar drink in the Empire... made on Wayland. I had it once, in my collegeiate days. I much prefer Imperial Khams Whiskey."

Lori Ahlmann pipes up:

"Yak-blood milk? I had that once. It was at a big diplomatic banquet and some dimwit served it for toasts. It would have been a major diplomatic faux pas not to drink it. Yucky stuff. Reminded me of Rolling Rock."

Christelle grimaced at the turn the conversation had taken.

"I think I'll stick to drinks which don't contain blood, lymph or other liquids extracted from animal corpses or even live animals, thank you." She finished her vodka.

"In that case, I won't discuss how it's made....it's a beverage that the people in our Argali vassal state have for ceremonial occasions. It's a...unique beverage, to be sure. I much prefer the grapefruit vodka. Or whiskey. Or even Rolling Rock, whatever that may be," Jaris grins.

While Lori Ahlmann had been listening to the conversation, Hurlbot Barfanger had been huddled over his laptop with General Blorck, zipping around the internet to let the General find out something about the nations the bar patrons represented. The General looks up and eyes the ambassador from Altanar.

"Hey, Jarjar -- or whatever your name is! Nice NSWiki page! Good-looking map and everything!"

While Lori Ahlmann had been listening to the conversation, Hurlbot Barfanger had been huddled over his laptop with General Blorck, zipping around the internet to let the General find out something about the nations the bar patrons represented. The General looks up and eyes the ambassador from Altanar.

"Hey, Jarjar -- or whatever your name is! Nice NSWiki page! Good-looking map and everything!"

Jaris looks over to the table where the Ausserland general is seated. "Thanks! I think our Information Ministry actually spent a whole hour on it, instead of their usual fifteen minutes," he grins. "And the name's Jaris. Jaris Krytellin, to be precise. There's a whole long title associated with that, but I find giving it tends to bore people to sleep."

Selvia smiled.

"There's a whole cadre of Imperial nobles who give themselves incredible long titles, preteding it means something. Most of 'em aren't worth the clothes they're dressed in... I know the Emperor doesn't think highly of them."

She took a drink.

"The best kinds are those that make no qualms about who they are, and leave spouting the needless titles. Tell me, Jaris, are you by chance married?"

"The best kinds are those that make no qualms about who they are, and leave spouting the needless titles. Tell me, Jaris, are you by chance married?"

It was a good thing Christelle had finished her drink. She put her hand discreetly over her mouth to hide a slight smile of amusement.

"The best kinds are those that make no qualms about who they are, and leave spouting the needless titles. Tell me, Jaris, are you by chance married?"

Jaris smiled in response. "No, I am neither married nor love-bound...I think the term used here for that is dating? My government typically tries to avoid sending people who are not partnerless...er...single...to overseas postings. It tends to disrupt family bonds when you do that. And family is extremely important for us."

Selvia didn't miss Ambassador Zyryanov's motion, and she continued speaking once Jaris had stopped.

"Yes, that is true. I am married myself, with several children. They are all grown and on their own now, but it is difficult to be away from my family for so long. It is typical for those that work in our office... we are seperated from out contacts in the Empire for some time, and our furloughs are not what we would wish."

She turned her head to Zyryanov, a sly smile on her face.

"And what about you, Ambassador? Has your hand been taken?

She turned her head to Zyryanov, a sly smile on her face.

"And what about you, Ambassador? Has your hand been taken?

Christelle smiled slightly.

"It was, once. I'm... seperated. Have been for..." She stopped, and sounded a little surprised. "Goodness, has it been over four years already? Anyway, it was amicable."

Christelle smiled slightly.

"It was, once. I'm... seperated. Have been for..." She stopped, and sounded a little surprised. "Goodness, has it been over four years already? Anyway, it was amicable."

"I'm sorry that your relationship did not work out. But if something has to end, an amicable end is the best possible outcome. It hasn't always happened that way for me," Jaris replied, seemingly lost in thought for a moment.

Selvia nodded solemnly in understanding for what Christelle and Jaris said.

"It is best that way, yes. Some things are unavoidable, but it is always a blessing for things to end well."

She paused, taking a sip of her drink. Despite the fact that she had been here for quite some time and been drinking quite a bit, she didn't seem at all affected. She had a high alcohol tolerance, which came in handy when Pendankr and Umdiroplach were drinking heavily.

She took on a different demeanor, and sat straight, a smile coming over her face.

"Let's not talk about such serious things anymore. Now, I don't believe either of your nations have embassies with the Empire... so you haven't had the pleasure of visiting."

She leaned in, and her voice took on a low, conspiratorial tone.

"Now, I'm not really supposed to be telling you, but there's a rumour that the Emperor is going to open the borders to foreign nations... and you haven't lived until you've spent a week on Gish. I might be able to procure travel visas, if you ever cared to visit the Empire."

Tommo the Stout steps into the bar wearing a very Norderian outfit. It was akin to the one he wore during his last visit to the Bar, when he drank to cause a ruckus to provide a little well-timed distraction (phoned in by Juhani) for an Ecopoeian and Telidian romance.

His hair was braided in a single, long strand down his back. His beard was tied in a similar manner. A thick, woolen, kilt-like black garment hung at his large waist, purple tassles hanging at intervals around the hem. Beneath his exposed knees were his large, black, fur-lined suede-esque boots. He wore a standard modern business jacket. It almost seemed out of place, but remained classy.

When he saw the congregation at the sitting area with the enjoyable Ariddian Ambassador Zyryanov, the pleasant and professional dwarves of Ausserland (a rare surprise), the newer member of UNOG, Allech-Atreus, and a new face in the UN, the Altanaran, a grin crossed his face. Company! All of the letter "A."

The portly (though tall) gentleman made his way over to the group and pulled a chair from a nearby table, orienting it toward the others. "If there is liquid, let us drink, if there is air, let us breath and speak, and if there is seat, let us sit! The past has been, the future is distant, but the present is now, so now shall we drink, shall we speak, shall we sit!" He plops down into the chair to punctuate the poem. "It rhymes in Norderian," he adds, voice brought down to a conversational tone.

Within a moment he has ordered and been presented with a dark red beer -- nothing fancy at this time for the Stout. He would save the expensive drinks pending the success of his first contribution to the international body of legislation.

"Ms. Zyryanov, I hope you are well!" he chimes in cheerfully. "Ms. Ahlmann, Mr. Barfanger, and company, a pleasure to see Ausserland in the bar!"

She leaned in, and her voice took on a low, conspiratorial tone.

"Now, I'm not really supposed to be telling you, but there's a rumour that the Emperor is going to open the borders to foreign nations... and you haven't lived until you've spent a week on Gish. I might be able to procure travel visas, if you ever cared to visit the Empire."

"Well, the whole point of my nation sending me here was to expand our relations with other nations, so I'd definitely be interested in visiting any nation that'll have me," Jaris grins. "I'm sure we could arrange visits or even diplomatic missions to my country as well, for anyone interested."

"Ms. Zyryanov, I hope you are well!" he chimes in cheerfully. "Ms. Ahlmann, Mr. Barfanger, and company, a pleasure to see Ausserland in the bar!"

Christelle smiled as Tommo the Stout joined them.
"Very well, thank you. And you look in good spirits."

She turned to Selvia.
"Actually, we have got an embassy in Allech-Atreus. Just a small one. Headed by... just a minute... Ambassador Umesaki, I think. But I would very much enjoy going there myself, yes. Thank you. If I can find someone to replace me here long enough for me to take a holiday."

Selvia frowned, running through the lists of embassies to Allech-Atreus in her head.

"Of course! I completely forgot... we haven't had a chance to return to the Empire recently, so none of the delegation was able to acquaint themselves with the new embassies. It was silly of me to forget"

She smiled at the Norderian, and nodded her head in deference. "Ambassador" she said in simple acknowledgement.

Already she was running through her head the necessary paperwork to procude travel visas. First, she'd have to apply with the Directorate of Foreign Affairs for a Foreign Background Check. Then, she'd have to apply to the Directorate of State for the necessary travel permits. For some reason, she then had to make a trip to Vanda Khal and gather three vouchers, in person, for a travel permit. Then she'd have to get Zurrian passports for them all.

All in all she was looking at three solid weeks of paperwork... but, of course, the Emperor was about ready to do away with all of that unnecessary claptrap. High-level functionaries had been clamoring for connection to the international community, and access to the tourism markets of the rest of existence.

She took a sip of her drink and smiled at nothing in particular.

Meanwhile, in another corner of the room, Borrin o Redwood has got the large-screen television tuned into the (second) 'NSvision Song Contest', in which the performance by his own nation's entry (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=11807105&postcount=15) is currently being shown...

The Ausserland dwarves wave and call greetings to Tommo the Stout. General Blorck bends over to Ambassador Ahlmann and asks: "Who the hell's that guy?"

"Oh, that's Tommo the Stout from Norderia," she replies. "He's OK."

"If he'd ditch the jacket and get a few feet shorter, he'd look like one of those guys from the Savredoc Mountains."

"Yeah," Barfanger muses, "he would, wouldn't he? I don't think he eats raw coyote meat for breakfast, though."

The dwarves chuckle. The Savredoc Mountain dwarves are very strict followers of traditional dwarvish customs--iincluding some they made up themselves along the way.

"He's got good taste in beer, I'll say that for him," Blorck says.

The dwarves nod in agreement. Ambassador Ahlmann trudges over to the bar to order a stein of Red Lion for Tommo.

[OOC: If anyone would like to see pictures of the Ausserlanders currently polluting... er... patronizing the Bar, you'll find them here: Ausserland (http://www.vguild.hostrocket.com/diplomats/Diplomatic_Service.html) Diplomatic (http://www.vguild.hostrocket.com/diplomats/Diplomatic_Service.html) Service (http://www.vguild.hostrocket.com/diplomats/Diplomatic_Service.html).]

OOC: Ok, I give up, Ausserland. I have to know: do you make those character pictures yourself, or is there some program you use? It just occured to me that they're all standing in the exact same pose, which made me think it might be one of those types of program-things. I keep telling myself that I'm going to *gasp*sketch a portrait of Wolfgang sometime, but never get around to it, lol. I wish I had more time. Like right now, when I should be creating my website that's due for class tomorrow, yet I can't bring myself to do it. You know that if you take away a human's ability to tell time entirely, they default to a 25-hour cycle? Isn't it cruel that there's only 24 hours in a day? Oh, now, see, that's what I'm talking about. I'm too tired and can't keep a train of thought going correctly. *drones on half-asleep for another half hour*

OOC: He uses HeroMachine and a photeditor. Sometimes I use HeroMachine too, but not as much as he does- I have to use mine for free, and there are a lot fewer choices.

OOC: Oh, good god. Thanks a lot. Now I'm going to be playing with this all night, and not working on my website. You answered too quickly! Damn you! lol!

OOC: A-A's right. I use HeroMachine 2.0 and PhotoPaint. I tried the on-line version of HeroMachine, got hooked, and bought the thing. For each character, I generally end up grabbing about 4 or 5 HeroMachine outputs, then cutting, pasting, twisting and twiddling in PhotoPaint. Lots of editing.

Tommo the Stout downs his beer rather quickly, considering the size of his gulps. His face lights up with a jolly grin when the Ausserlanders stand him a second drink. He really was a hearty man when he was in the Strangers' Bar. It was kind of a vestigal organ of his younger days in the northwestern mountains of Norderia. If you were anything but a pile of joviality when you were in the pubs and taverns, you could expect far more attention than you could possible want or handle.

"Consider it classical conditioning, Ms. Zyryanov. Of course, not at the preclusion of the good spirits being in the presence of such distinguished individuals," he responded, nodding to the group, and then again to Crystelle, for perhaps the slightest moment longer.

"Speaking of embassies, I heard from PM Hietala that our ambassador to Ariddia has gotten settled in and invited much of the chief figures in the government to visit with him. It seems I may visit your nation to see Ambassador Poaiken, Ms. Zyryanov. Have you met the man?" The Stout breaks in his stein with a first drink of the Red Lion.

"I met the ambassador once, just briefly," Christelle replied, smiling slightly. "I'd be very pleased if you were to visit us in Ariddia, though."

She wondered briefly whether to get herself another drink, then decided against it. You've had enough. The last thing she wanted was to get tipsy.

"Physical congress!" said Dicey Reilly, slamming a pile of papers down on the bar.

Neville looked up, puzzled. Dicey didn't usually use such strong language.

Dicey looked puzzled too. She knew what she'd said. Her lower lip still tingled with the fricative and the 'k' sound was still caught in her throat. But it didn't seem to have come out quite the way she intended.

"Physical congress!" she tried again. "I've just had a total solid sewage of a day and in fact, if you want to know, my whole life is completely physically congressed and ... Neville, what have you been up to?"

"Nothing (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=11824697&postcount=3516)," the Barlord said, untruthfully, toggling a random switch. "What's all the fuss about, Dicey?"

"This!" she said, unfolding a couple of newspapers with angry slaps. "And that ... that flour-bag over there!" she added, indicating a table at the back of the bar, where a slim figure, veiled from head to toe in white, sat drinking a diet Coke and -- as far as anyone could tell -- staring at the Kawaiian shrine.

"Anyway, as a result, I have decided to work my way down these lists," Dicey continued with brittle calm. "Neville, I would be pleased if you would serve me the top drink on this list and then point me in the direction of any male ambassadors from any nations beginning with 'A'. Oh, and would you mind keeping score? Just tick the little boxes. It is my intention to drink and physical congress my way through the entire United Nations!"

"OMG, Suicide by Immoderation? Dicey, no, wait!"

But the Ardchoillean Co-President had already seized a bottle of AAAncient AAArdvaaark and was heading with a predatory stride (bump, grind) towards the Ausserland delegation.

Neville let her go: there was a distinct possiblity Ausserlanders could stop even Dicey in her tracks, so nothing particularly devastating could happen for a while. That'd give him time to look at the newspapers and, hopefully, figure out what the dear girl was on about ...

The Altanari ambassador gives a polite nod to the Norderian, and then peruses the bottom of his glass, as if contemplating whether or not he should risk another beverage. Ah, what the hell, Jaris decides, and leans over to order another glass of wine.

There was a small commotion of laughter as a tall redhead and a stocky Latino dude stumbled over the threshold to a side entrance, dragging along an unwilling accomplice in a black hooded sweatshirt.

"This isn't a good idea, guys," protested the last of the trio. "I've had very bad luck when it comes to this place."

"Dude, fuck that shit!" ruled the redhead. "You've had that fucking broom-handle up your ass since you got here, and we're gonna get you laid already!"

They sat down at their usual table (close enough to shoot spitballs at the Kawaiian shrine, far enough away to avoid any retaliatory curses), as the Latino signalled the barkeep for three Stone Pale Ales.

And so the three wisemen investigated the bar: Ace and Rico scanning the patronage for suitable candidates (pausing when they came upon the Stout, but only to wonder if he could score them some bud), and Sammy pretending to be interested in the menu.

Indignantly Ace slapped the fold-up down upon the table. "That ain't why we're here, dumbass!" he informed the ambassador. "We're not doing this by ourselves; finding a girl that'll actually talk to you is a three-man job."

"Still don't know why you haven't tried to bang Jessie yet," Rico salivated.

"Umm, maybe because she repulses me?" Sammy answered obviously.

"Look at him!" Ace laughed. "He's still upset!" He turned on his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Dude, you gotta let Antigone Morgan go!" he sarcastically soothed Sammy as Rico giggled. "She's found a new guy!"

The envoy's face turned scarlet as his comrades broke into devilish laughter. "I don't care what Vice President Morgan does!" he insisted. "It's better to take the tabloid heat off me, anyway. Moltan can handle it."

"Hey! Hey!" Rico announced suddenly. "What about that chick in the white burqa thing over there?" indicating the Diet Coke fan. "She keeps looking at you!"

"She's kinda cute, too," observed Ace.

Sammy turned to examine the lovely lady, who quickly turned away.

"Dude, she wants your dick!" Rico marveled. "Go talk to her!"

"I don't know; I don't do really well with religious girls -- they're just so ... devotional. I mean the last one ended up having to choose between me and the convent."

"No," Ace corrected him. "She joined the convent because of you! If you fuck up like that again I will have lost all respect for you. Now go and get that chick's number!" he ordered with an outstretched finger.

"Um ... I could just order her a drink?" Sammy offered. "Maybe she'll come to me?"

"What are you? Fifty?" Ace demanded as he got up to pull the diplomat out of his chair and push him in the girl's general direction. "Now go on, and you better not come back empty-handed!"

The envoy let out an aggravated sigh as he clutched his beer (which must have materialized out of thin air while the three were talking), and trudged toward the white-robe, when he spotted an infuriated Dicey Reilly at the bar, repeatedly shrieking about "physical congress."

Instinctively Sammy pulled his hood over his head and whirled back toward the guys, making sure to reseat himself so his back was to the witch. "Later, guys," he told them. "Just ... later."

General Blorck eyes the approaching Ardchoillean with obvious interest. He nudges Ambassador Ahlmann. "Who's that?"

"Put a lid on it, Blackie," Lori replies. "That's the Co-President of Ardchoille. And you're a diplomat now, remember? Besides, she's bound to sober up sometime."

"Yeah, well I'm only a diplomat temporarily," the General grumbles, turning his attention back to his beer.

Hurlbot Barfanger pushes out a chair with his foot. "Have a seat, Dicey. You look like you had a really intercoursed-up day."

As she listened to the Ardchoillean - while studeously pretending not to and contemplating the droplets at the bottom of her empty glass - Christelle felt quietly thankful she was not male. Dicey Reilly did not look quite drunk enough yet to try and undress female "ambassadors from any nations beginning with 'A'."

Anyway, I can always say my nation starts with E (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/ESAT)...

She observed the Kennyites warily. Observing Kennyites warily had become rather like an instinct, something she did without even thinking about it. They seemed to be keeping to themselves, fortunately.

"It's working, it's working!" Neville chortled to Violet. "I just heard an Ausserlander say 'intercoursed-up'. That's a real PG-13 term! I mean, how many 13-year-olds would know what 'intercourse' meant?"

"Oh, about 105%," said Violet. "It's not working, Neville. Didn't you hear those Kennyites?"

"Maybe it just needs adjustment." He considered. "What we should do is set it to the max, and then test it to the max. Look, I'll turn it off for now, and we'll wait till the Gruenberg delegation turns up. And then we'll get Sammy Faisano to invite his mates back. And maybe some naval dolphins on shore leave."

Violet sighed. "Weren't you supposed to be helping Dicey with something?" She felt sad. First time I've ever heard that woman mad enough to swear, and then Neville's latest gadget intercourses it all up for her.

"Fuck this shit," said Rono Pyandran, walking into the bar.

Or at least, that's what he meant to say. The words that came out were, "F__k this s__t." He froze, horrified.

"What did you just say?" asked Hevan, curious. He didn't know any swear words - they were much too interesting - but he could tell when Pyandran's speech lost its usual colour, and drifted towards his own style.

"What the f__k? ...aargh! What the f__k is happening?" He looked around, aghast. As usual, no one really gave a s__t.

He ordered a beer, and sat down, grumbling. "This sort of s__t is worse than...oh, you're f__k__g kidding me, right?"

Hevan shrugged.

"Bah."

"You know, I'm a terrifically boring chap, Rono."

"I had noticed."

"Well, what do terrifically boring chaps do?"

"Uh..."

"Endlessly requote Monty Python sketches, stripping them of all humour and value. Nih!"

Pyandran rolled his eyes, and made to stand, to smoke his cigar on the balcony.

"No, wait. See I think I can help."

"No you can't."

"Yes I can."

"No you can't."

"Yes I can!"

"No you can't!"

"Oh look, this isn't an argument!"

"No, it's not. This...is an ex-parrot."

The hilarity of holding a dead animal wore off swiftly, and Pyandran tossed the bird away into a nearby SHRUBBERY!!!11

"Well anyway, there's this very funny sketch, that of course we like to repeat so many times that people would rather kill their children and violate resolution #178 with the corpses than ever see it again for comedy value..."

"How the f__k does that sort of s__t get past the censor, when I'm not even allowed to use the English language in all its resplendent colour?"

"You're asking censors to use some sort of artistic discretion!? Dear me, what have you been smoking?" Hevan laughed.

"Crack cocaine. Why?"

"Oh...nevermind." Hevan didn't know what it was, but he thought it must be some sort of d__g.

"Right, so, a funny sketch?"

"Yes. It's called 'The Travel Agent', and there's this man - Mr Smoketoomuch - who can't say the letter 'c': he says 'b' instead. And the funny joke in the sketch is that he realizes he could say 'k' instead of 'c', and thus pronounce words, and chastises himself as 'a silly bunt'."

"Hevan, if I ever go into comedy, I'm gonna start by ripping your f__king ears off."

"No, don't you see? You can get round the censor."

"I can say 'bunt'?"

"No." Hevan screwed up his eyes and leaned in. "You can say 'fukc'."

Pyandran's eyes lit up. "You're a fukcing genius!"

"It's no problem."

"No, seriously Hevan - I'll see you get a fukcing medal for this."

Hevan laughed. "Thanks, but half a sherry and a good Sudoku puzzle will do me fine."

"Fukc Sudokus...we're off to get you hammered!" Pyandran dragged Hevan out of the bar, protesting weakly. On his way out, he nodded to the Ambassador. He'd spoken to her the previous evening, so her return was no great surprise - the only surprise being it had taken her so long to get back to the bar.

She strutted in, and looked around. "Do you think there are any new cute Ambassadors?" she asked Isabella, her handmaiden. They both ordered stupidly expensive and colourful drinks with more fruit and plastic ornament than alcohol. She saw Sammy, and groaned. "Oh, this is going to be awkward...you'll have to distract him."

"It's not working, Neville. Didn't you hear those Kennyites?"[OOC: No fair! I didn't even see the link in your post with Dicey and Neville. Like I care about Silly Proposals anymore. :p]

"Anyway, as a result, I have decided to work my way down these lists," Dicey continued with brittle calm. "Neville, I would be pleased if you would serve me the top drink on this list and then point me in the direction of any male ambassadors from any nations beginning with 'A'. Oh, and would you mind keeping score? Just tick the little boxes. It is my intention to drink and physical congress my way through the entire United Nations!"

"A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H... I ... and I wonder whether she'll actually get this far through the alphabet..." mused a voice whose source was (of course) invisible...

I'm SO glad that that device would be illegal in the Commonwealth, Wolfgang thought. Guardians used what would be considered profanity elsewhere quite regularly, as they felt that substitution words, like "dang" and "frickin," were just silly facades of the real word. Of course, I don't have to use yip-growl English to swear, I suppose. And there were no snarl Guardians to offend by doing that, either.

Another one of those short, stocky people enters and trudges up to the bar. Puzzled frowns. This one's an older gent, with chocolate-brown skin and white hair, and dressed in a formal cutaway. He's never been seen in the Stranger's Bar before, and most regulars figured he never would be. It's Dr. Olembe, the Ausserland Foreign Minister.

He signals to Neville. "Mr. Bartender, if you would be so good... Please put all drinks for the next two hours or so on Ausserland's account. The Marriage Protection Act just passed."

"Congratulations!" Christelle raised her empty glass. "Finally a resolution my country was glad to support."

Tommo the Stout stands and offers a flourishing bow to Dr. Olembe. "Congratulations, to the Ausserland and Witchcliff delegations." He turns to the bar with a grin on his face. "Neville, I'll take eighteen bottles of various kinds of wine, still closed, thank you." He flips open his phone and pushes a pair of buttons. "Juhani? Send someone down with a mail crate. We can stock the fridge for free today. Compliments of Ausserland." Of course, his conversation with Mr. Viljakainen was held in Norderian, with the hopes that it wouldn't be understood by most people present. Two words were clear, however. "Juhani, Ausserland." Probably not very inconspicuous.

The Stout takes a seat once again, and smirking in amusement at all of the mostly failed attempts at producing colorful language, finishes his stein of Red Lion. "Chemical Transport is up next. Boy am I eager for this debate!" Sarcasm dripped from his words. Thankfully it's not a repeal of Sexual Freedoms. That will be another hell in the GA.

Accelerus Dioce, hearing the Foreign Minister of Ausserland say something to the effect of free drinks on him, headed straight for the bar and asked for a HotRodia Tequila Gold. Once acquired, he toasted Ausserland and Witchcliff, and promptly downed seven shots of the uniquely flavored beverage.

At the announcement of free beverages, Jaris gulps down his wine, and walks over to the bar, where he requests another glass of the Ariddian grapefruit vodka. "I may not have agreed with it, but I'll salute your success anyway. Congratulations!" he toasts the Ausserland Foreign Minister, raising his glass in a salute.

Taking a break from the days work, Dahlia decided that going to the Stranger's Bar would be a good idea. Maybe she would find Accelerus Dioce there. As she walked in she heard people talking strangely. "Intercoursed-up day?" she thought as she ordered her drink. She found a seat at the bar and looked around. As usual, the same old people. "How drab." she sighed. Then she spotted Accelerus and smiled. "Should I go over to him, or wait for him to notice me?" apparently Dahlia had taken to talking to herself.

She sat back and waited. She decided that, if after 10 minutes, he didn't notice her, she would go to him. She smiled broadly as she thought about the last time she saw him....

The lid of the beer barrel popped open with a bang. Sir Albert climbs out, turning to briefly slurp the last of the barrel and meanders towards his table. 'by eck, that was a big barrel, but it's been inspected now, so rest easy Neville' slurred the eminent ambassador of Bahgum.

Christelle blinked as Sir Albert emerged from within a barrel, but decided not to comment. It's all part of what makes this place special, I suppose...

She smiled as Jaris ordered some more grapefruit vodka, and joined him at the bar.

"A glass of fresh grapefruit juice, please," she asked the bartender. She had had enough alcohol for one day. She turned to Jaris. "I thought you didn't really like it?" she reminded him with a slight smile.

Selvia Mannuschrat finished her glass and stood to leave when the Pendankr and Umrdiroplach entered the bar, with determined looks on their faces. She sighed. They were determined to do only one thing: get absolutely intestinal waste-faced.

"Neville! Give us your strongest, and make it a double!" shouted Pendankr.

"And a toast to Waterana and Ausserland!" shouted Umdirplach.

"A glass of fresh grapefruit juice, please," she asked the bartender. She had had enough alcohol for one day. She turned to Jaris. "I thought you didn't really like it?" she reminded him with a slight smile.

Tommo the Stout leaned in with an inquisitive look on his face, now over the initial surge of enthusiasm he has when he enters the bar.

"The Altanaran might have found it new and unusual, Ms. Zyryanov, but I don't think I've ever seen you with anything that didn't have some form of grapefruit in it. Is that a trait one is likely to find in most Ariddians, or is it your own tastes we're observing?"

Shortly, Johann Gambolputty de von Ausfern- schplenden- schlitter- crasscrenbon- fried- digger- dingle- dangle- dongle- dungle- burstein- von- knacker- thrasher- apple- banger- horowitz- ticolensic- grander- knotty- spelltinkle- grandlich- grumblemeyer- spelterwasser- kurstlich- himbleeisen- bahnwagen- gutenabend- bitte- ein- nürnburger- bratwustle- gerspurten- mitz- weimache- luber- hundsfut- gumberaber- shönedanker- kalbsfleisch- mittler- aucher von Hautkopft of Ulm arrived at the bar to pick up the half dozen or so wine bottles The Stout had ordered the office upstairs to pick up. He nodded briefly to Tommo before proceeding to the bar with a mail crate. He flashed a big smile on his way out toward the Ausserland delegation. Of course, since it was about time to restock the cabinet in the office anyway, Mr. Gambolputty de von Ausfern- schplenden- schlitter- crasscrenbon- fried- digger- dingle- dangle- dongle- dungle- burstein- von- knacker- thrasher- apple- banger- horowitz- ticolensic- grander- knotty- spelltinkle- grandlich- grumblemeyer- spelterwasser- kurstlich- himbleeisen- bahnwagen- gutenabend- bitte- ein- nürnburger- bratwustle- gerspurten- mitz- weimache- luber- hundsfut- gumberaber- shönedanker- kalbsfleisch- mittler- aucher von Hautkopft of Ulm paid for the bottles. The ethics of Norderia were above taking advantage when someone stands the bar a few rounds, but they certainly weren't above pretending they did.

Tommo the Stout leaned in with an inquisitive look on his face, now over the initial surge of enthusiasm he has when he enters the bar.

"The Altanaran might have found it new and unusual, Ms. Zyryanov, but I don't think I've ever seen you with anything that didn't have some form of grapefruit in it. Is that a trait one is likely to find in most Ariddians, or is it your own tastes we're observing?"


Christelle considered it for a moment.

"I think you might say it's something of a national obsession," she said at last. "We've even got a Grapefruit Museum in Cité-Belle (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Cit%C3%A9-Belle). I've always thought of it as a personal taste, but I suppose it does make me 'typically Ariddian'."

She paused, glancing down at her drink, then looked up at the Stout with a smile.

"Is there a national drink in Norderia?"

The Familiar sound of the Doctor's TARDIS could be heard throughout the building

The door opened and the Doctor's head poked out of the door, "Sorry, just returning a Stow-away." his head poped back in, the door staying open..

"Come on now... Time to get out there..."

"I know, but never the less you said you would."

"Good, Good, nice Wabbit."

And with that the door closed and the TARDIS disappeared. Nothing was seen to have exited or entered but it had been completed to the Doctor's satisfaction whatever it was.

Meanwhile in the TRADIS flying through Space and Time...

"Doctor, how come we didn't see or hear the Wabbit?" asked Rose

"The convergence of the bending of the light particle wave and the capacitance of the AluminalLaeprodae nervous system prevented visual and audial receptors reciving the message. In otherwords, it didn't want you to."

The TARDIS continued on to their next adventure... What does this "Bad Wolf thing mean anyway."

Christelle considered it for a moment.

"I think you might say it's something of a national obsession," she said at last. "We've even got a Grapefruit Museum in Cité-Belle (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Cit%C3%A9-Belle). I've always thought of it as a personal taste, but I suppose it does make me 'typically Ariddian'."

She paused, glancing down at her drink, then looked up at the Stout with a smile.

"Is there a national drink in Norderia?"

"I'm afraid it's not nearly as exotic as the many fashions of grapefruit in Ariddia, my dear. There are two things that one does in Norderia. Two things regarding drinks, rather. One is to find a stranger in a tavern and arm wrestle them. The winner buys a shot of our vodka for the both of them.

"The other thing you do is drink water from the tap. As mundane as it sounds, water is one of the more proud things Norderia has to offer. Aside from all of the metaphorical descriptions of it as the perfect substance, of which I can go on about for hours, most cities in Norderia don't even use water treatment plants. The ones on the coast, like our capital do, but when you go to the mountains along the northwest, and the cities along their bases, the treatment plants are rarely needed.

"Well, they test the water of course, and do some filtration and treatment, before giving it to the people, but it is only on the rarest of occasions that it isn't drinkable from the source. The springs in the mountains are the stuff of legends. You could pick any spot on one of many rivers and fill your cup, and provided an elk hasn't peed just upstream from you, it would be as fine to drink as anything that's come through some high tech treatment process. In fact, we've a successful source of income from it. We bottle it and export it, calling the brand "Elbillug." It's not sold in Norderia, and we even put an umlaut over the 'u' to make it seem like a Norderian word."

The Stout waves over the barmaid and asks for a shot of that Norderian vodka. "We've other interesting combinations of drinks, of course, but I'd prefer not to disclose them here. It would feel somehow inappropriate." He settles back into the seat. It was a large, comfortable leather chair, but even it almost seemed to be just a touch too small, though the ambassador didn't seem to mind. He looked pleasant. Had he had white hair and pipe, he might have looked sagely, and content.

Norderia was his love. It took care of the land, and the land took care of them. There was something quite magical about the Northern side of the country. The forests in the Northeast, the mountains in the Northwest, the forested mountains in the North between the East and West... The Norderian civilization began with a strong bond to nature, and the bond remained in modern days. The storytelling also remained, as did the dual praise of both might, and passivity. The land was the perfect metaphor for its people -- the mountains were might, the water of its coasts its passivity, its green and white landscape the charm.

It was little wonder then that he would speak of it at length. His accent (a mix between scottish and swedish, if you can imagine it) always seemed to be ever more apparent when he did.

"In any case, you absolutely cannot die before you drink from the rivers that flow from the Malm Mountain Range. That goes for all of you," he says, finally turning his attention toward the other delegates gathered around.

"It sounds lovely," Christelle said, and meant it. She sighed wistfully. "I really should visit Norderia one day. Water is important in Ariddia, too - you really must see some of our pristine forest lakes - but what you've just described sounds... beautiful."

She took a drink from her grapefruit juice, then sat thinking about it dreamily.

"A glass of fresh grapefruit juice, please," she asked the bartender. She had had enough alcohol for one day. She turned to Jaris. "I thought you didn't really like it?" she reminded him with a slight smile.

"Oh, the taste is growing on me....although this will probably be my last drink of the evening. There's a fine line between having imbibed and being bombed, and I don't want to cross it.....not so soon after arriving here, anyway," Jaris laughed.

"In any case, you absolutely cannot die before you drink from the rivers that flow from the Malm Mountain Range. That goes for all of you," he says, finally turning his attention toward the other delegates gathered around.

"That sounds like it would be a great experience....I shall have to add Norderia to the quickly-growing list of places I should visit," Jaris responded. "We take our environment very seriously in Altanar, and it's refreshing to be around others that do too. If you both get the chance, you should visit Altanar as well. We're a fairly dry land, so we don't have much in the way of forests, and we only have one river and one lake...but it is still a stunning landscape in its own way, especially in the mountains to our north."

Taking a break from the days work, Dahlia decided that going to the Stranger's Bar would be a good idea. Maybe she would find Accelerus Dioce there. As she walked in she heard people talking strangely. "Intercoursed-up day?" she thought as she ordered her drink. She found a seat at the bar and looked around. As usual, the same old people. "How drab." she sighed. Then she spotted Accelerus and smiled. "Should I go over to him, or wait for him to notice me?" apparently Dahlia had taken to talking to herself.

She sat back and waited. She decided that, if after 10 minutes, he didn't notice her, she would go to him. She smiled broadly as she thought about the last time she saw him....

Accelerus blinked, disappointed that his cyberchemically enhanced body was keeping him from feeling the effects of the alcohol. He decided he might as well just go back to his office, and turned to leave. But as he did so...Dahlia. There she was, as lovely as ever. He walked over and greeted her with a crooked smile.

"Hey there, pretty lady."

Kingsley shuffled into the bar and looked around. It was his first time in the bar, and the sights and sounds were quite new to him. Jorge Trenbakke, his deputy, swiftly slunk up to his side.

"Hey, Kingsley, let's grab some drinks," Jorge said smoothly.

"Uh, Jorge, it's like my fourth day in the UN Building, and I don't like getting drunk anyway."

"Suit yourself." Jorge jumped into the fray of the bar and disappeared from sight.

Kingsley found an abandoned chair in the corner and reached into one of the large number of pockets of his emerald-green overcoat. He pulled out a thermos of extra-high-pulp orange juice and began to drink.

"To Ausserland and to Witchcliff," he murmured.

Accelerus blinked, disappointed that his cyberchemically enhanced body was keeping him from feeling the effects of the alcohol. He decided he might as well just go back to his office, and turned to leave. But as he did so...Dahlia. There she was, as lovely as ever. He walked over and greeted her with a crooked smile.

"Hey there, pretty lady."

"Hey! I was hoping to find you here. It looks like you're about to leave. Can I join you?" she waited for his response. She highly doubted he would say no. She smiled at him and stood up.

"Hey! I was hoping to find you here. It looks like you're about to leave. Can I join you?" she waited for his response. She highly doubted he would say no. She smiled at him and stood up.

"Certainly." He returned the smile and walked with her to the exit, making a mental note to make sure there was an available change of clothes before returning to the debates.

His black hood still pulled over his head, Sammy frowned at his cell phone as text messages came in. Some State Department staffer was stinking it up on the General Assembly floor. Also, he had been selected to head the Kennyite delegation to Princess Jhessan's coronation in The 'Burgh. That might be cool, he thought.

His efforts to hit on the white-robed Ardchoillean cutie had been interrupted before by a near run-in with Dicey Reilly, but the witch had since moved on to cavort with the Ausserlanders, while the Ausserlanders (thanks to Jolt, no doubt) were seemingly frozen in time; the Stout, meanwhile, was busy impressing the Ariddian with a boring story about water, and Dahlia Black as usual was whoring it up with the ancient HotRodian. Sigh ... then he came upon Princess Jianna, occupying herself with trying to rearrange all the little paper umbrellas over her neon-colored concoction. He miserably regarded the Gruenberger for a few moments, then suddenly remembered how Ace and Rico always tormented him when they caught him staring at her. He turned back, however, to find that they were too busy ordering bubble-gum ice cream to send the Ceoranan deputy to notice. Good, then. Everyone was distracted.

Not only that, he discovered, all the little jokes about Neville's Godmoding device had long since ceased to be funny.

"Fuck it," he concluded as he stole a hefty swig off his pale ale and wiped his mouth. Before he could change his mind, he quickly got up and nervously strode toward the "flour bag's" table, ignoring the predictable scoffs from his friends.

He came upon his destination, and offered his hand to the lady, along with a name. "Hi, I'm Sammy," he choked, not knowing what to do next. Luckily, all the drinks were on Ausserland. "Can I, er, buy you another soda?" he asked.

Momentarily seized with the audacity to force his company on her, he sat down without her permission. She, however, looked delighted, and every bit as nervous as he. "What's with the get-up?" he wondered, then wanted to beat himself. He cleared his throat. "Er, I mean, it's lovely," he corrected himself. "Does it hold any ... uhh ... religious ... significance?"

He could already guess the answer, having already caught the girl's sermonette (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=11806537&postcount=118) on the GA floor the other day, but he didn't know what else to talk about.

He spotted a newspaper on her table carrying news of Dicey Reilly, and viciously pondered ordering her a celebratory drink as well.

"Oh, the taste is growing on me....although this will probably be my last drink of the evening. There's a fine line between having imbibed and being bombed, and I don't want to cross it.....not so soon after arriving here, anyway," Jaris laughed.


Christelle grinned.
"Why do you think I've switched to fruit juice?" she asked, cheerfully, lifting her glass.


"That sounds like it would be a great experience....I shall have to add Norderia to the quickly-growing list of places I should visit," Jaris responded. "We take our environment very seriously in Altanar, and it's refreshing to be around others that do too. If you both get the chance, you should visit Altanar as well. We're a fairly dry land, so we don't have much in the way of forests, and we only have one river and one lake...but it is still a stunning landscape in its own way, especially in the mountains to our north."

She sighed.
"So many places I'd like to visit..." she said longingly. "I really should ask for a deputy ambassador so I can get away from time to time. And when I'm not here, I'm at the Uhuhland Council (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Uhuhland_Council) or managing paperwork in the ESAT building (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/ESAT)." She shook her head. "I shouldn't be thinking of that, though." She smiled at them both. "It's nice to have a few minutes to relax, get away from it all, and get to know my fellow ambassadors."

"So many places I'd like to visit..." she said longingly. "I really should ask for a deputy ambassador so I can get away from time to time. And when I'm not here, I'm at the Uhuhland Council (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Uhuhland_Council) or managing paperwork in the ESAT building (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/ESAT)." She shook her head. "I shouldn't be thinking of that, though." She smiled at them both. "It's nice to have a few minutes to relax, get away from it all, and get to know my fellow ambassadors."

"I agree, it is a relaxing experience, and I'm glad I'm starting to meet a few people and see that there's life outside the GA floor!" Jaris smiled. "Speaking of deputy ambassadors, I don't get one of those, unfortunately, but I did convince our Ministry of State to finally send me an assistant. Having to do everything by myself was a bit tiresome...hopefully they'll actually get here soon."

"I agree, it is a relaxing experience, and I'm glad I'm starting to meet a few people and see that there's life outside the GA floor!" Jaris smiled. "Speaking of deputy ambassadors, I don't get one of those, unfortunately, but I did convince our Ministry of State to finally send me an assistant. Having to do everything by myself was a bit tiresome...hopefully they'll actually get here soon."

"Well, I have got an assistant (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Kim_Min-Sun)," Christelle explained. "But she's my secretary, not a diplomat. I can't really ask her to 'hold the fort' in my absence." She paused, and grinned, somewhat guiltily. "Except that's exactly what I've done (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=11824997&postcount=136). I should probably go and rescue her from the GA soon... Last time she was in there, Sheik Nadnerb tried to buy her (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=11734419&postcount=46)."

<snip> "What's with the get-up?" he wondered, then wanted to beat himself. He cleared his throat. "Er, I man, it's lovely," he corrected himself. "Does it hold any ... uhh ... religious ... significance?"

He could already guess the answer, having already caught the girl's sermonette (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=11806537&postcount=118) on the GA floor the other day, but he didn't know what else to talk about.

He spotted a newspaper on her table carrying news of Dicey Reilly, and viciously pondered ordering her a celebratory drink as well.

"Well, no, actually, but Mother said it would be, uh, empowering among all these ... unusual people."

She felt a moment's sinful pride. She was learning diplomacy; she hadn't said "lost souls".

Besides, if they were lost souls, she was obliged to speak to them, wasn't she, to show them the way? So it was quite all right for her to be sitting here chatting to Ambassador Faisano ...

... who had asked her to call him "Sammy". Was that allowed? She was just an intern, after all, while he was somebody Really Important. She knew that, because Ms Reilly had said to keep an eye on the Kennyites. It was so nice of Ms Reilly to help her like that, point out to her the people who could teach her really useful things about her new life ...

She realised Mr Faisano -- Sammy! What a nice name! -- was sitting there waiting for her to say something else. Oh, yes, her name. How silly of her. She blushed, happily confident that no-one could see her embarrassment. Mother was so right.

"I'm Avaya Thibaudet, er, S-Sammy. I'm an intern with the Ardchoille delegation." Oh, she was so nervous! What to do next?

She noticed his glance at the newspapers, and eagerly pushed them over so he could see the headlines. "Dicey UNlimited!" one said, while the other soberly queried "Reilly President for Life?"

"Isn't it terrible?" Avaya said. "Poor Ms Reilly, I know she was a hardened criminal, but she's really turned her life around since she was sentenced to be Co-President, and I don't think it's fair that they should be talking about extending her term just because of one little mistake. I mean, she's explained to me time and time again how you delegates have to spend time in the Strangers Bar, networking." She pronounced the unfamiliar term with pride; another detail she'd added to her studies of diplomacy.

"So nobody should blame her for leaving me alone to talk, and she apologised (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=11820803&postcount=87), anyway, so anyone could see that she's reformed."

He didn't seem convinced. It was so hard to tell what men were thinking. She couldn't come up with anything else to say, but somehow she didn't want him to leave. Dicey had told her that people loved to talk about themselves ...

"So, ah ... you're not a criminal yourself, Mr Fai -- Sammy?"

'Ay ooop', thought Sir Albert as his befuddled neurons struggled to make sense of the world, 'a new lass, guess I ought to be all welcoming like, we'll have 'er fitting in t'bar in nay time'.

With a still somewhat wobbly recently tested a beer barrel stagger, Sir Albert made his way over to Avaya. 'Owdo Miss Avya, strange name for a lass, must get asked what av' ya done often, but nevermind, av' a glass of Bahgumian Blue Brandy, tha'll be fitting in in nay time at all, don't thee worry lass'.

Meandering back to his table he thought 'what a nice lass, she doesn't seem to look at me quite as oddly as that strange Dicey lass did'. 'Nah then i'd better go and ask our grand high mother in law to stop terrorising the local bar dragon'.

"Well, I have got an assistant (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Kim_Min-Sun)," Christelle explained. "But she's my secretary, not a diplomat. I can't really ask her to 'hold the fort' in my absence." She paused, and grinned, somewhat guiltily. "Except that's exactly what I've done (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=11824997&postcount=136). I should probably go and rescue her from the GA soon... Last time she was in there, Sheik Nadnerb tried to buy her (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=11734419&postcount=46)."

"I see....in that case, yes, you might want to keep an eye on her," Jaris grinned. "Hopefully, no one will try to buy my assistant....although, some back home would argue, we government types aren't worth much, anyway!"

"I see....in that case, yes, you might want to keep an eye on her," Jaris grinned. "Hopefully, no one will try to buy my assistant....although, some back home would argue, we government types aren't worth much, anyway!"

Christelle laughed.

"Actually," she said, "we Ariddian government types really aren't worth anything." She paused a moment, long enough for him to wonder what she meant, then explained with a slightly mischievous smile, "We're not paid."

She drank some of her grapefruit juice, noting that she seemed to be the only person in the room to be avoiding any more alcohol.

Christelle laughed.

"Actually," she said, "we Ariddian government types really aren't worth anything." She paused a moment, long enough for him to wonder what she meant, then explained with a slightly mischievous smile, "We're not paid."

Jaris laughs at the joke. "Don't say that too loud....that idea would go over well with at least some of the people in Altanar."

Jaris laughs at the joke. "Don't say that too loud....that idea would go over well with at least some of the people in Altanar."

Christelle giggled.
"I'll keep it to myself," she promised mock-solemnly, and finished her drink. She glanced towards the door. "Perhaps I should go and see how my assistant is doing in the GA..." she said somewhat reluctantly.

Christelle giggled.
"I'll keep it to myself," she promised mock-solemnly, and finished her drink. She glanced towards the door. "Perhaps I should go and see how my assistant is doing in the GA..." she said somewhat reluctantly.

"And I should probably go and see if my assistant has arrived yet....while I'd rather continue to chat, duty does call," Jaris replied. He hands Christelle his business card. "Hopefully we can pick up where we left off later, though...this has been a most interesting conversation. And beverage," Jaris smiled as he finished off the last of the vodka.

"And I should probably go and see if my assistant has arrived yet....while I'd rather continue to chat, duty does call," Jaris replied. He hands Christelle his business card. "Hopefully we can pick up where we left off later, though...this has been a most interesting conversation. And beverage," Jaris smiled as he finished off the last of the vodka.

Christelle smiled as she took his card.

"It's been a pleasure. Hopefully I can visit Altanar one day... and welcome you to Ariddia." She stood, returning her empty glass before heading back to the General Assembly.

The Meddling Monk barged into the bar with a very large bandage on his forehead, "Don't let the door hit you on the way out my bottom. The door didn't hit me, I hit the door." With that he settled to the barstool. "Did you know that yesterday was international Mole day? Well it was. It's all about chemicals, which oddly is the subject of the current UN debate. I'll take my chemicals in the form of a nice single malt scotch."

The King of Tzorsland has decalred,
That radii must all be squared;
Their areas to be compared,
And differences to be repared.

The semi-august presence of Jubal Harshaw, Magister of Intangelon, half swept and half stumbled into the Strangers' Bar. Ah, so this is where Ben spends his off hours. I can see why. He thought that last as his eyes swept past particuarly nicely-represented nations like Ariddia and others whose ambassadors and spokespeople were as alluring as they were shrewd. He found an empty spot and sat, his gold-lined purple collar granting him no more than curiosity status here -- back home, he'd have to drag his security detail through sheaves of paperwork just to walk into a place like this. It felt good to have a little everyman freedom.

"Bourbon and bitters, please," he ordered politely. He wondered if the staff here bore the brunt of a vast array of attitudes from the "lofty" clientele, or did the various dignitaries respect those who plied the service trades as was the case in Valentine, the new capital of Intangelon. He then heard a question he'd not heard in at least twenty years -- since entering politics:

"What's your brand, sir?" The bartender didn't understand the look of gratitude on his patron's face, until Magister Harshaw explained that the Magister (think elected president, chief justice and professor emeritus all in one) was always offered whatever was most expensive without being offered a choice. The popular wisdom being, of course, that only the best would do -- the problem being that what was the best popularly was not always the best empirically.

"George Dickel No. 8." Offered the Magister after a few seconds' unaccustomed rummaging in his mind's preferences file.

"Very good, sir," and off the 'tender went to his task.

I'm glad I offloaded some of my ceremonials to the Minister, thought Jubal. Ministers are elected, Magisters (head of state, head of the military, head of finance -- cabinet chiefs and heads of the twin legislative houses, and so forth, across all three branches of government) were both elected and appointed. In this case, Minister Intangelon (compared to Jubal as Magister Intangelon) is a kind of vice-president. Now I can keep up with world affairs and get what I want at the damned bar! Plus, Ben always knows where the best poker games are. Benjamin Royce, UN Magister from Intangelon, was in the room, but hadn't noticed his boss enter the place. The next five minutes would change that.

The Meddling Monk barged into the bar with a very large bandage on his forehead, "Don't let the door hit you on the way out my bottom. The door didn't hit me, I hit the door." With that he settled to the barstool. "Did you know that yesterday was international Mole day? Well it was. It's all about chemicals, which oddly is the subject of the current UN debate. I'll take my chemicals in the form of a nice single malt scotch."

The King of Tzorsland has decalred,
That radii must all be squared;
Their areas to be compared,
And differences to be repared.

Ben Royce looked up upon hearing the odd geometrical quatrain.

"I beg your pardon, your...uh...holiness? Brother? Right Reverend? I must beg again, but how should I address you? And after that, my original question, is that a native Tzorslandian rhyme? What's it's origin?" Ben had heard enough poetry and lyrics in college to last him a lifetime, but he'd never heard a sonnet to Pi before now.

Jaris sood and returned his now-empty glass to the bar. Just then, his phone rang. He answered it, his face quickly assuming an expression of excitement. Rapidly speaking Altanari into the phone, he made his way out of the bar on a run.

"So, ah ... you're not a criminal yourself, Mr Fai -- Sammy?""Criminal? Er ... me? No ... uh ... of course not!" the boy insisted. "You want the criminals, they're over there!" he added with a desperate chortle, pointing out Ace and Rico.

"I'm just kidding, of course," he said nervously, thankful to the girl for providing a momentary distraction: "But seriously, though, Dicey's got a record?"

He wasn't an outlaw, of course, but that didn't deem him stranger to scandal. The tabloid press kept a diligent public record of his peccadilloes, including turning a mob of horny guys on his deputy ambassador to keep her distracted, grabbing (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=11493108&postcount=4001) Princess Jianna right there in the Strangers' Bar, tackling (http://z11.invisionfree.com/Antarctic_Oasis/index.php?showtopic=137&view=findpost&p=4589888) her to the floor in Paradise City, and (the horror!) dancing with the vice president, leading to rumors (http://z11.invisionfree.com/Antarctic_Oasis/index.php?showtopic=125) of a sexual relationship. He was sure this Avaya didn't read either the Polar Picayune or the Paradise City Town Crier, but it still wouldn't hurt to gloss over the situation somewhat:

"Being in the public eye is very stressful, though. The tabloids won't leave you alone."

Perfect.

And so true. Not only was he the constant prey of Page Six, but also of nearly every other delegation at the United Nations pledged to "keep an eye on him," by virtue of his nationality. But he'd learned how to deal with potential embarrassments; not to stop them -- after all, he was a Kennyite, so he naturally attracted scandal; it was just funnier that way -- but to avoid them wherever possible. Lesson one: Everybody, particularly prospective romantic entanglements, was a threat.

He smiled innocently even as his eyes darkened. "How old are you?" he asked, with more curiosity than suspicion.

"Criminal? Er ... me? No ... uh ... of course not!" the boy insisted. "You want the criminals, they're over there!" he added with a desperate chortle, pointing out Ace and Rico.

"I'm just kidding, of course," he said nervously, thankful to the girl for providing a momentary distraction: "But seriously, though, Dicey's got a record?"

He wasn't an outlaw, of course, but that didn't deem him stranger to scandal. The tabloid press kept a diligent public record of his peccadilloes, including turning a mob of horny guys on his deputy ambassador to keep her distracted, grabbing (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=11493108&postcount=4001) Princess Jianna right there in the Strangers' Bar, tackling (http://z11.invisionfree.com/Antarctic_Oasis/index.php?showtopic=137&view=findpost&p=4589888) her to the floor in Paradise City, and (the horror!) dancing with the vice president, leading to rumors (http://z11.invisionfree.com/Antarctic_Oasis/index.php?showtopic=125) of a sexual relationship. He was sure this Avaya didn't read either the Polar Picayune or the Paradise City Town Crier, but it still wouldn't hurt to gloss over the situation somewhat:

"Being in the public eye is very stressful, though. The tabloids won't leave you alone."

Perfect.

And so true. Not only was he the constant prey of Page Six, but also of nearly every other delegation at the United Nations pledged to "keep an eye on him," by virtue of his nationality. But he'd learned how to deal with potential embarrassments; not to stop them -- after all, he was a Kennyite, so he naturally attracted scandal; it was just funnier that way -- but to avoid them wherever possible. Lesson one: Everybody, particularly prospective romantic entanglements, was a threat.

He smiled innocently even as his eyes darkened. "How old are you?" he asked, with more curiosity than suspicion.

OOC: "Page Six?" They're numbering pages now? I guess that'll make it harder for predators to guess their email addresses....

Ben Royce looked up upon hearing the odd geometrical quatrain.

"I beg your pardon, your...uh...holiness? Brother? Right Reverend? I must beg again, but how should I address you? And after that, my original question, is that a native Tzorslandian rhyme? What's it's origin?" Ben had heard enough poetry and lyrics in college to last him a lifetime, but he'd never heard a sonnet to Pi before now.

The Monk put down his single malt scotch. "You can call me whatever you like; that's what everyone else does. I don't think being given the attribute of holy is all that appropriate. I'm probably not your brother. Calling me revered in any direction is out as well. I'm just a monk who meddles."

"The rhyme is a recent little ditty from a political comentary about the recent King of Tzor's annual ceremonials at the pallace in Eyesore. King Harold XVI really hasn't had much power since Tzor was invaded by Franciscans centuries ago. He convinced me to con my way into the presidency several decades ago in order to annoy the Franciscans by joining the UN, a plan that succeeded even beyond my wildest dreams. The Franciscan's formed their own nation and I believe they currently have a horrid economy and a 80% tax rate."

"Actually one of them, a Brother Thomas, eater of English muffins, came recently for a visit and I asked the Fat Friar to hold the fort in the debate room while I went for a drink. Don't get him started on moral issues, he can be most annoyingly fluffy at times. But he loves his toasted English muffin pizzas so I can't fault him for everything."

Dahlia entered the bar all but dragging her briefcase. "Give me the strongest alcoholic beverage that you have." She received her drink and found a table off in the corner.

"So much work to do." she thought to herself as she opened her case and took out a stack of papers. There were the papers to get sent off for the damn queens wedding and then all the United Nations paperwork that the queen insisted on seeing. Adrienne seemed especially cranky these days. It might have something to do with the fact that she is about to marry a Kennyite. First Casandra and now Adrienne. Dahlia smile and thought "At least I've had brains enough to fall for someone other than one of those fools."

Before starting her work, she looked around the bar. There was the monk and a few other familiar faces, but she couldn't be bothered with them now. Too much work to do. Of course, she could make an exception for Accelerus, but he wasn't anywhere to be seen. So, she took a large gulp of her drink and got to work, looking up every time the door opened.

The Monk put down his single malt scotch. "You can call me whatever you like; that's what everyone else does. I don't think being given the attribute of holy is all that appropriate. I'm probably not your brother. Calling me revered in any direction is out as well. I'm just a monk who meddles."

"The rhyme is a recent little ditty from a political comentary about the recent King of Tzor's annual ceremonials at the pallace in Eyesore. King Harold XVI really hasn't had much power since Tzor was invaded by Franciscans centuries ago. He convinced me to con my way into the presidency several decades ago in order to annoy the Franciscans by joining the UN, a plan that succeeded even beyond my wildest dreams. The Franciscan's formed their own nation and I believe they currently have a horrid economy and a 80% tax rate."

"Actually one of them, a Brother Thomas, eater of English muffins, came recently for a visit and I asked the Fat Friar to hold the fort in the debate room while I went for a drink. Don't get him started on moral issues, he can be most annoyingly fluffy at times. But he loves his toasted English muffin pizzas so I can't fault him for everything."

"A fascinating turn of events, and well told. It makes me wonder if the Franciscans are financially irresponsible or just generous to a fault.

I am familiar with Thomas' English Muffins. If I recall correctly, their selling point was their unusual asymmetry -- one side of the splittable rounds of bread larger than the other. A fine brand which survives to this day in my nation.

We've got the Benedictine order of monks and nuns in Intangelon, and they're a very hospitable lot -- no cries for autonomy. In fact, the only thing I can see about them that could wear on someone would be their insistence on serving everyone food and drink at every meeting, gathering, function...what have you. It is difficult to remain thin among them, and their sense of hospitality can get cloying at times. But they make a most remarkable liqueur, so nobody complains much.

I see you've reached the end of your scotch -- can I buy you a second?"

Accelerus Dioce had poked his head into the debate halls, but decided quickly that he didn't want to stay around there. So here he was, walking quickly into the bar, heading straight for the alcohol. "Imperial Brandy from Clearwater," he ordered curtly. He promptly drained the brandy in one drawn-out gulp, and started looking around for something else he might like.

Dahlia heard a familiar voice. She looked up from her paperwork and saw Accelerus at the bar. She smiled. She just hoped that he noticed her there. She thought for a moment, took the last gulp of her drink and headed for the bar.

"Another please. Oh! Accelerus! How nice to see you again." she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "How are you?"

Dahlia heard a familiar voice. She looked up from her paperwork and saw Accelerus at the bar. She smiled. She just hoped that he noticed her there. She thought for a moment, took the last gulp of her drink and headed for the bar.

"Another please. Oh! Accelerus! How nice to see you again." she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "How are you?"

Accelerus felt the touch of familiar lips on his cheek, and turned his head, a smile already starting on his face. "A bit frustrated, pretty lady. But I know how to fix that easily enough." His lips curled further into a grin, and he winked his left eye.

"The lady's drink is on me," he said to the bartender. Turning back to Dahlia, he asked in a softer tone of voice, "How are you? Not frustrated too, I hope."

'by eck, ah'm seeing monks now', mumbled Sir Albert, 'I 'ope they don't go giving t'Bahgumian mother in law squad any ideas of what t'do with our menfolk'

Though, on balance, being a monk didn't sound too bad, they almost always lived in beautiful parts of the world, in magnificent buildings, drank lots of alcohol and didn't let any of the womenfolk interfere. He suspected the praying bit and cold bedrooms was a front and only put on for film crews for documentaries and the like. After all if you have your own exclusive purpose built boozer, you don't want everyone wanting to join. If only they had pool tables in monasteries.....

Accelerus felt the touch of familiar lips on his cheek, and turned his head, a smile already starting on his face. "A bit frustrated, pretty lady. But I know how to fix that easily enough." His lips curled further into a grin, and he winked his left eye.

"The lady's drink is on me," he said to the bartender. Turning back to Dahlia, he asked in a softer tone of voice, "How are you? Not frustrated too, I hope."

"Me? I'm a little overworked. Queen Adrienne has me doing everything. Shall we sit? We can go to my table." she took him by the hand a lead to the table.

After they sat, she started the conversation again. "I am a little frustrated. I'm sure that will be taken care of shortly." she smiled and winked at him. "I say that after we are finished our drinks, we head to my office so I can drop these papers off. We can do whatever you want afterwards."

"Me? I'm a little overworked. Queen Adrienne has me doing everything. Shall we sit? We can go to my table." she took him by the hand a lead to the table.

After they sat, she started the conversation again. "I am a little frustrated. I'm sure that will be taken care of shortly." she smiled and winked at him. "I say that after we are finished our drinks, we head to my office so I can drop these papers off. We can do whatever you want afterwards."

The chair at Dahlia's table was surprisingly comfortable. Maybe his constant use of barstools was not the best idea. The chair was much better. Actually, there were a lot of fun things to do with chairs, as he remembered.

"After we're finished with the drinks. It's a deal." He downed his drink in another extended gulp, and grinned at her. "All done."

The chair at Dahlia's table was surprisingly comfortable. Maybe his constant use of barstools was not the best idea. The chair was much better. Actually, there were a lot of fun things to do with chairs, as he remembered.

"After we're finished with the drinks. It's a deal." He downed his drink in another extended gulp, and grinned at her. "All done."

Dahlia looked at him and laughed. "You're an eager one, aren't you?" She finished packing up her briefcase, downed her drink and stood. "Shall we then?" she said and started to head for the door.

Dahlia looked at him and laughed. "You're an eager one, aren't you?" She finished packing up her briefcase, downed her drink and stood. "Shall we then?" she said and started to head for the door.

Chuckling, and glad that she had taken the hint, Accelerus stood. "I do believe we shall," he replied smoothly as he walked out of the bar with her. He made a mental note to involve a chair this time, and hoped her office had a comfy one.

Casandra entered the bar and looked around. Nervously she ordered a drink and sat at the bar. She wondered if she was doing the right thing. There were a couple of the people she was looking, but they seemed busy. "Should I just go to them? Find out what I need to do to start that job that Cmdr. Chiang told her about." She grew increasingly nervous as she thought about it. Cmdr. Chiang wasn't here. Not that she could see. She decided to sit back a wait. Casandra would sit back, enjoy her drink and try to calm her nerves before even attempting to talk to anyone from OMGTKK.

'by eck, ah'm seeing monks now', mumbled Sir Albert, 'I 'ope they don't go giving t'Bahgumian mother in law squad any ideas of what t'do with our menfolk'

Though, on balance, being a monk didn't sound too bad, they almost always lived in beautiful parts of the world, in magnificent buildings, drank lots of alcohol and didn't let any of the womenfolk interfere. He suspected the praying bit and cold bedrooms was a front and only put on for film crews for documentaries and the like. After all if you have your own exclusive purpose built boozer, you don't want everyone wanting to join. If only they had pool tables in monasteries.....

"You're not seeing them, good sir -- well, not in the 'I must be seeing things' sense of seeing them, anyway -- I've just bought this monk sitting next to me a second single malt scotch.

I'm Jubal Harshaw, Magister of Intangelon and delegate to the UN for the Tiny Region of Greater Seattle. Intangelon's own UN Minister, Ben Royce, is around here somewhere, too...most likely downing a few Benedictines or Becherovkas or whatever exotic booze he's on about this week."

Jubal turned back to the Tzorslandian monk.

"Well? Have the Franciscans got pool tables?

Scipio was nervous. but he kept his cool and didn't let his emotions betray him. He causually walked over to a stool and asked the bartender for a drink.

The ambassador from Altanar marched into the bar, looking thoroughly ticked off. He sat down, ordered a glass of wine, knocked it off in one gulp, and asked for another. "By the gods and goddesses, this place is going to turn me into an alcoholic," he murmured under his breath.

Hot on the Altanarian Ambassador's heels, the Ambassador from Community Property strode in. Neville glanced at both diplomats and quietly began to get ready for the coming bar rush.

“Wheat grass, please,” said McGee. “Two of them.”

Neville relaxed. I guess she's not going to drink after all

Then the Ambassador added, “And half a pint of dark rum – neat - as a chaser. Cap'n Jack (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Captain_Jack_Sparrow), if you've got it.”

Liquor in hand, Charity McGee drew up a chair next to her Altanarian colleague, down a wheat grass and a slug of her rum, looked up at him and said, “Can you believe this sh_t?!?”

Hot on the Altanarian Ambassador's heels, the Ambassador from Community Property strode in. Neville glanced at both diplomats and quietly began to get ready for the coming bar rush.

“Wheat grass, please,” said McGee. “Two of them.”

Neville relaxed. I guess she's not going to drink after all

Then the Ambassador added, “And half a pint of dark rum – neat - as a chaser. Cap'n Jack (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Captain_Jack_Sparrow), if you've got it.”

Liquor in hand, Charity McGee drew up a chair next to her Altanarian colleague, down a wheat grass and a slug of her rum, looked up at him and said, “Can you believe this sh_t?!?”

"I would not have believed it, until coming here," Jaris replied. "I just assumed most nations had functioning, competent educational systems. Every day I spend here is showing me how wrong that belief was. Incidentally, I don't think we've met....my name is Jaris Krytellin," the ambassador added.

“Charity Starshine Shanti Freedom Peace-Love Haight-Ashbury Prairie Flower McGee,” the Ambassador replied, offering her hand. “My parents kind of went nuts, but that's something of a tradition in my country. You can just call me Charity – or McGee; either one will do.”

She looked down at her drink and laughed bitterly. “You'd think that at least they'd be able to find educated diplomats. Amazing.” McGee took another slug. “Here we are, a bunch of starry-eyed hippies, and we have a better educational system than these jokers have. Not that everyone who's voting against this is a fool – HotRodia's position is a decent one, for instance – but it's the stupid ones who think that this resolution commands us to eat our children (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=11658220&postcount=270) or something...” Another slug. “Unbelievable. They make Kennyites look like geniuses.”

“So,” she continued, “How would you like to come to our office-warming party? We've up on the 27th Floor, next to the All-Night Discotheque. Isn't that like, so, 70's...”

Casandra would sit back, enjoy her drink and try to calm her nerves before even attempting to talk to anyone from OMGTKK.Ms. Chase's wait would not be long, for like a bulldog to a bitch in heat, an inevitable, familiar, if somewhat brutish and horny, presence made itself known at the main entrance. The Kennyite stood there a moment, his secretary of state toadying up next to him (as the latter had only been dispatched with the president to assure he didn't cause too much trouble; an impossible task, to be sure), and surveyed the scene for a worthy candidate to scratch his itch. Unfortunately he would not find the Thessadorian Ambassador there -- stupid Alex was right -- and there weren't many others he recognized.

Jessie McArthur was there, shamelessly and drunkenly rubbing herself up against Cmdr. Chiang's stripper pole hoping to catch the attention of some young guy, and there was another vaguely familiar face of a man the Destructor was sure worked for him in some capacity, presently executing some vain flirtations on a modestly white-robed little lady, while still keeping a jealous eye on Princess Jianna. His UN ambassador? But what was he still doing here? Didn't he have Jhessan's coronation to attend to? Our Casandra may not have seen it, but there were Kennyites galore at the bar that evening: in one corner, a tipsy George Brown was trying to impress some woman with his incredible ability to beat the spam filter as he mass-telegrammed UN delegates; in another sat Shirley Jackson, eagerly waiting for some guy to give her some remark, any remark, she could interpret as sexist or racist or otherwise demeaning so she could assault him with her Verizon Wireless.

Finally Fernanda resolved upon an attractive young woman keeping the counter company, and the two latest Kennyite cast members established themselves in the establishment: the president stalking his prey; the secretary quietly seating himself at a nearby table, motioning to Violet and ordering something boring before consoling himself in some state documents from his folder.

Mischievously the Destructor sneaked up on Miss Casandra and tapped her far shoulder before alerting her to his presence on her opposite side. He was pleased at her nervous giggle. "Hey there, hottie," he introduced himself: "I'd sure like to take you down to the Paradise City where the grass is green and the girls are pretty! Oh, won't you please take me home, baby?!"

Yeah, she was cute, but Fernanda had already elected not to waste any good pick-up lines on her. ...

[Hello I Am Melsonland. I Find You All Very Strange, Yet Very Cool. I Have Been Tempted Here From The General Safety Of The General Forum By A Friend And Want In On The Randomness....]

Someone Sad Something About Cassandra....

after wasting his pick up line on her, he rode out the bar, with his daeomon, a tarantula in tow.
Cassandra, who was confused looked down and ordered another round of shots for her diplomat crew to forget whatever the hell she was thinking. Than Axl Rose walked in. The Prince of Melsonland had invited him to partake in giving a song to all the tense delegates and Presidents. Everyone hailed the Prince, apart from Axl who walied. Cassandra was not bothered though, she had not been interested in guns and roses since 1987. She downed another tequila, but Axls bodyguard approached..........

Mischievously the Destructor sneaked up on Miss Casandra and tapped her far shoulder before alerting her to his presence on her opposite side. He was pleased at her nervous giggle. "Hey there, hottie," he introduced himself: "I'd sure like to take you down to the Paradise City where the grass is green and the girls are pretty! Oh, won't you please take me home, baby?!"

Casandra stared at the Destructor for a moment and then smiled. "Uh....yes, I would love to take you home." she could barely contain her excitement. Casandra finished her drink, stood up and adjusted her skirt a little. "Wanna go now?"

Pendankr slowly and quietly entered the bar, his eyes heavy and his motions sluggish. It appeared that he had already been drinking heavily.

Umdiroplach was behind him, ever- ready to shoot a supporting arm under the sagging ambassador. He sighed.

"You've had to much to drink."

Pendankr grimaced. "No, I haven't had a single drop yet. The fucking morons in the General Assembly have siphoned my life-forces away with their incessant stupidity... thank the gods I was able to crawl away without them knowing. Lord knows what would have happened if that freak from Intestinal Fluids had gotten HCL all over me."

He slumped into a chair, stretching his arms. "Pash, get me a drink, I don't think I can walk."

Umdiroplach sighed, and walked over to the bar. He stopped when an unusual creature suddenly started babbling about "Axl Rose" and slobbering all over himself. Realizing it was nothing more than an errant moron from the GA, he continued on. Suddenly, a loud noise sounded behind him. Whirling around, he saw Pendankr standing on the table.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. Since I have decided not to go on a horrific rampage and slaughter every illiterate moron I can find in this building, I will do the only thing that comes close to granting closure for the horrible crimes perpetrated on the GA floor. Drinks, for the next two hours, are paid for by the Great Star Empire."

Stomping his foor for emphasis, he yelled again. "Now get plastered!"

General Blorck and Ambassador Barfanger rush in and up to the bar. "Hot damn!" Barfanger roars. (Dwarves roar a lot when excited. Actually, they don't even have to be very excited.) "Free drinks! Gimme an Olde Frothingslosh, Neville. The same for Blackie. Please."

"Ladies and Gentlemen. Since I have decided not to go on a horrific rampage and slaughter every illiterate moron I can find in this building, I will do the only thing that comes close to granting closure for the horrible crimes perpetrated on the GA floor. Drinks, for the next two hours, are paid for by the Great Star Empire."

Stomping his foor for emphasis, he yelled again. "Now get plastered!"“Jaris,” said Charity McGee with a giggle, “If we kill enough brain cells, do you imagine that the moronic idiocy of the 'stupid wing' of the Assembly might not seem quite so unbearable?”

Before the Altanarian could answer, McGee leaped up, wriggled through the crowd massing at the bar with phenomenal grace, and returned in a flash with an entire bottle of wine and a pint of Cap'n Jack.

“Did I ever tell you,” she said with a smile, “That I worked as a barmaid when I first studied overseas for my Masters...?”

Casandra stared at the Destructor for a moment and then smiled. "Uh....yes, I would love to take you home." she could barely contain her excitement. Casandra finished her drink, stood up and adjusted her skirt a little. "Wanna go now?"The Destructor eyed his new lady friend, and smiled obscenely. Damn, this bitch was begging for it! He paused. He knew what he had meant by "take me home"; wasn't she alluding to the same thing?

"I gotta room upstairs," he offered.

[QUOTE=Allech-Atreus]
"Ladies and Gentlemen. Since I have decided not to go on a horrific rampage and slaughter every illiterate moron I can find in this building, I will do the only thing that comes close to granting closure for the horrible crimes perpetrated on the GA floor. Drinks, for the next two hours, are paid for by the Great Star Empire."[QUOTE]

'By Eck, don't mind if ah do, barkeep, a gallon of Bahgumian Blue Brandy, cheers', slurred Sir Albert happily.

'Nah then, all this talk of slaughtering morons, tha doesn't need to do that. Just ask and Bahgum can send a visitation of the infamous Bahgumian Mother in Law Squad, much worse then mere slaughter'. Sir Albert gestures to the dark and forebidding shadowy edge of the bar, where restless, fidgetting, dread inspiring shapes can just be made out in the gloom, 'see, t'lasses are looking for something to do, they 'aven't interfered in any blokes affairs in at least half an hour'.

Invisible Wabbits;11807305']
"Shay...Er, Barkeep...Whas somting sweet but has a kick to drink aroun here anyways? I'll have a double and my godd ol' frien here ll' have tha same...Hmmmm... now where at did he get off to?"
"Hey!...Anyone in here seen my huge 6 foot tall white rabbit friend?...Hish name's Harry and I'm buyin him a little drinky poo (Hic)".
The bar-stool to the right of the one occupied by the Southern Gentelmen's representative moves slightly, and a voice from that direction says:

"I'm over here. A Southern Comfort and carrot-juice, on the rocks, please."

The ambassador from Southern Gentelmen had obviously fallen asleep at the bar, but just before he would have slipped to the floor he was grabbed by invisible hands and propped up into a slightly more stable position.

The familiar sound of the Doctor's TARDIS could be heard throughout the building.
The door opened and the Doctor's head poked out of the door, "Sorry, just returning a Stow-away." his head poped back in, the door staying open..
"Come on now... Time to get out there..."
"I know, but never the less you said you would."
"Good, Good, nice Wabbit."
And with that the door closed and the TARDIS disappeared. Nothing was seen to have exited or entered but it had been completed to the Doctor's satisfaction whatever it was.

"But you said you would!" repeated the voice, from inside the Bar this time, although the speaker could not be seen...

"Anyway, as a result, I have decided to work my way down these lists," Dicey continued with brittle calm. "Neville, I would be pleased if you would serve me the top drink on this list and then point me in the direction of any male ambassadors from any nations beginning with 'A'. Oh, and would you mind keeping score? Just tick the little boxes. It is my intention to drink and physical congress my way through the entire United Nations!"
"OMG, Suicide by Immoderation? Dicey, no, wait!"
But the Ardchoillean Co-President had already seized a bottle of AAAncient AAArdvaaark and was heading with a predatory stride (bump, grind) towards the Ausserland delegation.
Invisible Wabbits;11835736']"A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H... I ... and I wonder whether she'll actually get this far through the alphabet..." mused a voice whose source was (of course) invisible...

Dicey had been standing gazing at the Ausserlanders for a little while, apparently lost in thought, when somebody who seemed to be standing quite close to her left -- although she couldn't actually locate them -- spoke and was obviously addressing her _
"Hey, gorgeous, why not drop the 'alphabetical order' idea and go straight to the best? You know what they say:

'Wabbit
Becomes
A habit.'

And a furry-feeling arm was placed gently, but invisibly, around her shoulders...

“Charity Starshine Shanti Freedom Peace-Love Haight-Ashbury Prairie Flower McGee,” the Ambassador replied, offering her hand. “My parents kind of went nuts, but that's something of a tradition in my country. You can just call me Charity – or McGee; either one will do.”

She looked down at her drink and laughed bitterly. “You'd think that at least they'd be able to find educated diplomats. Amazing.” McGee took another slug. “Here we are, a bunch of starry-eyed hippies, and we have a better educational system than these jokers have. Not that everyone who's voting against this is a fool – HotRodia's position is a decent one, for instance – but it's the stupid ones who think that this resolution commands us to eat our children (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=11658220&postcount=270) or something...” Another slug. “Unbelievable. They make Kennyites look like geniuses.”

“So,” she continued, “How would you like to come to our office-warming party? We've up on the 27th Floor, next to the All-Night Discotheque. Isn't that like, so, 70's...”

Jaris took the hand offered gracefully. "I'd love to attend....after all, associating with the delegates that aren't insane or illiterate is a nice change," Jaris laughed.

“Jaris,” said Charity McGee with a giggle, “If we kill enough brain cells, do you imagine that the moronic idiocy of the 'stupid wing' of the Assembly might not seem quite so unbearable?”

Before the Altanarian could answer, McGee leaped up, wriggled through the crowd massing at the bar with phenomenal grace, and returned in a flash with an entire bottle of wine and a pint of Cap'n Jack.

“Did I ever tell you,” she said with a smile, “That I worked as a barmaid when I first studied overseas for my Masters...?”

Jaris grinned mischievously. "No, you didn't mention that....but it's good to know. I propose we begin saluting each delegation that isn't idiotic, one national beverage at a time."

A banging emerged from the closet door. It quickly grew louder and more insistent. Hearing it, Neville excused himself from the bar, proceeded to the closet, opened the door, and allowed the Special Envoy from the Rogue Pod of Bloodthirsty Dolphins to emerge. Wobbling severely, the Special Envoy made its way out of the bar, steeling itself in preparation for the floor debate soon to come (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=504936).

The Destructor eyed his new lady friend, and smiled obscenely. Damn, this bitch was begging for it! He paused. He knew what he had meant by "take me home"; wasn't she alluding to the same thing?

"I gotta room upstairs," he offered.

"Perfect!" she responded. It had been so long for her and she was just aching to be alone with anyone. It just happened to be the Destructor. She'd play around for a bit and then jump on the opportunity to sell out Queen Adrienne....

Invisible Wabbits;11868377']
And a furry-feeling arm was placed gently, but invisibly, around her shoulders...

It was a well-known fact that Ardchoilleans detested rabbits. Too many citizens remembered the last infestation, when the cries of the possibly sapient, certainly sentient meh-trees had made terrible the night as rabbitly fiends nibbled away their tender saplings before their very leaves. The cleansing had been intense and bloody. Many a gourmand had grown bored, and many a chef had gone bonkers.

Nevertheless, Dicey was hurting. It was bad enough to condemn her to the Presidency for a term or two for an adolescent prank; to sentence her to leadership for life, just for another adolescent's mis-step, would be cruel.

But politics was cruel. And, in a cruel world, there was something ineffably comforting about a furry arm and a gentle cuddle.

"I'll just sllip into something more comfortable," she breathed, beginning the appropriate morph spell.

The world does not hold many green-eyed rabbits, particularly with fur that somehow suggests tumbling auburn curls. But such a one exited the Bar, its cute little nose wiggling happily, its head snuggled confidingly into empty air and one arm curling around a waist that manifestly wasn't there.

Neville didn't notice Dicey's departure. He was too busy with Bast's latest project.

"You have to make sure it raises his ITI -- Idiot Toleration Index," the Cat explained, for the benefit of the less scientifically-inclined Barlord. "And it has to make him capable of sustaining an explanation indefinitely without condescenscion."

"You're the magical creature, you do it," Neville muttered rebelliously. But he continued working on the mysterious mixture the Bar's non-human sapients were sponsoring. "How do you plan to get it to him, anyway, in that pressure suit?" he enquired.

"Nobody has ever had any problem making a Bloodthirsty Dolphin drink," Bast returned. "We can always go intravenous, if necessary. And you'll see this other carton is delivered direct to his Assembly seat, too, won't you?"

"It's not going to blow up?"

"No, look, we labelled it under Chemical Standards. And anyway, it's just a supply of top-quality throwing dictionaries. They're aerodynamically designed so when you hurl one in frustration at a particularly dense opponent, it lands face-up, still open at the relevant definition. We've put bookmarks in every single one at 'sapient', 'sentient' and 'intelligent'," he added proudly.

... He smiled innocently even as his eyes darkened. "How old are you?" he asked, with more curiosity than suspicion.

Avaya toyed interminably [for two pages, in fact] with her soda. "Ni -- ah, nearly twenty," she finally answered. It was so pleasant talking to Mr Faisano; he didn't rush you the way other people often did.

"But seriously, though, Dicey's got a record?"

"Oh, yes, Ms Reilly's got a record," she confirmed. "It's as long as your arm -- almost as long as your President's arms," she joked.

Sammy didn't say anything. It suddenly struck Avaya that Dicey's frequent "ook-ook!" noises and chimpanzee dance whenever President Fernanda's name came up might not mesh well with Mr Faisano's views about his leader. To cover her confusion, she galloped into speech.

"You should hear about the things she did when she was a student! Like, the High Priest's Forest, at the front of the University? For 400 years it was the High Priest's Garden. But Dicey got mad one day about something -- actually, it was something the UN did, though I can't remember what -- and the next morning there was no garden, just this forest of meh-trees. She'd magicked seeds from all around and force-grown them overnight. And when you fly over, you can see the whole thing is in the shape of a giant peace sign. They nearly sent her to Your Room over that one, but they ended up just putting another official warning on her record. I think my Uncle Phillippe must have spoken up for her, actually," she added. "He was just a student then, too, and she was always so disrespectful towards him, but now, of course, he's High Priest."

She was glad he couldn't see her expression. She couldn't restrain the sin of pride when she thought about Uncle Phillippe. Speaking of sins, here she was gossiping ... although, truly, it wasn't false witness or anything like that, but perhaps she'd better stop. "Anyway, when it came to that last thing she did with all the naked diplomats, and she wasn't even a student any more, well, they hardly had a choice, did they? So they sent her here, and, you know, I really admire what she's done with what's left of her life."

Thinking about it -- having to do all that awful networking at the Bar every night and sitting in the Assembly forcing herself to not turn people into things they shouldn't be turned into, and helping less fortunate nations, and stuff -- Avaya's eyes glowed with hero-worship.

"That's why I insisted on coming here, even though I'm not a criminal," she explained. "I mean, Mother says no properly brought up witch or wizard would want to be mixed up in messy non-magical affairs, but I think, when the Goddess has given us such gifts, it's our duty. I ... I think I felt a Call," she added shyly.

"Being in the public eye is very stressful, though. The tabloids won't leave you alone."

"I know what you mean about the Press, though," she agreed. "Uncle Phillippe says he might have to do something about them one day. I told Ms Reilly that, and she got all upset!I think that's just so forgiving, don't you? I mean, when they're so mean to her?"

She reached out for the copies of the newspapers to show him what she meant, and their fingers touched.

After spending a few days and nights with Accelerus, Dalhia needed a drink. She sauntered into the bar and ordered her drink. She couldn't see any available tables, so she opted to sit at the bar. "Only a few days until the real debate starts." she said out loud to no one in particular. "Time to prepare myself, I guess." she thought as she pulled her notes out of the briefcase. She had no time for distraction. The Karmicarian UN office insisted that she must defend the repeal with everything she's got. Dahlia took a large gulp of her drink and put her notes down. "I don't want to work now. I want to dance." She stood and headed for the dance floor.....

After dealing with some administrative work for HotRodia behind the scenes here in the UN building, Accelerus Dioce decided a drink was in order. Probably multiple drinks of the strong variety, actually. He would prefer to be with Dahlia, but there was no guarantee she would be around, which was too bad. He enjoyed the company of a strong, intelligent, good-hearted woman. And the sex was pretty damn good too. A definite bonus, that. Smiling a little at the thought, he entered the Stranger's Bar and took a look around, a hopeful expression on his face.

He didn't see her after a quick look around, and headed to the bar. After ordering his first drink, he turned his back to the bar, resting his elbows on it, and seeing if there was anyone he needed to chat with today. That was when he saw her, moving on the dance floor and looking lovely as ever. He walked over to her, keeping his pace steady, and put a hand on her shoulder, gently turning her to face him, greeting her with, "Hey pretty lady."

She looked up, grinned, and hugged him. He smiled back, looking into her eyes and said, "I have a question for you. How would you like to get married, lovely Dahlia?"

"I have a question for you. How would you like to get married, lovely Dahlia?"

Dahlia almost fell over when Accelerus asked his question. She quickly found a chair and sat down. "Marry you? Uh...." she was in shock. She didn't think their relationship had developed that much. "Oh, Accelerus! Yes I will marry you!" She jumped up, threw her arms around him and kissed him.

Dahlia almost fell over when Accelerus asked his question. She quickly found a chair and sat down. "Marry you? Uh...." she was in shock. She didn't think their relationship had developed that much. "Oh, Accelerus! Yes I will marry you!" She jumped up, threw her arms around him and kissed him.

Accelerus felt his heart drop when she responded with a question, but quickly regained his feeling of contentedness once she said "Yes" and went in for a kiss. He kissed her back tenderly, then released her, grinning. "I'm so glad. I want to make you happy, and I think this is the best way to do it."

Accelerus felt his heart drop when she responded with a question, but quickly regained his feeling of contentedness once she said "Yes" and went in for a kiss. He kissed her back tenderly, then released her, grinning. "I'm so glad. I want to make you happy, and I think this is the best way to do it."

She smiled back at him. "I want to make you happy too. I say that we should buy a round of drinks for everyone. Let's celebrate a little before I have to get back to the current debate." Dahlia kissed him again and headed for the bar. "Drinks for all!" she yelled as she looked around the room.

She smiled back at him. "I want to make you happy too. I say that we should buy a round of drinks for everyone. Let's celebrate a little before I have to get back to the current debate." Dahlia kissed him again and headed for the bar. "Drinks for all!" she yelled as she looked around the room.

"That sounds like a great idea." He made sure to slide a card over the counter to the staff, and started ordering drinks, while still holding her close. He wondered when they should have the wedding, and how many of her relatives and friends would be coming. And what would the Minister of Hospitality do? He suspected that this decision would have some interesting implications, but he didn't really mind. If Sam wanted to fire him, he could go ahead and do it. Accelerus Dioce would get by just as he always had.

After the drinks had been ordered, she lead Accelerus to a table. "Maybe we should start talking about what kind of wedding we're going to have, when we're going to have it and where. I'll have to inform the queen, of course. I'm sure she'll be delighted!" she took a sip of her drink. "There's so much to do! She felt happier than she had in a while. Dahlia looked at Accelerus, smiled and mouthed the words "I love you."

Sir Albert, hearing that a free round is on the offing, sidles up to Dahlia and Accelerus and mouths, "mines a pint, ta muchly".

After the drinks had been ordered, she lead Accelerus to a table. "Maybe we should start talking about what kind of wedding we're going to have, when we're going to have it and where. I'll have to inform the queen, of course. I'm sure she'll be delighted!" she took a sip of her drink. "There's so much to do! She felt happier than she had in a while. Dahlia looked at Accelerus, smiled and mouthed the words "I love you."

He mouthed the words "I love you too" in her direction, grinning like a gator watching a cow slide down the bayou and into its mouth. Or maybe just like a lovestruck loon. Whichever. Either way, he was feeling really good about the whole situation.

Sir Albert, hearing that a free round is on the offing, sidles up to Dahlia and Accelerus and mouths, "mines a pint, ta muchly".

Accelerus nodded respectfully to Sir Albert, but quickly turned his attention back to his bride-to-be. "Feel free to invite whomever you like to the wedding, and get the most expensive clothing for it. Money is not a concern, Dahlia."

"Oh, I was never concerned about money, darling. I don't want anything too lavish or expensive. A small gathering of our closest friends and family. That's all. I'd be happy marrying you wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I need another drink. How about you?" she grinned at him and headed for the bar. As she walked away, she looked back and gave him a wink, then took her cell out of her pocket and dialed.

"Yes. It's Dahlia. Could I please speak with Adrienne." there was a momentary pause. "Hello, my queen. Oh, you've heard. At the palace? I don't think that will be necessary. Your country home? Okay. I'll let him know. Thank you, your Highness. Yes he does. We will be at yours as well. Alright. Good-bye then." she put the phone away, ordered her drink and went back to the table. "Accelerus, Queen Adrienne has offered the use of her country home. What do you think? Also, we will be attending her wedding in a few weeks. Are you okay with this?"

"Oh, I was never concerned about money, darling. I don't want anything too lavish or expensive. A small gathering of our closest friends and family. That's all. I'd be happy marrying you wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I need another drink. How about you?" she grinned at him and headed for the bar. As she walked away, she looked back and gave him a wink, then took her cell out of her pocket and dialed.

"Yes. It's Dahlia. Could I please speak with Adrienne." there was a momentary pause. "Hello, my queen. Oh, you've heard. At the palace? I don't think that will be necessary. Your country home? Okay. I'll let him know. Thank you, your Highness. Yes he does. We will be at yours as well. Alright. Good-bye then." she put the phone away, ordered her drink and went back to the table. "Accelerus, Queen Adrienne has offered the use of her country home. What do you think? Also, we will be attending her wedding in a few weeks. Are you okay with this?"

"That sounds like a fair trade to me. I'll be happy to accompany you to the Queen's wedding. She is quite generous, offering the use of her country home like that." He paused for a moment, considering. "As long as there is a BBQ and the ceremony is performed by a Combustian priestess (perhaps alongside the Karmicarian equivalent), I'm fine with it."

He took a long drink to clear his throat. "After that, you're all mine. I'll pick someplace great for our honeymoon, that's certain." He winked and gave her a quick kiss.

"That sounds like a fair trade to me. I'll be happy to accompany you to the Queen's wedding. She is quite generous, offering the use of her country home like that." He paused for a moment, considering. "As long as there is a BBQ and the ceremony is performed by a Combustian priestess (perhaps alongside the Karmicarian equivalent), I'm fine with it."

He took a long drink to clear his throat. "After that, you're all mine. I'll pick someplace great for our honeymoon, that's certain." He winked and gave her a quick kiss.

"Whatever you want, honey. There will be a BBQ and a Combustian priestess. We have lots to talk about, but it will have to wait. I need to get back to work. You really should as well. We'll meet afterwards to talk further" Dahlia finished her drink and gestured for him to follow her as she headed for the door.

"Fair enough." He walked with Dahlia out of the exit, getting ready for the letdown of a floor debate.

Entering, Dahlia headed straight for the bar. "I need a nice strong drink." receiveing it, she sat in a corner. The current debates were wearing here out. She couldn't wait for the wedding and the honeymoon. She needed a vacation. But, she had one last piece of business to attend to before any of that could happen. She was to return to the queendom so she could meet with her temporary replacement. "One drink, then I'll go. I wonder who will be the temp?" she thought to herself. She looked around. No one interesting here yet. She continued to sip her drink and pulled out her paper work. "Maybe Accelerus will show. I'd like to say good-bye to him before going home."

General Blorck has been sitting quietly in a corner of the bar, nursing a beer, completely unnoticed by the other patrons. In fact, we get the feeling that the other patrons have been making considerable efforts not to notice him. We never gave these barflies credit for that much taste.

Suddenly he calls out to Neville: "Give the lady an Olde Frothingslosh on me, barkeep! She needs the stale pale ale with the foam on the bottom!"

OOC: Before I make a fool out of myself, is this directed towards me Auss?

OOC: Before I make a fool out of myself, is this directed towards me Auss?

OOC: Eyup.

General Blorck has been sitting quietly in a corner of the bar, nursing a beer, completely unnoticed by the other patrons. In fact, we get the feeling that the other patrons have been making considerable efforts not to notice him. We never gave these barflies credit for that much taste.

Suddenly he calls out to Neville: "Give the lady an Olde Frothingslosh on me, barkeep! She needs the stale pale ale with the foam on the bottom!"

When the ale arrived at her table, Dahlia looked at the man who had ordered it. She smiled at him and waved, then stood and headed to his table. "Thank you for the drink. Would you care for some company. It can only be for a short while though. I have a wedding to attend."

General Blorck stands and waves Dahlia to a chair. "Siddown, girl. Take a load off yer feet, as the saying goes. Name's Blorck... Major General Blorck... but you can call me Blackie. All my friends do. Both of 'em."

The General climbs back into his chair. "Damn shame about that repeal thing of yours. Buncha nitwits around this place. Olembe's royally pissed. Make sure you keep that replacement safe. You just may find use for it, if you get my drift."

The General winks broadly. He really shouldn't do that. His broad winking usually makes people have recurring nightmares.

General Blorck stands and waves Dahlia to a chair. "Siddown, girl. Take a load off yer feet, as the saying goes. Name's Blorck... Major General Blorck... but you can call me Blackie. All my friends do. Both of 'em."

The General climbs back into his chair. "Damn shame about that repeal thing of yours. Buncha nitwits around this place. Olembe's royally pissed. Make sure you keep that replacement safe. You just may find use for it, if you get my drift."

The General winks broadly. He really shouldn't do that. His broad winking usually makes people have recurring nightmares.

"Thank you, uh...Blackie." Dahlia pulled up a chair. "I'd be pretty upset about the repeal thing as well, but I'm too happy. I'm getting married very soon and there is very little that could make me unhappy." she shifted in her seat. There was something...odd about this man. "I don't plan on throwing out the replacement. Once this vote is over, it's going under lock and key."

***Walks in and starts to drink***

***Reads the NS rule book along with the amendments and changes***

:sighs:

She reached out for the copies of the newspapers to show him what she meant, and their fingers touched.Sammy felt a slight jolt as their fingertips brushed against each other, and instinctively looked up into Avaya's eyes, only to remember that they were hidden behind a veil. It sure was awkward trying to interact with someone when you can't see their reactions to anything.

He laughed nervously. "Yeah, my employers ain't saints, either. I mean, they say the Destructor (that's my boss, 'the Destructor from Del Fuego') got herpes from some Cluichstani 'servicewoman.' Although I'm pretty sure he actually got it from the Cobdenian ambassador; she's a total skan-- er, I mean, I also admire him for trying to make amends for what he's done. He's even appeared in public-service commercials about VD! You know those confessional-type ads with people openly admitting, 'I have herpes, but I know how not to spread it'? He's one of them!"

He nearly choked on a sip of beer, not believing he had just said all of that.

"And then there's Sec. Tehrani, who keeps alluding to certain 'films' he did before he went into public service. He won't say specifically what they were about, but I'm pretty sure he wasn't wearing any clothes in them."

And on that sip he nearly sprayed his new companion with a mouthful of Pale Ale. What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut?

"But, you know, he's managed to put his past (whatever it involved) behind him, and now he's a very respected citizen of the Federal Republic."

He giggled at hearing of Dicey's college antics and had to agree that at least they had something in common. Ace and Rico had talked him into doing some pretty crazy stuff at Summit City. A shame they ended up having to fumigate the guys' dorm ...

Horrified, Sammy realized that he didn't even know if he'd just said that last part out loud. He examined his Stone beverage -- certain that Dicey never had had the opportunity to slip him some magic truth-telling potion before she left -- and then the lovely lady sitting across him, to see if he'd offended her any. But again, the problem with the veil.

Gently he leaned in toward her, almost whispering: "Um, Avaya? Would it be rude to ask to see what you look like?"

***Throws a few Max coins on the bar***

"Okay.....Time to go............"

"I'll just sllip into something more comfortable," she breathed, beginning the appropriate morph spell.

The world does not hold many green-eyed rabbits, particularly with fur that somehow suggests tumbling auburn curls. But such a one exited the Bar, its cute little nose wiggling happily,

"Hubba-hubba!"

A portal opened in the middle of the Bar, and Wolfgang, who'd been called away on Commonwealth business and subsequently had slipped out of the bar completely unnoticed, stepped in. He felt tired, but much less likely to blow his own head off again. "I'll take my normal completely toothless drink, Mr. Neville." He sighed and collapsed on a barstool. On second thought... He stood up and pointed the holographic gun at the stool, and it suddenly had a back and arms to it, and incredibly soft-looking cushions. He sighed again and recollapsed into the now incredibly comfortable stool, looking incredibly comfortable, indeed.

With much trepidation, Dr. Leary found himself wandering into the bar. He clucked his tongue softly as he looked around, murmuring to himself, "Never even been on this fucking floor..." He sighed and muttered some more about boring debates and his private stock running dry.

He stalked up to the bar and ordered something stiff. "Fucking UN..."

Tana wandered into the bar, looked around and chuckled when she saw Doctor Leary. She walked over to the bar and ordered a drink.

"Now Doctor, this is the time and place. Why don't we get a table or do you have something else in mind?" she winked at him and headed to a table.

A shrug, a grin, and an exaggerated turn, and the good doctor found himself sitting at a table in the bar. There was something about the Karmicarians. Saucy was the word that he tended to think of.

He quirked a smile as he leaned back in his chair a little, resting his stout on the table, "New to the debate floor, I take it. Lately it seems that everything except the current debate is... acceptable." He smirks, "But what do I know? I'm just an observer."

A shrug, a grin, and an exaggerated turn, and the good doctor found himself sitting at a table in the bar. There was something about the Karmicarians. Saucy was the word that he tended to think of.

He quirked a smile as he leaned back in his chair a little, resting his stout on the table, "New to the debate floor, I take it. Lately it seems that everything except the current debate is... acceptable." He smirks, "But what do I know? I'm just an observer."

"I'm quite new and I'm only here for a short period of time. Once Dahlia is back from her honeymoon, it's back to filing paperwork for me. I don't see how your flirtation on the debate floor should be considered acceptable. It really is not a good time for it." she smiled. I don't want you to think that I'm a frigid bitch or anything, I just prefer to keep that sort of thing away from work. However, catch me off the debate floor and that's a whole different story."

Some would ask whether Serph and Kiros had ever left. Or, for that matter, whether their uniforms had been different. And technically, there was that moment when Serph wondered what "High Chief" really meant, or why his comrade had suddenly been vaulted to the position of Governor of Valak District. But those things became clear almost instantly, and then dissolved elegantly into the sort of dullness that often fills the mind, much like how thoughts of world domination fade when one realizes that the wash still needs to be done, and dear Gods above, tomorrow is Monday already?

Besides, the uniforms were far more colorful and flattering to the two paladins, and Kiros's weapon seemed even bigger than before, if such a thing was possible. On the whole, the situation seemed attractive enough. Why question it? Somewhere, a Goddess giggled softly, and returned to her task.

Jevo seemed totally unaffected, though whether that was the result of the upheaval missing him or simply his drinking through it, was also the subject of intellectual debate for decades to come. Or would have been, if anybody had been simultaneously aware of the previous state of things and the present one.

"I could do with something to drink," the three Kriovalians said, almost in unison.

Observing yet another hardened veteran succumbing to yet another Karmicarian, Neville began to wonder about these fillies' bloodlines. Possibly an extra X chromosome? Maybe the stewards should order tests.*

He shrugged. Given his inability to bring Hodgelett up to the barrier, the Commitment Stakes wasn't a race he was interested in. He'd best stick to office sweeps.

Sweep ... sweep ... sweep

"Dicey, what the hell are you doing?" Neville demanded testily.

The Ardchoillean paused in her assiduous application of a lint-remover.

"Getting the rabbit-hairs off my robe."

"I can't see any rabbit-hairs, Dicey."

"Of course not. They're invisible."
_______________________________
*Non-Australians may be unaware of what happens on the first Tuesday in November and how it infects the country for days beforehand. Tough.

Leary chuckled a little, a smirk playing across his lips, "Now, now... take a look at what happens on the debate floor. We've got drunkards, vandels, psychopaths, and general nutters. And that's just the regulars. Just wait until the backwater shitholes show up and start making Building Managment's translators smoke and die.

"Given an environment like that, I would say that 'inappropriate' flirtation could only raise the level of discourse. I mean, seriously... would you rather listen to endless footnotes from the Community Property rep, or double entendres from me?"

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows in a decidedly Groucho Marx manner, before pulling out a little cigarette case, "Want one?"

"Okay, you do have a point. Hearing double entendres from you is much better than having to listen to most of the reps rambling on about nothing."

She watched as he pulled out the cigarettes. "Sure. Why not? I need another drink as well. Then, I say we get out of here. What do you think, Doctor?"

Nobody ever accused the Doctor -- ahem, Doctor -- of being a gentleman, but he still lit Tana's cigarette before lighting his own. He grinned a little as the nicotine-laden smoke filled his lungs, "Perhaps I was wrong... certainly the direct one, aren't'cha? By all means... lead the way."

The barflies had been observing Dr Leary's exchange with the Kamicarian with all the appreciation of spectators at a tennis match.

"There may be snow on the roof, but there's fire down below," said Violet.

"Better an old -- older -- man's darling than a young man's slave," agreed Dicey.

"I've always preferred the Marvel approach, myself," said Neville. "You know, 'My vegetable Love should grow/ Vaster than Empires, and more slow'."

"Well, you've got it over there," said Violet, nodding at Sammy Faisano and Dicey's intern, Avaya, who were still seemingly locked eye-to-veil.

As they watched, the girl (presumably -- the actual action was hidden) reached under her head-dress and pulled the veil down a fraction. She blinked slightly in the light. Large, dark eyes gazed anxiously at Sammy.

"Marvel-ous," opined Violet.

"Bloody Rouge nation, those Kennyites," Dicey snorted. But she didn't stride over to end the tete-a-tete.

Pre-cognition had never been her forte.

Nobody ever accused the Doctor -- ahem, Doctor -- of being a gentleman, but he still lit Tana's cigarette before lighting his own. He grinned a little as the nicotine-laden smoke filled his lungs, "Perhaps I was wrong... certainly the direct one, aren't'cha? By all means... lead the way."

She took a long drag of the cigarette "Thank you, Doctor." she smiled at him, finished her drink and stood. "My place or yours?" she winked and headed for the exit.

Leary grinned, taking a long drag from his cigarette and leaving the rest of his stout. He jogged to catch up with the temporary rep from Karmicaria, "Well, there's only two Hackers in this building, and Guido's away on business... no interns or anything to open doors they shouldn't..."

The Meddling Monk slams open the bar door and marches inside. "They want to throw me out the window! They want to throw me out the window! But do they throw me out the window? No! Promises, promises! You know I could use a good regeneration. This current incarnation is getting a little old. I wonder how I would look as this ..."

http://pic40.picturetrail.com/VOL291/1756382/12909456/202515763.jpg

"Nah, I'd probably better off as a blonde. Waiter, some ... was that a pair of diplomats discretely running off somewhere probably for a little pre-marital hanky panky. On second thought I'm off to my TARDIS. Short distance hops are the most difficult, but the most rewarding. Of course I could always adjust the dimensional portal ... but what's the fun of that?"

The barflies had been observing Dr Leary's exchange with the Kamicarian with all the appreciation of spectators at a tennis match.

"There may be snow on the roof, but there's fire down below," said Violet.

"Better an old -- older -- man's darling than a young man's slave," agreed Dicey.

"I've always preferred the Marvel approach, myself," said Neville. "You know, 'My vegetable Love should grow/ Vaster than Empires, and more slow'."

"Well, you've got it over there," said Violet, nodding at Sammy Faisano and Dicey's intern, Avaya, who were still seemingly locked eye-to-veil.

As they watched, the girl (presumably -- the actual action was hidden) reached under her head-dress and pulled the veil down a fraction. She blinked slightly in the light. Large, dark eyes gazed anxiously at Sammy.

"Marvel-ous," opined Violet.

"Bloody Rouge nation, those Kennyites," Dicey snorted. But she didn't stride over to end the tete-a-tete.

Pre-cognition had never been her forte.

The Chief watched the exchange between the women even as the Doctor and the Karmicarian (that was the woman's nationality, right?); Serph often found that the truly interesting people were not at the epicenter of activity, but nearby. Granted, that was because he was usually the epicenter. He downed the remnants of whatever it was he had been drinking and shook his head in an effort to dislodge several stray hairs from his band of office. Then, deciding that few would care, he removed it entirely and handed it to Kiros.

"Hold on to this a second," he said as he stood somewhat unsteadily, yet gracefully, and turned toward Dicey.

"What you want me to do with dis?" the black-skinned Kriovalian asked, giving Serph a pointed look. "Do I look like your slave?"

The Chief tilted his head ever so slightly back toward his comrade. "Better a young man's slave than an old man's darling, Kiros."

Charity McGee slipped quietly into the Strangers' Bar, taking a table in the corner. She waited patiently for service, and then when asked, considered ordering a two neat fingers of Captain Jack dark, and then decided against it. “Lemongrass tea,” she said simply. It arrived, and she sat, sipped, sat.

Without a word, another person - a bearded man with long hair, tied back in a simple tail - drew up a chair and sat down. He noted Ambassador McGee's beverage, glanced at the glass of warm pombe in his hand, and asked, “Is this O.K.?”

McGee nodded, “No problem, Tom.”

They sat in silence for a moment, sipping, saying nothing.

Finally, the man named Tom spoke. “We recieved a communication from the capitol about an hour ago.”

Charity nodded. “Recall order?” she asked without any visible emotion.

“Yes,” Tom replied simply. “The whole delegation.”

“Everybody?” McGee was surprised by this.

“Well, except for me,” the man acknowledged, “But who's going to recall the janitor?”

“End of the line for my career, then,” Charity McGee mused.

“No,” Tom answered, having taken another sip of his pombe. “You're being given a choice of new positions,” he continued.

“Namely?” the ex-Ambassador asked.

“Ambassador-at-Large to the Ayadi states,” Tom answered.

“Ayad?!?” McGee gaped, showing emotion for the first time. “They wear the chador there!” she protested.

“Gladly and willingly,” the janitor observed.

“That just means the women there don't know they're oppressed,” Charity snapped.

“You don't have to take the position,” Tom said. “There's the other job.”

“Which is...?” asked Charity.

“Dean of the Law School at West New New Hope,” Tom said dryly.

“They don't have a Law School at West New New Hope,” McGee protested.

“They would if you went there,” the janitor replied. “With a faculty of one.”

“That's cold,” McGee said bitterly.

“I think you should take the job in Ayad,” Tom said, matter-of-factly.

They both sat silently for a moment.

“You know why we made the switch?” Charity McGee asked. She already knew the answer.

“The Steering Committee felt a lower profile is adviseable at this time,” the janitor answered.

“So who's my replacement?” McGee asked.

Tom paused for a beat “Jackson,” he answered at last.

“Jackson?!?” Charity exclaimed, turning heads. “'Low key'?!? Him?!?” She was indignant. “Not to mention,” she finished in a huff, “That he's a drunk and a womanizer.”

Tom looked around the Strangers' Bar in exaggerated fashion. “And your point?” he said at last.

For once, she was silent.

“This is all for the better,” Tom said, sympathetic. “Including for you, Charity.”

One minute Avaya was there, next minute she wasn't.

Surely there wasn't anything wrong with performing magic in public when you'd been summoned (http://z6.invisionfree.com/UN_Old_Guard/index.php?showtopic=1350&st=0&#last) by no less a personage than the Secretary for Situations Like This?

Even as she teleported, she agonised over the ethical dilemma.

But she felt strangely guiltless that she'd taken time, before she left, to make just one tiny little effort on her own behalf ...

Every potted plant in the Bar writhed briefly. Leaves carried on no mundane wind began to fall around Sammy, each one inscribed with the same cell-phone number.
__________________________________________________

Dicey was in no position to criticise her assistant. Happily on her way to the Karmicarian wedding (http://forums3.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=11925045#post11925045), the Ardchoillean rep was flying high.

Not on a broomstick, though. Not in formal robes. The Petulant Snit was much more comfortable, and its rainbow balloon always cheered her up.

Vladimir walks into the stranger's bar after just posting a notice to check support on his latest draft resolution. This being his first time in the bar, he walked up to the bar keep and ordered a bottle of Stoli and too a seat near the rear of the bar so he could drink in peace, and take a sniff or two of his fine Elleltian nasal snuff as he doesnt smoke.

and then began to plot out his program for telegraming the delegates once his draft was ready.

"So ... busted flat in Baton Rouge, eh?" enquired Jimmy the part-time barman, thumping a free sympathy drink in front of Charity McGee.

He didn't wait to see if he got That Look. Jimmy got it from practically everybody, anyway.

On he dashed, depositing another freebie in front of the Elleltian. It was the least he could do for a Champion of the People.

Jimmy didn't worry much about the Bar's budget. Neville would fuss about it terribly, no doubt.

But, as Violet had said just before she whisked the Barlord off to help out at the Kamicarian wedding, Neville really needed to get out more.

Vladimir drinks his vodka and snuffs a bit. From what he could tell it was a matter of it being a strength rather than category on his latest proposal. From the latest press releases that his aid had brought him.

*Vladimir, takes a snuff*

"MMM" he moans as he sinks into the overstuffed leather of the booth bench.

He plots some more, so what if it needs a strengh rewrite...thats as simple as pie.

It might even make it easier to get it passed but he would want run it by his advisors first.

Vlaimir looked at his aide who was still standing there nervouly in front of the booth in the back of the bar which the Elleltian Ambassador was occuping. "Dimitri, is something the matter, comrade?"

Dimitri replyed. "There is Comrade Ambasador, my brother has been drafted for the war against Fourth Reich."

Vladimir looked at his aid suspiciously, "You should be proud he has the oppertunity to serve in the defense of the motherland." he said quietly. If Dimitri thought he would get out of his responsiblities to the motherland that easily he had an other thing coming. Did not Polkondonits Alexie Techumshmov once say: "Kreig est halgen, kreig est alle halgen."? Although the Ambassador being a firm communist couldnt believe in the extistance of halgen, or havagen for that matter he was convinced that war was bloody, brutal and dirty.

Dimitri nodded and left the bar leaving Vladimir to contemplate the war, his proposal and the debates on the UN floor.


About an hour later, Vladimir ordered an other bottle of Stolichnya and contenued brooding and taking snuff untill he retired at about 0300 hours UN time.

Whistling, Jimmy filled the dishwasher, idly lending an ear to the debate in the General Assembly as it droned through the Bar's speaker system.

By the shade of Joe Hill! By the International Workers of the World! Was that the Elleltian delegate supporting the Unconventional Arms Accord? What happened to the Brotherhood of Man? What happened to Take the Toys from the Boys?

Vengefully, Jimmy tallied up the Elleltian tab: doubling the price of the Stoli, quadrupling the amount consumed, adding in the pretzels (described as "caviar -- six cases") and rounding it off with a damages bill for wear and tear on the leather couches and a cleaning charge for ground-in snuff.

Jimmy had never aspired to the status of calm, unbiased, ineffable, unflappable Barlord. He was, in fact, one of the reasons Neville found that status so difficult to maintain.

Just for luck, Jimmy added "entertaining Community Property delegation" to the tab and strolled over to inform that nation's depressed representatives that Dazza, the Bar's chef, was doing several of his signature dishes tonight and had asked them to attend -- "As his guests, of course. Order whatever you like, he enjoys the challenge."

Beware, as somebody important had once said, la trahison des clercs.

Niar-Eci walks in the door, but stops abruptly and starts coughting.
After several tried he manages to get outside while fumbling with something in his jacket.

An hour later he returns wearing a gas mask with tinted glass.

He walks up to the bar and tries to communicate, but all that is heard are muffled sounds.
In the end he slumps together, takes out a noatbook and a pencil, writes something and shows it to the barman who replies
"s'alright"

Ambassador Camryn Langdon walked into the bar, feeling exhausted by her first day on the GA floor. She still had no office, and was operating completely out of her briefcase. Her personal assistant, Jeri Taylor, was presumably still out securing temporary lodging for them, and had assured her that it would be accomplished within the next hour. Looking around the room, she spotted a quiet corner with a good sized table and a leather settee, and a couple chairs. "Good a place as any to work for now", she muttered to herself, and headed in that direction.

After divesting herself of her breifcase and personal computer, she headed towards the bar, wondering if by any miracle, they would have any ales from the Calaidian region of her homeland. She approached the barman with a tired smile.

"Greetings! I don't suppose you've got any Calaidian Amber back there, do you?"

While she waited for the barman's response, she thought back over her day, and her eyes glazed over.

"It's our boast that the Strangers' Bar's got everything!" said Jimmy. "Well, it's Neville's boast, actually, I'm much more modest, meself, but I think we can help you out. There!"

The Calaidian Amber wasn't too hard. The stuff the gas-mask guy had written down, though ... well, the squiggles were odd, but he thought he had the right one. Probably. More or less, anyway. At least the guy didn't seem to be dying of it.

"You know, there's quite a few delegations do what you're doing -- use the Bar as an office, I mean," he told the Drae Nei ambassador. "But most of 'em try to pretend they're not doing it; probably some health and safety rule, or insurance, or something. It can get a bit difficult, what with the sort of things that can happen to official correspondence in here."

He didn't try to stop her working, though. He wasn't about to offend such a tasty ... such a task-oriented person. As for any objections from higher up, well, don't try to cross the Building Management till you came to it, was Jimmy's attitude.

Lynn Peterson blinked as she stepped into the UN Strangers' Bar. She had been told that this was the best place for her to meet fellow delegates outside of the formal UN events. She had only been Tshwane's Ambassador to the UN for three weeks now, and had to admit it took a lot of getting used to.

Tucking a lock of chestnut hair behind her ear nervously, she slowly made her way through the crowd to the bar, where she ordered a strawberry marghuerita. Grabbing a stool that had just been vacated by a fairly rotund girl, Lynn seated herself and sipped her margheurita with an almost visible look of bliss on her face. These first few weeks at the UN had been more than stressful, with the Unconventional Arms Accord stirring up many aggressions and suspicions between less than friendly nations. Not for the first time, she was thankful that Tshwane was as young as it was and so had no enemies to speak of just yet. Alliances were being formed at that very moment, and Lynn smiled with the naive belief that she had finally found a way in which she could make a difference in this world.

A gruff voice brought her speedily out of her daydream of world peace and the Nobel Peace Prize, saying, "You come 'ere often?" God, what a cliche. Suppressing a groan, she turned to her companion and said, slightly sarcastically, "Yes, but usually I come dressed as a drunkard. In tights." She gave a pointed look to his spandex attire, with a raised eyebrow. She wasn't about to let him think she was easy prey, innocent of the dangers of being picked up in bars by strange men in tights, whether they were UN delegates or not.

Camryn gratefully accepted the drink from the Barman, and not bothering with the glass, took a long pull from the cold bottle of ale.

"Thanks, after the day I've had, this really hits the spot! I'm Camryn Langdon, the new Ambassador from Drae Nei, but my friends call me Cami. How shall I address you, oh Keeper of the Beverages?"

Cami smiled at the Barman, and laid a hefty tip on the bar, as she awaited his answer.

Mick Noir, and his secretary Velma walked into the Bar. He looked around and said,
"I'll get the drinks, and you can find us a table, Doll."
"Sure Mick, and keep your eyes off the ladies.", Velma smiled, and replied.
"Don't fret doll, I've only eyes for you.", Mick laughed

Mick watched her walk to a table, her hips swaying like a Cobra to a Fakir's flute. Then he walked over to the Bar.

"Two Wild Turkeys on the rocks, Jimmy. And get this lady another round", Mick said to the Bartender. He nodded politely to the ambassador from Drae Nei. He paid for the drinks, and carried them over to his table where Velma was waiting for him.

The Barman was being kept busy, but Cami caught the name Jimmy as the latest customer ordered, including another round for her.

"Jimmy! Put that one on ice for me will you? I'm not quite ready for it yet!"

Noting that her benefactor hadn't waited on a thank you, and had moved off to his table, Cami dropped some more money on the bar, and instructed Jimmy to send a round over on her.

She was sure she'd seen him and his associate on the GA floor, although she couldn't recall what delegation he was from. Oh well, it was her first day; there would be plenty of time to figure out who was who. With a sigh, she picked up her ale and headed back to her table.

A miserable and dejected Felix Dzerzhinsky enters the Strangers Bar. He orders a vodka and retreats to a corner table to drink. Alone.

*mumbling to himself*

"...wake me from my sleep. Never did I ask for such a thing. When will they return me to Moskva? Who knows? I am stranded here amongst the nekulturny. They tell me 'Felix! you must go and vote for this'. But do they let poor Felix enter the debate with the other representatives? Nyet. And now, I am insulted further by being denied entrance to the General Assembly. I insert my ID badge and the door screams DATABASE ERROR. I will throw them ALL out of windows!....beginning with that prick Aüþgæþ Spøtyiú. Telling me I must learn to control myself.... when I'm finished with you, you'll......

*continues drinking and mumbling while casting suspicious glances around the Bar*

....beginning with that prick Aüþgæþ Spøtyiú.Кто?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, that's it then,” Charity McGee said. She and Tom both rose, embraced, and then the former Ambassador stepped away.

“Adiaŭas, mian amikon,” she said, and with that she left.

Кто?
Aüþgæþ Spøtyiú, the so-called "Acting Yeldan Ambassador". Now, you are interfering with my drinking. Go away.

Lynn sighed, and pushed her marghuerita away in disgust. Oh, it tasted fine, but she needed something stronger. Something... manly.

She was in somewhat of a bad mood already, what with the scary man in tights and the awful day she was already having, and the marghuerita wasn't doing anything.

And now, I am insulted further by being denied entrance to the General Assembly. I insert my ID badge and the door screams DATABASE ERROR. I will throw them ALL out of windows!

Lynn looked at the man, surpressing a giggle at his threat,. She was having that kind of day too, and was seriously considering sneaking some sort of machine gun into the General Assembly if certain delegates didn't start being decent. Noting his drink with a spark of inspiration, she called out to the barman, "Jimmy! Vodka on the rocks!"

Not one to judge people from first impressions, and seeing that the man was fairly livid, Lynn wondered at how to begin a conversation with him. Her Russian was more than rusty, and she could not remember whether Dasvidahnya was hello, goodbye, or thank you. But it was all she could remember. Rather than embarrass herself, she spoke in English, saying, "May I join you?" with a small smile.

Kirin stalks into the bar pushing past anyone who gets in her way, zapping those that don't move quickly enough with a minor lightning spell. The livid blonde witch plonks herself down on the first available barstool, and waits impatiently for a few minutes until the barman notices her.

"What would you like?" he asks. "I don't suppose you have any Witchcliffian firebrew here?" Kiren asks with a sigh, already guessing the answer. The barman shakes his head and gives her an apologetic smile. "Then surprise me," she says, "just make sure it is something strong." As the barman moves away to mix the drink, Kirin's thoughts turn to recent events and the reason for her current sour state of mind.

'Denied access to the general assembly, how dare they do that to me,' she thinks angrily to herself. 'Bet Panyer had something to do with this. Wouldn't suprise me in the least. She was bloody determined to prevent me voting on the latest resolution, even though it is my turn, but if this is all some scheme of hers it backfired. Witchcliff's vote was cast before the GA doors slammed shut.'

The barman returns and places a glass half full of amber liquid in front of her. Kirin picks it up, giving the fluid within a cautious sniff, and downs half the drink with one gulp. It is strong alright, and burns a path from mouth to stomach. As she begins to feel the warmth of the alcohol spread through her body, Kirin begins to feel a little better. She finishes the drink with another gulp, and puts the glass down hard on the bartop. "Another please,' she says to the barman, 'and keep them coming."

Simon Blue looked around nervously. This was his first time in the UN bar. Until recently, his cousin had been the military dicator of the Bacardi region and Simon had gotten his booze from there. But he'd been reassigned, so Simon had lost his supply. To make things worse, some odd glitch had caused him to lose his access to most of the building. He had had to go in a back door to vote. So he was in a bad mood.

He sat down at the bar and said, "Bartender, give me a double!".

Christelle Zyryanov (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Christelle_Zyryanov) paused to catch her breath after entering the Strangers' Bar.

"The damn lifts aren't working," she said, walking up to the bar. "Most of the doors are locked, and I can't even get to my office. At least the most important room in the building is still open...

Grapefruit tea, please," she asked the bartender, then looked around, noticing several new faces. "Hello! Is this becoming an impromptu GA?"

"Seems that way, Miss Zyryanov."

Christopher had only recently arrived at the Strangers' Bar himself after finding it practically impossible to get into any of the other parts of the building. With a small cup of Earl Grey tea in one hand and a handheld game in the other, the Islenskan representative was seated by himself, and he quickly motioned for the ambassador from Ariddia over.

"Please! Sit down? I don't believe we've had a chance to get acquainted."

Cami had noted the number of delegates coming in, and gathered from the conversation that she'd left the GA floor just in time. Sadly, word of the malfunction assured her that she'd not likely get an office today; UN Building Management was likely swamped with calls from outraged delegates right about now.

Just then her portacomm buzzed. She answered briskly, "Camryn Langdon".
After listening for a few moments, she said, "No, that's alright Jeri. Find a spot to get yourself some dinner. I'll ask around, and see what I can find out, then get back to you."

More bad news. Her secretary had so far been unable to attain lodging for them. She suspected it had to do with their status as a new delegation, but either way, they would need a place to sleep tonight!

There were a fair number of delegates in the Bar now, so Cami simply cleared her throat and spoke loudly, "Excuse me! Can anyone recommend decent lodging nearby that might have two rooms available?"

"Hello! Is this becoming an impromptu GA?"

"Indeed!" Lynn called to the newcomer, and leaving the silent Russian to his mutterings. Making her way to where Christelle and Christopher were seated, she introduced herself. "I'm Lynn Peterson, from Tshwane. These things are bloody useless now, it seems," she said, waving her ID card. "Any idea what's going on?" It was extremely odd that the locking mechanisms on the doors were rejecting their cards, and as far as she knew she was still a member of the UN. The russian had said something about a database error, and Lynn wondered if somehow a virus had gotten through the multi-layered firewall.

Tana entered the bar. "What the hell is going on? Something very strong today, please." she sat at the bar. There were a lot of people here. Must be the malfunction.

She scanned the room, possibly looking for her next victim. There wasn't really anybody there that she new that well. She decided to find a table and wait.

It was only a matter of time anyway, but Landaman Pendankr entered the Stranger's Bar, dripping wet and looking very displeased. Behind him is the Grand Marshal Mannikr, here for the UAA debate, looking similarly wet, but not nearly as displeased.

"First, we get sucked out of them GA by a giant pneumatic mailtube... then, we get deposited in the 40th floor restrooms. Then, we get soaked by the faucets. We run for our lives, take the elevator, and get sent to the roof of the building. The elevator won't let us back on, calls us names, and leaves. We have to run down dozens of flights of stairs to finally get to our offices, and we find that the doors have been seemingly welded shut. Finally, we trudge our way here."

Paulus laughs and shouts to Neville. "Two Arrogant Bastard Ales."

You think you've got it bad? If any more people try to call us at the same time our phone systems are going to crash, the Building Maintence and IT Departments are running around like chickens with their heads cut off trying to figure out how to fix the problems, nobody's heard from anyone in the Maintnece of Order Department since shortly after this whole mess started, and now people are talking about turning this into a makeshift GA when the GA is still accessible. Admittedly, you have to crawl through a service passageway to get there from here, but it's doable. And if one more person complains that their office hasn't been cleaned, I'm going to throw them through the wall.

Pamela Richards
Head of Janitorial Services
UN Building Management (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/UN_Building_Mgmt)

Mick looked up from his conversation with Velma, when he heard Pamala's voice. He said,
"Sounds like your day has been sheer Hell,Doll."

Cami was getting frustrated. It appeared that she was being ignored by everyone but the Bartender. With that thought, she sighed, finished her ale and went to get the one Jimmy had on ice for her. Perhaps he knew someone with enough “pull” to get them into the Westin International down the street. After speaking with Jimmy for a few minutes, she called Jeri back.

“Are you still at the Westin? Good. Word is that you need to speak with the assistant manager. Give him one of the bottles of the Wikigoogle Brandy we brought and tell him there is a case more on the way. That should get us a suite for at least a week! Call me back if you have any problems. If all goes well, leave my key at the desk, and take the rest of the night off.”

Cami smiled at Jimmy as she pocketed her portacomm, and laid a hefty tip on the bar. Diplomacy indeed.

“Thanks, Jimmy, I owe you one!”

Her step was lighter than it had been all afternoon as she headed back to her table. Now that the business of a room was satisfied, she could relax. She settled into her chair, took a sip of her ale, and glanced around the room, studying her fellow ambassadors.


"Sounds like your day has been sheer Hell,Doll."


Cami didn't think he was addressing her, but the sentiment couldn't have fit any better.

"Amen to that" she said aloud, tipping her glass in Mick's direction. "By the way, thanks for the drink!"

"Look at the Bright side,doll. You are here drinking and relaxing insted of being in the "festering snakepit", as my predessor affectionately called the GA. I mean look at poor Iron Felix. He hasn't been able to defenestrate someone for about a week."

"Seems that way, Miss Zyryanov."

Christopher had only recently arrived at the Strangers' Bar himself after finding it practically impossible to get into any of the other parts of the building. With a small cup of Earl Grey tea in one hand and a handheld game in the other, the Islenskan representative was seated by himself, and he quickly motioned for the ambassador from Ariddia over.

"Please! Sit down? I don't believe we've had a chance to get acquainted."

Christelle joined him gratefully and sat down, accepting a cup of tea from the bartender.

"We haven't," she said, "but I remember seeing you in the GA, of course. You're from Islenska, aren't you?"


"Indeed!" Lynn called to the newcomer, and leaving the silent Russian to his mutterings. Making her way to where Christelle and Christopher were seated, she introduced herself. "I'm Lynn Peterson, from Tshwane. These things are bloody useless now, it seems," she said, waving her ID card. "Any idea what's going on?"

"Ms. Peterson." Christelle nodded at her politely. "I'm sure things will be back to normal soon enough... well, what passes for normal around here. Defenestrations, murder, alligators in the corridor, gnomes being shot at, that sort of thing. Have a drink!"

"Look at the Bright side,doll. You are here drinking and relaxing insted of being in the "festering snakepit", as my predessor affectionately called the GA. I mean look at poor Iron Felix. He hasn't been able to defenestrate someone for about a week."

Cami laughed at the gentleman's comment, and smoothly rose and walked over, extending her hand. "Hi, I'm Camryn Langdon (http://content.answers.com/main/content/wp/en/thumb/6/6c/220px-Bensonnbc.jpg), the new Ambassador from The Most Serene Republic of Drae Nei. Please call me Cami."

Mick took the hand, ignoring the icy glare of his secretary and said,
"Glad to meet you,Cami, the name is Noir, Mick Noir. This lady is my secretary, Velma."

Velma muttered somthing that sounded polite. Mick released Cami's hand and reached into his suit jacket.

"I'm the new Palentine Ambassador. My predecessor just got promoted to Deputy Prime Minister..."assorted cheers and thank Gods could be heard from some in the Bar. "Anyway here's my card."

Mick handed Cami a business card that read

Noir Private Investigations
"No job too big, no fee to big"
All investigations perfomed.
Mick Noir, licenced PI
"I'm going to have to get some new ones printed up.", Mick said with a smile.

"Ms. Peterson." Christelle nodded at her politely. "I'm sure things will be back to normal soon enough... well, what passes for normal around here. Defenestrations, murder, alligators in the corridor, gnomes being shot at, that sort of thing. Have a drink!"

"Alligators? Trust the Nigerians to bring their pets along," Lynn said with a smile. "Why, thank you!" she exclaimed, calling to the barman for a martini. Her day was slowly getting better. Although that might just have been the alcohol. If the Strangers' Bar was turning into a temporary GA, it would prove to be an interesting meeting - many of the patrons were already highly intoxicated. The man in tights, who had been hitting on her earlier, had fallen off his stool about half an hour ago.

She smiled politely at Christopher and asked, "If we're stuck outside the GA, who was stuck inside?" She looked around and saw the two dripping men who had just come in. "Oh. All right then..." she trailed off.

ooc: You used defenestration in a sentence! :fluffle: Hoorah! Tshwane hails you, fellow English Nerd! *worships*

"Glad to meet you,Cami, the name is Noir, Mick Noir. This lady is my secretary, Velma."


Cami took the proferred card, and shook Mick's hand warmly. "Nice to meet you both, and congratulations on the new posting!" She released Mick's hand, noting Velma's expression. The last thing she needed today was an attitude from someone she was just meeting.

"I'm afraid I have no card to offer you in return. We're holding off ordering them until we have an actual office number to put on them."

She threw a smile in Velma's direction, hoping to put her at ease. "Quite the debate on the GA floor this morning, wasn't it? Of course, any debate concerning arms is always volatile! Mind if I join you?"

"Quite the debate on the GA floor this morning, wasn't it? Of course, any debate concerning arms is always volatile! Mind if I join you?"

"No problem Doll, if you don't mind if I smoke. Yeah, the arms proposals are interesting. I'm letting my deputy, Murray handle the floor for a bit, before I return to the fray."

Tana (http://i54.photobucket.com/albums/g93/JamieNesci/Other%20Pics/Tana.jpg) watched as the other ambassadors were meeting and greeting each other. It made her smile. Sipping her drink, she decided that, since she couldn't get into her office, this would be as good of a place as any to get some work done. So, she took her papers out of her briefcase, starred at them blankly and sighed.

"Maybe I should go and introduce myself to some people." she stood and walked over to a table that had a few people at it. She recognized a few faces. She looked at Mick and stuck out her hand. "Hello, I'm Tana Petrov, representative for Karmicaria."

"Maybe I should go and introduce myself to some people." she stood and walked over to a table that had a few people at it. She recognized a few faces. She looked at Mick and stuck out her hand. "Hello, I'm Tana Petrov, representative for Karmicaria."

Mick looked up at the young lady and smiled as he accepted her hand
"Noir, Mick Noir at your service. Please have a seat."
He signaled to a waitress, and said,
"Two more Wild Turkeys on the rocks, and whatever these two are drinking."

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes, and a Zippo lighter.

Originally posted by Palentine UN Office
"No problem Doll, if you don't mind if I smoke. Yeah, the arms proposals are interesting. I'm letting my deputy, Murray handle the floor for a bit, before I return to the fray."

While she didn't smoke, it didn't bother her overly much, so Cami pulled out a chair and sat down. "Not at all, Mick. Fortunately, we've already cast our vote on the proposal, and I am not needed back on the floor today."

She looked up with interest, when another delegate came to the table.

Originally posted by Karmicaria

"Hello, I'm Tana Petrov, representative for Karmicaria."

"Hi, Tana. It's alright if I call you Tana? Camryn Langdon here, of Drae Nei. Please, feel free to call me Cami."

"I've already cast my vote as well, but the Palentine has a reputation of having Barbaric Militant Machismo,so I've got to go out on the floor and give the people what they expect.", Mick said. He took a drag from his Lucky, and thought out loud,
"I wounder if the UN would object to me running my PI firm from my office?"

Mick looked up at the young lady and smiled as he accepted her hand
"Noir, Mick Noir at your service. Please have a seat."
He signaled to a waitress, and said,
"Two more Wild Turkeys on the rocks, and whatever these two are drinking."

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes, and a Zippo lighter.

"Thank you. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Noir. Where are you from?" she watched as he lit up. "Do you mind if I have one of those?"

"Hi, Tana. It's alright if I call you Tana? Camryn Langdon here, of Drae Nei. Please, feel free to call me Cami."

"Hello, Cami. It's so nice to be meeting new people. I guess everybody is having the same problem. I'm locked out of my office. Not that I'm complaining. I'd rather be playing than working." she smiled and winked.

"Thank you. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Noir. Where are you from?" she watched as he lit up. "Do you mind if I have one of those?"
'I'm from the 'Burgh, in the Palentine, but I get around.",Mick said with a smile.
"And the name is Mick,doll. Mr. Noir was my old man. Help yourself."
Mick let Tana take a cigarette from his pack, and then he lit the smoke with his lighter for her.
"Getting into locked rooms is one of my specialties. The question is, do you want to be able to close the door afterwards,doll."

Originally posted by Palentine UN Office

"I've already cast my vote as well, but the Palentine has a reputation of having Barbaric Militant Machismo,so I've got to go out on the floor and give the people what they expect.", Mick said. He took a drag from his Lucky, and thought out loud,
"I wounder if the UN would object to me running my PI firm from my office?"

Camryn stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Mick was quite the character, but based on his own statement, fairly representative of his nation. She suspected that made some of his debates…well, interesting, to put it mildly.


Originally posted by Karmicaria

"Hello, Cami. It's so nice to be meeting new people. I guess everybody is having the same problem. I'm locked out of my office. Not that I'm complaining. I'd rather be playing than working." she smiled and winked.

Cami smiled and winked back at Tana. “For today, I can wholeheartedly agree on the not working part! Sorry you are locked out of your office, but at least you’ve got one to be to be locked out of!”

Idly, Cami wondered how much longer it would be until they were assigned some space.


Originally posted by Palentine UN Office

"Getting into locked rooms is one of my specialties. The question is, do you want to be able to close the door afterwards,doll."
She also wondered if Mick called every woman “doll”. Sadly, she suspected he did.

'I'm from the 'Burgh, in the Palentine, but I get around.",Mick said with a smile.
"And the name is Mick,doll. Mr. Noir was my old man. Help yourself."
Mick let Tana take a cigarette from his pack, and then he lit the smoke with his lighter for her.
"Getting into locked rooms is one of my specialties. The question is, do you want to be able to close the door afterwards,doll."


"Ah, the Palentine. Good nation to be a part of. My queen has nothing but good to say about it." she smiled as he lit her smoke. "I'm not too worried about getting into my office at the moment, but if I really need to, I'll be sure to get your help and being able to close the door is a good thing. Don't want too many knowing what goes on in there." she gave him a rather sexy smile.

Cami smiled and winked back at Tana. “For today, I can wholeheartedly agree on the not working part! Sorry you are locked out of your office, but at least you’ve got one to be to be locked out of!”

"Well, the office isn't really mine. It belongs to the actual Karmicarian UN rep, but she's off getting hitched, so I'm filling in until she gets back. If the problem isn't fixed by then, she'll have an fit."

Ambassador Barfanger lumbers into the place, fiddling with the ends of his rather amazing handlebar mustache. As the bartender approaches, Hurlbot points at a couple of the customers. "Who are the new fish, Neville?" He's told they're from Tshwane and Dra Nei. "Never heard of 'em. Oh, well. Send 'em a couple Olde Frothingsloshes on our tab. Might as well start 'em off right. A couple for me too, please."

He trudges over to an empty table in the corner and hoists himself up onto a chair. Nice to have Blackie Blorck manning the store for a while.

Mick looked at his watch and said,
"Ladies, I must excuse myself, but duty calls. Was a pleasure, I assure you."
Mick and Velma get up, and head for the door.

(OOC:I've got to go and kidsit my 9 year old niece tonight. See ya in the funny papers.)

As Mick and Velma leave, Cami heaves a sigh of relief, and makes a mental note to avoid their table the next time she comes in. Velma seemed less than pleasant, and Mick came across as quite boorish. It takes all kinds.

Camryn recognized Ambassador Barfanger of Ausserland from the debate floor earlier that day. As the drinks arrived at the table, she turned, raised her glass in a toast, and silently saluted him. Then turning back to her tablemate, she clinked glasses with Tana, and said, “Slainte! I’m afraid this will have to be my last one, as I’ve not yet eaten, and although others may not care, I don’t think it would be a good idea to end up drunk in the Strangers Bar, on my first day here!”

She recalled Tana's statement from a few moments ago, and belatedly responded. "So, your representative is off getting married? How wonderful! Please extend our congratulations and best wishes. I shall have to send over a bottle of our finest Wikigoogle Brandy on her return. Will you be staying on after her return?"

Then turning back to her tablemate, she clinked glasses with Tana, and said, “Slainte! I’m afraid this will have to be my last one, as I’ve not yet eaten, and although others may not care, I don’t think it would be a good idea to end up drunk in the Strangers Bar, on my first day here!”

She recalled Tana's statement from a few moments ago, and belatedly responded. "So, your representative is off getting married? How wonderful! Please extend our congratulations and best wishes. I shall have to send over a bottle of our finest Wikigoogle Brandy on her return. Will you be staying on after her return?"

"I'm sure that it would be amusing, but maybe not the best idea." Tana smiled. "Yes, Dahlia is off getting married to a man from HotRodia. I think his name is Accelerus or something. I'm sure the bottle of Brandy will be appreciated." she took a sip of her drink. "No, I won't be staying on after her return. I'll be back to filing papers and taking notes. It's too bad. I'm really starting to like this place. Some of the male reps are hot. Nothing better than being surrounded by a whole lot of good looking men." Tana gave a soft growl and laughed. "Are you single?"

Originally posted by Karmicaia

Tana gave a soft growl and laughed. "Are you single?"

A look of pain crossed Camryn's face briefly, and she swallowed hard, staring at the table. After a moment, she raised her glance to Tana once again, and said with emotion, tightly controlled, "I'm a widow. Matt...Matthew, my husband, died two and a half years ago..."

Cami swallowed hard again, and took a long pull from her drink. Lord, why does it still hurt so much?

She missed him terribly. How one ever moved on from such losses, she didn't know. People told her that "the pain of losing him would ease with time". So far, she doubted it. Suddenly, the day settled on her and she was exhausted. She stood and gathered her things, and realized Tana had the look that most people get when they found out. They never know what to say...

Reaching out and touching Tana's hand, Cami quickly muttered, "It's alright. It's just been a very long day, and...sometimes, I miss him more than others. Please, don't feel bad, but it's time for me to go."

Before Tana could say another word, Cami took her leave, and headed back to the hotel, praying the drinks, and lack of a meal would leave her without a hangover, but oblivious to her dreams this night.

Christopher set aside his game, taking in a deep breath before sipping his tea and nodding his head. Reaching down, he pulled his cellphone from it's pocket with his free hand, flipping it open to see another picture of the King making a silly face which had just been sent to him. With a small beleaguered sigh, he answered, "Yes. I'm the Islenskan ambassador, as well the representative of the King."

"And you are the Ariddian ambassador, correct? Tell me, what is it like in Ariddia?"

After a rough day trying to get into his offices and trying to get onto the GA debate floor the Elleltian Ambassador Vladimir Khernynko and his aide Dimitri Petrovich come into the Strangers bar.

Dimitri however, makes the mistake of trying to speak with his obviously upset boss about the security codes and the upcoming visit by General Secretary Serpov. "Comrade, I dint understand why our ID badges were not working at all. Ive tried everything I can, and even the manual keys didn't work."

Vladimir who had already ordered a bottle of Stoli and two shot glasses dragged his aide to the back of the room where he could sit in his favorite booth which was in the far left corner at the back of the room where he could watch everything and everyone, a habit that even 7 years since the end of the Elleltian Civil War hadn't erased.

"Sit down Comrade Dimitri." Khernynko said hoping it sounded more like an invitation than an order. His English was never all that great, but he preferred to try to speak and debate in that language rather than having to wear the earphones when he was in the UN floor as he found them uncomfortable and was unsure about the translation department...again more paranoia that 17 years as a revolutionary first and secret policeman next had drilled home to him. Fortunately the rest of the evening would be spoken in his rapid and smooth Elleltian.

Khernynko poured to shots of the Stoli, one for himself and one for his aide. He lifted his and his aide followed suit--knowing the custom that was more common among the elder members of the party, and Khernynko was most definitely that having joined the Bolshevik Youth Legion at the age of 12. "To Proletarian Revolution, To Comrade Serpov, and to Ellelt being free to arm itself against the threat of invasion by the capitalist nations." He said before knocking back the harsh vodka and adjusting his bright red tie, loosening it from his neck.

"You take that arms accord very seriously don't you Comrade Khernynko." Dimitri said quietly.

"Dimitri, we are not working now, you may call me Vladimir, or Vloda if you wish. And yes I do, for all the rhetoric about the 'brotherhood of man' that is all it is, rhetoric." He said as Dimitri knocked back his own vodka; however unlike his boss, the young aide did not readjust his tie. And took out his box of snuff and too a quick sniff.

"What kind is that Comrade?" Khernynko said as he retrieved his own box of snuff. "It is raspberry, comrade." The aide said quickly and without comment.

"Myself, I like the apricot better, its sweeter I think." Vladimir said taking a sniff of his own.

"I've tried it comrade, but I didn't care much for it. Before I was regularly in the presence of you and Comrade Serpov, I smoked." Dimitri said pouring an other round of vodka.

"Smoking is a nasty habit..the Tsar used to smoke, don't you remember? When you were working as a typist for the Checka? When I mandated that all New Stalingrad Officer personnel would watch the execution."

"I do comrade, You gave that high-born son-of-a-bitch a clove cigarette and told him to enjoy it because in a few minutes he was going to meet his god." Dimitri said with a wry smile.

"I did. And the people loved me for it. Its that public toughness that got me the job as ambassador, you know. Comrade Serpov doesn't want anyone thinking Ellelt weak." Vladimir said.

"I should Hope not, but the thing is it did trigger a war with Fourth Reich." Dimitri said softly. Only a few days ago he had been panicking about his younger brother being drafted into the People's Liberation Army especially with the threat of war looming over head more and more.

"Oh I wouldn't worry about the fascists over much...I got a telegram from Brunzov...the engagement negotiations are going so badly that he is ready to drop an IGNORE Bomb on Berlin." Vladimir, snickered on his comment.

"But comrade, that would annihilate their entire nation." Dimitri said worriedly.

"It would, but the war would be over before it even began." Vladimir chuckled. He knocked back the second round of vodka shortly there after. "then again you have to wonder about a country that insists on engagement negotions...yeah we will write down rules for war, but follow them, don't be ridiculous. Kreig est halegen, Kreig est alle halegen. and a famous tsarist-polkadonits once said."

"Techumsherov, comrade." the aide supplied.

"Yes, thats right him. Although that quote is about 450 years old, and rarely known outside of those who were graduates of the Military Academy, where did you learn of it." Vlaidmir said.

"When I was dusting off the portraits in the office, comrade. In your personal office, its on the statuette of Techumsherov." Dimitri said.

"Ah, Yes, that would be where you learned of it. He said it in response to the reports to then tsar Alexander III, about the war we had with the empire that used to exist but is the Fourth Reich now. He let them invade and when they were within 100 km of Petrograd winter closed in and he attacked them with the Ziberian corps which were accustomed to those weather conditions...Ziberia as you know is famous for its brutal winters and frigid summers." Vladimir said with a smile. "I know it first hand all too well, I was exiled there when I was 15. Anyway, Dimitri, go home to your wife...I have to plan for Comrade Serpov's visit next week."

With that the aide left the ambassador to drink his vodka alone.

With a small beleaguered sigh, he answered, "Yes. I'm the Islenskan ambassador, as well the representative of the King."

"And you are the Ariddian ambassador, correct? Tell me, what is it like in Ariddia?"

"Well, it's... warm, usually. Our climate is semi-tropical, and it rains quite a bit in summer. Lots of forests... Friendly people." She sipped at her tea. "We're what you might call a 'developing' country. Which is a misnomer, really, because most of us like things just the way they are." She smiled. "Your turn. Tell me about Islenska. Or was there anything specific you wanted to know?"

"Islenska? Well, Islenska is a rather small nation, but it is very lovely. We have quite a few forests ourselves. There really isn't too much to say about it."

After taking another sip of his tea, he leaned in, resting his elbows on the table. Opening his mouth to speak, he paused, closed it, and then looked confused. Visibly, it was obvious that he wasn't entirely sure what to talk about with another UN Ambassador besides politics.

Christelle smiled, seeing his look of hesitation.

"It's difficult to described one's own country, isn't it?" She leaned forward a little too, holding her warm cup between both hands and looking at him steadily. "Tell me a little about yourself, perhaps?" she suggested gently.

"Myself? Well, I'm the Islenskan Ambassador, obviously, and I'm also representative to the King. I act as his assistant as well as performing for him when he is unable to. In fact, I will most likely be taking care of quite a few of his duties once he leaves to attend the wedding of the Queen of Karmicaria. Besides that, well, I'm a pretty regular guy."

He chuckled, looking down shyly, feeling like he was making himself look silly. After a moment, he looked up at Christelle, "Um, what about you? Tell me a bit about yourself?"

Was Christopher actually blushing? Christelle smiled slightly.

"Well, I was born and raised in Ariddia. I live in Rêvane (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/R%C3%AAvane), the capital... I've been active in politics for about as long as I can remember. Perhaps too active; it takes up a lot of my time... Still, I found the time to raise a son, Colin, and just seeing him reminds me I have good reason to be happy."

She smiled, her thoughts drifting for a moment, and took another sip of her tea.

"Have you got any children, Ambassador?"

Christopher was a little confused by the question, pausing a moment before shaking his head. He appeared to be barely out of his twenties, and chances were that he hadn't even thought about having kids or getting married, "Oh, no. No, I don't have any children. And, besides, I'm so busy with the United Nations and serving the King that, well, I just wouldn't have the time to raise a child."

He sipped at his tea again, doing his best to hide his blush from the Ariddian ambassador. His words were partially muffled until he realized he still had the cup to his lips, "Ahem, sorry. I mean to ask you, what are, uh, your plans this, ahem, evening?"