NationStates Jolt Archive

"My pleasure, honey. This I look forward to seeing."

The Wee Free Man, woken from his reverie and enjoyment of a 'wee pipe o' Jolly Sailor' by the altercation between the Joccian and Albionean, sticks his head out of the reformed punk's pocket and decides to get back into the thick of things.

After a careful look around to make sure the MILs have really gone, he zooms back over to the fireside in time to claim his dram of Ochayeopoeian 18 year old Special Reserve Single Malt Whisky. He gazes in startled wonder at the Rep from Enn arching above him, puts his head on one side and is heard to mutter.

"Aye, tha's the fust Bigjob A've e'er seen who might be able to tak' the role o' a Kelda

Angus is just about getting over what he thinks is an unexpected thank you from Nusku but her next move leaves him stunned. 'Just goes tae show, ye nivver can tell a body' he thinks. He looks across at Zo, her eyes rivetted on the Rehochipean, an feels an unexpected pang of jealosy.

He turns his attention to the Feigle

"Come awa' Rory bigger than Big Rory an' Much Bigger than Wee Rory, y'cannae play the game, yer wee legs wid nivver reach!"

*watches the ecdysiastic frivolity*

Pint of bitter please?

* The Rep of Komokom sips from his glass and grumbles something about,

"Call me, ME ! A :conservative whore: will they, well, they can stick that up their..."

* Errr, quite, something like that actually,

"There, shove that little polite reply up your..."

* Anyway, after a few more moments, The Rep of Komokom risks another look up,

"Oh blimey, look - at - that - !"

* And quickly looks down to the screen again. :wink:

The grand poobah of Booyah For All, a small statured fellow by the name of Steve stares at is brandy for a long time, sighs and then swigs it down. He begins rambling on about a stint in 'Nam, followed shortly by another story of his pappy who served in the Gulf War... after another four shots of brandy (to wash down the first eight) he staggers around asking someone if they could spare a 12th Century Spear Japanese Sword that he claims will let him become the one and only Highlander.

Following this display, he turns to KomoKom and says "Ya know... Izn't it funny dat you is a conservative? (Hic) I zust wish dat I could..." He gets no further as he slumps down into an uncomfortable position on the floor.
The guards come in looking grim, no one ever hears of Steve again, and the new grand poobah is chosen by the Supreme Emperor
Awesomeness IV.
-And just remember, there is always more... Booyah For All!

* The Rep of Komokom opens the dossier on his lap, and notices the title,

> Nimbus-Sun < ,

And all text below it suddenly seems to burn away to nothing, leaving a blank page,

Suddenly, a new message icon flashes on the lap top, and is opened up, while the senders name is obscured to the few members in the bar watching, the only visible words are "Done and done.".

The Rep of Komokom smiles, and orders another Komokian Brandy from the bar in silent celebration.

"Bar-tend, the next drink any moderation staff member has in here is on my tab, understand? And heck, a round for all in the bar while your at it."

* And he smiles that smile all the while.

'Lady' Zo turns to the Rep, nods her head at him and smiles.

*Elsewhere in the Bar...*

Sam Smith hauled himself to his feet and rubbed his throbbing head. He could remember very little of the past few days, save an unfortunate sexual experience with a hat stand. He gingerly traipsed his way towards the sound of laughter and occasional thudding noises. He stopped in surprise. Zo Boone! What's she doing here? And who's that feller in the kilt she's smiling at. And who's the tipsy lass next to her? And why's she smiling at her too? And what the bloody hell is that lass doing on the-

It was all too much for poor Sam. He fainted on the spot.

Zo turned around as she heard a crash behind her. She was just in time to see a familiar body hit the floor with a jarring thump.

"Oh, Sam..." she murmured.

"Excuse me ladies and gents, I have a compatriot that needs tending to."

She wandered over to the stricken multiple imbiber and gently checked him for injuries. Satisfied that he was OK, she walked him out the bar to the streets still glistening from recent rainfall. She hailed a cab. Less than a minute later, the cab sped off into the night.

The saloon doors of the bar swung open and Zo strode in. She smirked at the throng of revellers.

"You didn't think I was leaving did you? Bartender - a round of Ecopoeian Raspberry Cream liqueor please. Stick it on my tab."

Garcon, please get whatever this Ecopoeian feller orders; here's my credit card.

(Let me know if it's *shudder* over 150 talers, will you?)

I'll have wilted Polk salad and pinto beans with tabasco, please.

The crystal doors swung and Sharke marched stiffly in. He wore the threadbare uniform of a private in the 95th. He marched smartly over to the 'Twister' area and snapped smartly to attention before Nusku, his eyes fixed at a point in space six feet from the floor. He waited...

By Eck, slurs Sir Albert. Ah'd like to pronounce next week Scots week in ere. So prepare to get a little cultural...and barman stock up on those island malts....

The newly appointed as the Heshloni Ambassador to the United Nations steps into the rooms and freezes in shock. :shock: After tearing his eyes away from the twister floor, he steps back out of the door to scan the outside of the building quickly - making sure he has the right place.

The stout, dark-hair man remains standing outside the door for a moment longer with a slight wince. Passing his fingers lightly over his furrowed brow, he steps inside. A quick glance around the room (trying to avoid the twister scandal :oops: ) finds an empty table where he sits down to order a meal.

"Hopefully something to remind me of Heshlon," he murmers to himself. "International politics might be more than I bargained for..." :?

Zo grinned at the Collaboration representative, suspecting them to have been on the wrong side of some sharp work by Sam Smith.

"Bartender - I'll have Gravadlax in horseradish and whisky cream sauce please, if you'd be so kind." She sidled up to Collaboration and gently nudged them. "On behalf of the Ecopoeian nation, allow me to pick up the tab for your drinks this evening." She gulped down the remainder of her liqueor.

"Another one of these and whatever he's having, my good man."

:shock: :D

Well! I hope you like southern fried cuisine.

If' Id known you were paying, I'd have added some crawdads.

(just kidding)

Hello! You look nothing like the person who hustled me at backgammon...?

Ambassador Murr from the Rogue Nation of Man-Eating-Zombies shambled into the bar. He was of the "upper crust" in his country, and quite well dressed, for a zombie. Still, the trip had been long and difficult, and the airlines had insisted on riding in the cargo section of the plane. Sometimes there was simply no accounting for dignity in the world of politics.

Murr's head lurched to one side, eyes lolling around independant of the other. With a scabby hand, he smoothed back the few strands of hair still clinging to his scalp. Checking his reflection in the mirror, Murr adjusted his tie as best he could--having only three fingers on one hand made the Italian knot quite difficult--and then cleared his throat, dislodging a few beetles.

There were a lot of people here. A lot of warm people. With fresh brains. It was as if he'd wandered into a candy store. Still, if the nation he represented was to be taken seriously as a world power, Murr would have to learn discretion. Mustering all his self control, he dragged his twisted club foot all the way to the bar, leaving hardly a trail at all.

"Brai--er," Murr rethought his words, and tried again. "Bee...yer..." It wasn't what he really wanted, but it'd do in a pinch.

Nusku regards Sharke from a position of complex entanglement. "Oh, lord. Look, I've already told your government that it's best if we forget this issue, all right? Just, you know, calm down a bit, or next time it'll be a trigger-happy dictatorship who gets narked at you and, yeah. Apology accepted. Um, I'm sure that it'd be a nice idea to apologise to Angus too and then, well, I'm sure a man of your abilities will rise swiftly through the ranks again. Er. You can go now."

"Bugger," she mutters under her breath, "if that's how I handle a trivial international etiquette breach, there's no way I'm going to manage if I have to declare war on anyone."

Suddenly becoming aware that Hannah (or is it Stephanie?) is close enough to hear every word, her tone changes abruptly. "Can somebody check the rulebook to see if throws are outlawed? I'm getting tired of all this red tape."

* The Rep of Komokom resides still at his spot by the fire, the little varnished wood table beside him almost groaning under the weight of the complimentary meals and drinks everyone seems to be offering everyone else... The rasberry flavoured item looks quite appealling... The Rep of Komokom is heard to mutter at his lap top,

"Grrr, damn server, just won't.... Fine, look, I'm accepting all cookies... Darn'd thing, work darn'd you! Look, detect network settings... Fine, be a twit, oh, hang on... Turn off my security software and..."

* The screen fills with multiple pop up adds from other browsed pages, but finally the sever seems to kick in and wham-o, the required pages appear,

"About freek'y'deek'y time. now, I have ingorant people to flame!"

* And with that rapid typing begins, punctuated only by quick meal and drink breaks which rapidly deplete the built up reserve on the table beside him... :wink:

* The Rep of Komokom resides still at his spot by the fire, the little varnished wood table beside him almost groaning under the weight of the complimentary meals and drinks everyone seems to be offering everyone else... The rasberry flavoured item looks quite appealling... The Rep of Komokom is heard to mutter at his lap top,

"Grrr, damn server, just won't.... Fine, look, I'm accepting all cookies... Darn'd thing, work darn'd you! Look, detect network settings... Fine, be a twit, oh, hang on... Turn off my security software and..."

* The screen fills with multiple pop up adds from other browsed pages, but finally the sever seems to kick in and wham-o, the required pages appear,

"About freek'y'deek'y time. now, I have ingnorant people to flame!"

* And with that rapid typing begins, punctuated only by quick meal and drink breaks which rapidly deplete the built up reserve on the table beside him... :wink:

Tim, the counselor for D.A.M.N. (Destruction of Automated Machines by Nukes) takes a nervous look around the bar. As he sweats profusely, he stares at his neighbor, the esteemed representative from Rehochipe.

After much staring, and darting of the eyes back and forth, he slips his hand into his pocket and depresses a small button. He begins to laugh now, slowly at first but eventually building to to a manic wale whereby he screams, "Damn all robots! You must be one, because you have the name "chips" in your country, just like a computer chip! You die now, you die!"

With this, he lifts off the ground with his portable rocket pod and flies through the window of the building, tossing the beeping device inside the building. As the crowd gathers to take a look at it, it explodes into a hallucinogenic cloud of ecstasy, that makes the party a bit more lively.
-And just remember, there is always more... Booyah For All!

Arrrge! Double Post!
-And just remember, there is always more... Booyah For All!

Stupid server, triple post
-And just remember, there is always more... Booyah For All!

"Hey... does anyone want to play something else?" Hannah asked of the twister audience. "If you aren't actually going to play twister, how about something like... I don't know... billiards?"

Silence.

"Aawww, come on, I'm sure some of you can play."

Silence.

"Oh, all right." Hannah grabbed the zombie, and pulled him over to the billiards table, where she began a game.

* The Rep of Komokom has gotten through his typing, and it seems is now using his lap top to search for information on the world wide web, that is, those world wide nations who have connected to it,

"Battle Cruiser Millenium Gold Play... where are you and how much..."

* Occasionally, one of his staff currently in the bar (Invited by The Rep of Komokom to have a quiet celebratory drink to the end of Nimbus-Sun) would walk past frowning at the expense he must be running up on his diplomatic account, that lap top was connected to his mobile for net access, no low cost solution there,

"Well, I hardly need to worry do I, diplomatic status and all that!"

* Errr, quite. Anyway, every time they walk past you simply fash up a giff. of some typing so it looks like the cursor is flashing and your pondering what to think next you crafty sod, Where was I?,

"Now, I wonder if any other members have played this game, I suppose before spending 30 Almighty Komok Dollars on it one should do else then rely simply on online reviews, trick-s-y things they can be..."

* Oh, just shut up and go play billiards already, its about time you earned your keep here, well, at least some nice whole-some gambling might lighten the debt your running up so far TODAY...

"My, those pills sure are strong today (Giggles) OH WELL! ... Where did I leave my new frying pan..."

Zo chuckled quietly at the mention of backgammon.

"Ah, yes - one of Sam's favourites. You're lucky you didn't play him at pool. He's Speaker for t'Pub, bar games and booze are what he lives for."

A surreptitious check on the datanet brought up a few details about Collaboration. Big place...

"You've been active in the international community a long time, I see. We're still relative newcomers. That's the problem with revolutions, I guess. It takes you a while to recover and stop looking inwards."

Zo looked around at the extraordinary array of delegates. She turned back to the Collaborator (as she liked to think of him) and smiled warmly.

"Got any good stories from the past?"

* Suddenly the lap top is shut down, and The Rep of Komokom stands and declares,

"Stuff it, whose for a friendly game of chess! And bar-tend, bring me one of those Feathered Serpent drink thingy's already!"

* A finely crafted crystal and gilt glass chess set appears on a fine small wooden table, and a second chair by the fire appears too!

Zo chuckled quietly at the mention of backgammon.

"Ah, yes - one of Sam's favourites. You're lucky you didn't play him at pool. He's Speaker for t'Pub, bar games and booze are what he lives for."

A surreptitious check on the datanet brought up a few details about Collaboration. Big place...

"You've been active in the international community a long time, I see. We're still relative newcomers. That's the problem with revolutions, I guess. It takes you a while to recover and stop looking inwards."

Zo looked around at the extraordinary array of delegates. She turned back to the Collaborator (as she liked to think of him) and smiled warmly.

"Got any good stories from the past?"

Oh, a few...there was the first time we went to war...quite against our pacifist principles, but Demented Opression had made disparaging remarks about the avoirdupois-chalenged and since a large minority of our people are of ample-bodied Polynesian stock we felt the need to defend honor, dignity, and matebolic diversity.

It did not pan out as we hoped. Our giant squid...oh, we rely quite a bit on cloning extinct species, it has worked fairly well as an alternative to fossil-fueled vehicles...the squid were towing barges loaded with our mastodon army to the scene of combat, when they tired out. They had been on short rations. The pterodons had been unable to deliver sufficient rations. we thought they could forage, but being tethered to the barges hindered them, and they could not be trusted not to roam far asea if set loose.

We had to abandon our glorious exploits, and we fortunate to be rescued by the nation of Neighborly Affection.

Then it turned out that our armed forces, the handlers and trainers of the beasts, and our actual marines and infantry, became enamored of the relaxed style of life in the land of their rescuers (our nation is a bit spartan in lifetyle, simple pleasures, few dance clubs, not puritanical but just, well, perhaps stodgy); they married natives and refused to return home.

So now thanks to this mutiny we were nearly at war with our former ally...

Meanwhile our government headquarters were being bombed with paintballs by the funloving but vandalistic nation of Ducttapeland.

Yes, those were challenging days, but we made it through. Our pterosaurs put up a stout defense against DT, DO apologized, and some of the inhabitants of NA who hungered for a more sober and responsible lifestyle migrated to our shores and joined our armed forces, so things evened out in the balance.

So...those are some of the "highlights" of our history.


I'm sure you must have many fascinating tales to tell of your land...and it's people?

*looking sideways, dropping a veiled hint*

Zo sighed. "Damn, how do you summarise the history of a nation like ours?". She supped at her drink and frowned, remembering...

"Recent times have been turbulent. We've only just come out of the Third Revolution, which - thankfully - was relatively bloodless. The current guiding council of Speakers was sworn in only three months ago and we're still getting used the responsibilities we have. Incidentally, we're called Speakers for a simple reason: we speak for the people, articulate their desires on the national and international stage and enact appropriate policy. At least, that's the theory. We've got another two years before the posts start rotating and new faces come in. This should at least ensure the cold, dead hands of the revolutionary leaders don't smother the nation before it gets the chance to fluorish."

"Hmm, maybe I should explain that. The Speakers - who were elected – largely consist of the mothers and fathers of the revolution, you might say. Hell, some must qualify as our grandparents! You see, Ecopoeians are often a lot older than they look." She gave Collaboration a piercing stare. And then giggled.

"If you could only see your face! As it happens, I'm about as old as I look, for better or for worse. I'm kind of the 'baby' Speaker, I guess and about the only one who wasn't prominent in leading the most recent revolution. Well, there's Sam Smith but he's an exception. A perfect example of the twisted Ecopoeian sense of humour - have a revolution, set up a government and then put the Speakers in their place by sticking a dissolute reveller in their midst. Ecopoeians like their drink...having a Speaker for t'Pub is the consequence."

She sipped at her drink, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Actually, there is a serious point to this. Life is to be enjoyed. People would do well to remember this. Ecopoeia has endured three revolutions in recent times and it's a relatively young nation. The hedonistic lifestyle many have adopted is symptomatic of this. We've had enough suffering. I’m lucky – I missed most of it, but sometimes I look at Maya, or Ann, or Sax and the look on their faces…” She shook her head.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to burden you with the bad times. Let’s see…Ecopoeia itself is an archipelago with one major island in the north and a clutch of much smaller ones. The north is mountainous and cold but the very southernmost islands are heavily forested and quite tropical in climate. Surprisingly, there is no indigenous population; Ecopoeians are effectively refugees who fled various conflicts from surrounding lands. As a result we’re pretty diverse people.”

“I guess you want to know a bit about me.” She smiled shyly at the Collaboration delegate. “I’m Speaker for Leisure. I got the position thanks to my, uh, connections; I’m well known amongst the elements of society that devote themselves to hedonism. I don’t think I know you well enough to explain further…although in the interests of diplomacy I believe you may benefit from seeing some of Ecopoeia’s societal quirks firsthand.”

A glazed expression crossed her face as she looked contemplatively at her empty glass.

“Sorry, I’ve rambled on long enough. Bartender, same again for both of us, please. Now, what’s your position in Collaboration society?”

"Oh, all right." Hannah grabbed the zombie, and pulled him over to the billiards table, where she began a game.

Ambassador Murr waited patiently for the beer. The bartender had not so much as glanced in his general direction, but Murr did not find this remotely discouraging. The dead are quite well versed in patience. There were patrons speaking all around him, and the bartender was in an excited conversation with a young lady named Zo, which probably accounted for the lack of beer in front of Murr. Other distractions such as a somewhat risque card matching game vied for his attention, but as a zombie, he had little use for this. Instead he simply stood and stared balefully at the tap across the counter.

"Oh, all right," said a voice nearby, and a woman by the name of Hannah grabbed his arm and pulled it hard in the direction of the billiards table.

Murr stared with only slight surprise as his arm tore free. Hannah and the arm made it halfway across the room before he began to follow. He nodded to the other patrons as he passed, with a sort of bored embaressement on his lopsided face, as if to say, "Why, yes, that -is- my arm that she's just walked off with, and yes, I know, I'm a zombie." But he kept his calm and did his best not to be offended by the occasional horrified look.

The billiards table stood before him, and alongside it, Hannah, already setting up for the game. With a sigh of resignation, Murr realized the arm would need proper sewing, but as a temporary fix he pulled out a heavy-duty carpenters stapler, and set to work reattaching the arm to the shoulder. As long as he didn't put any serious weight on it, all should be well. He picked up a cue, clumsily, but with as much grace as a man could with only three fingers and an arm held on by nothing save office products.

Remembering some of the other conversations around the room, Murr hazarded conversation with Hannah, "Uurrrrgh... Tell me 'bout yurrr country...?" Then, remembering his manners, he offered a peeling hand in greeting "Ambassssadurrrr Murrrrr... glad ter meet yerrr."

Angus is just about getting over what he thinks is an unexpected thank you from Nusku but her next move leaves him stunned. 'Just goes tae show, ye nivver can tell a body' he thinks. He looks across at Zo, her eyes rivetted on the Rehochipean, an feels an unexpected pang of jealosy.

He turns his attention to the Feigle

"Come awa' Rory bigger than Big Rory an' Much Bigger than Wee Rory, y'cannae play the game, yer wee legs wid nivver reach!"

OOC: My apologies Joccia for being late...I've been busy with schoolwork.

IC: Flavius took a good look at Hannah and was still standing in shock over her great ability at Twister.

"What was that?" he asked in shock to Angus. He then thought to himself, "I have to get out more."

The bar door opens and its inhabitants can overhear a woman in a black two piece suit say to her companion:
"...the best place for delegates to meet or so I've heard."
She walks up to the bartender who is busy pouring a drink, her companion behind her, and announces:
"Hello, my name is Emmanuela Zunz. I am the Minister of Education of Zirconlandia. The woman in the black dress you see behind me is R. Dorothy Wainright. She is our Minister of Treasury. We have come as delegates on behalf of our nation."
She then lowers her voice so that it no longer carries above the crowd, and asks the bartender:
"You would'nt by any chance sell Fuzzy Navels?"
Meanwhile R. Dorothy comments:
"Was that really neccesary?" and smiles as she notices the woman playing twister. She then walks over to the dartboard and starts shooting darts with mechanical precision. :wink:

oops triple post, it kept saying I had'nt posted.

The bar door opens and its inhabitants can overhear a woman in a black two piece suit say to her companion:
"...the best place for delegates to meet or so I've heard."
She walks up to the bartender who is busy pouring a drink, her companion behind her, and announces:
"Hello, my name is Emmanuela Zunz. I am the Minister of Education of Zirconlandia. The woman in the black dress you see behind me is R. Dorothy Wainright. She is our Minister of Treasury. We have come as delegates on behalf of our nation."
She then lowers her voice so that it no longer carries above the crowd, and asks the bartender:
"You would'nt by any chance sell Fuzzy Navels?"
Meanwhile R. Dorothy comments:
"Was that really neccesary?" and smiles as she notices the woman playing twister. She then walks over to the dartboard and starts shooting darts with mechanical precision. :wink:

third time's the charm.

(ooc: don't be surprised that I'm not reading the first 15 pages)

Prince Antonio of Vivelon enters the bar, holding the only real power involved in being royalty in a constitutional monarchy... while not so much holding, as carrying in his back pocket. He grumbles, "Damn that Of portugal, twice have they f***ed up my inheritance. Someone here will do the dirty work of my otherwise peaceful kingdom."

He orders a glass of Albino Dragon Vinyard Chianti. "At least their coups didn't destroy the vinyards." He sits down in an isolated table, a stranger, drinking his expensive wine by candlelight, alone.

(ooc: how's that for my entrance to the bar, or was actual RPing given up on in one of the pages I was too lazy to read?)

Remembering some of the other conversations around the room, Murr hazarded conversation with Hannah, "Uurrrrgh... Tell me 'bout yurrr country...?" Then, remembering his manners, he offered a peeling hand in greeting "Ambassssadurrrr Murrrrr... glad ter meet yerrr."
"Hi, Murr. I'm Hannah, I'm the Ennish representative to the UN. Umm..." she mumbled a bit as she aimed, and shot, sinking another ball. "Ok, Enn has a Council of permanent members. Now, they aren't zombies like you lot, but they don't seem to, well, die. Other than the Council, we have an elected Assembly. Oh, and we all live either in the City of Enn, or immediately around it. That's the short version of Enn's political system.
"We believe in peace, civil rights, and all that jazz. Currently, Stephanie and I are on a long celebration of finally clearing up everything that our predecessor, Johanna, did here." She paused.

She knew that zombies may not be the best in quick thinking, especially just after they had stapled their arms back on, so she decided to give Murr some time to process everything she had said.

Over the other side of the bar, Stephanie was in the midst of showing off her amazing contortionist skills to the other twister contestants, while still somehow holding onto her shandy, and occassionally sipping from it.

* Not noticing any takers in regards to chess, The Rep of Komokom decides to enjoy himself well,

"Ahem,"

(Snaps fingers with a snap of the wrist)

* And go figure, the lap top re-appears, with Battle Cruiser Millenium Gold Play loaded on it, and needless to say,

"Time for a little fun."

* Pfffrt, I / The Rep of Komokom may be a while... :wink:

Answering Zo of Ecopoeia:

Hedonism? How interesting!

There was a thread in the General Forum about voting for smurfs as leaders and I/we looked unsuccessfully for Baker Smurf because we felt a hedonistic leader would be a good choice.

What a coincidence...

The way you people use consensus seems fascinating as well. We attempt something similar, but on a more localized basis. Most government services are handled at the locally appropriate level, which usually means one of our many tribes. The tribes themselves govern through consensus, while each tribal council sends a representative to the national forum. Tribal membership is voluntary, although we discourage gadflies from flitting from one to another without commitment.

As for age: posh, you're only as old as you feel.

But say, if you have long lives, does that create an overpopulation problem?

Pardon if I seem to pry, just curious. If you would rather, we could dicuss popular music or crop rotation...

"Crop rotation! I think you'll want Nirgal, our Speaker for Agriculture and the idiot who gave our nation its name. It's from our philosophy of land management, 'ecopoesis', the poetry of the land. Nice, but it means our name is drowning in vowels."

"Overpopulation is an issue, unfortunately. We're trying to settle the smaller islands in a gradual, sustainable manner. We've also started experimenting with the development of artificial islands offshore, which is great but does get a bit messy - do we technically 'own' these parts of the sea? No disputes as yet, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time if the project really gets off the ground. No pun intended. Again, ecopoesis plays its part in managing the population increases. Fortunately we have a low birth rate, though this is countered by the large intake of refugees."

"Our ages...ha! I'm a mere stripling of 24 but many Ecopoeians are already measuring in three figures. The medical team headed by Ursula Kohl developed a gerontological treatment back before the second revolution. It's kind of like flushing the DNA, pruning the dying strands and refreshing others. To be honest, it's not my field. What it means is that the ghosts of the past are still walking around. It's strange; these guys have a mythical status yet they're still here."

Zo broke from her monologue to enthusiastically tackle the salmon that had just been placed in front of her. She smiled demurely at the Collaborator.

"I'm not sure how much I should tell you about my 'hedonism'." A dry chuckle. "Suffice to say, Ecopoeian society is remarkably relaxed about affairs of the heart and the body. Polyamory - co-habiting multiple partners - is common. Ursula is a prime example. She lives with Vlad Taneev - Speaker for the Economy - and Marina Tokareva, the head of the University of Acheron's Biological Sciences unit. Sexual politics are complicated in Ecopoeia. There's a strong matriarchal element; this derives from one of the third revolution's major cells. It has caused some problems, there are a lot of women who deny fathers access to their children. As with a lot of Ecopoeia's revolutionary factions, they've taken an ideology to its extreme."

She paused, shrugged. "Hell, we're a young nation, we'll figure these things out eventually. If you'll allow me to change the subject, I can't help but notice that your nation is known for being, ah, stodgy. Is this a consequence of the native temperament, or are there historical reasons for it?"

Sir Albert downs another pint, watches the lithe ones playing twister and wonders if Bahgum could incorporate Twister into a proposal...surely bahgum could do this....

An electronic noise wails through the bar. Nusku, looking somewhat embarassed, extracts herself from Ennish entanglement and checks her pager.

"Um. Kind of needed back home. Bit of a crisis. Really really got to go."

She scuttles for the door, and turns. "Stephanie -I demand a rematch sometime. Zo - we need to get together to discuss that embassy. Um, maybe later, then, nice to see you all..."

She ducks through the double doors and is instantly swallowed up by a cortege of smartly dressed junior ministers and aides, who hustle her swiftly away.

Zo watched Nusku's departure with increasing concern. She gave the Collaborator an embarrassed smile and consulted the datanet. Less than a minute later, a message made its way to Frank Chalmers, Speaker for International Relations. She put the device back in her pocket.

Well, she thought, not much else I can do now. She turned again to the delegate by her side.

"Very sorry about that. Rehochipe are in our region - I hope nothing too serious has happened." She gulped her drink down in a bid to quell her anxiety. "Anyway, please carry on, my friend."

Goodbye to you, friend Zo.

We never thought much about our national character, and the stodginess sort of crept up on us.

Perhaps because we have no motor vehicles, life has been rather slow, oriented to the local village or neighborhood. This has kept us from becoming very trendy or sophisticated.

I did try through hypnotherapy to loosen up by getting in touch with my inner child.

He turned out to be quite a stodgy little boy; interested in Sunday newspaper book reviews and science experiments, unable to dance or deliver a witty pickup line.

Ah, well....

Zo laughed, feeling some of the tension slip away. "Actually, honey, I think your nation's way of life sounds just fine to me. I'd appreciate seeing it firsthand. Perhaps we can co-ordinate a cultural exchange, get a few tours arranged. Failing that, I'll come as a private citizen; I'd love to see your mastodons and squid!"

Her communicator beeped softly. She read the message and grimaced. "Damn. Looks like my absence has stretched on a bit too long. I'm needed to oversee the opening of a free-fall sky-diving competition. Ah, the pressures of politics..."

She smiled at the Collaboration delegate. "I'm really glad we've had the chance to chat. I've no doubt Ecopoeia will be sending another Speaker to the Bar fairly soon. Quite apart from the fact that it's a great place to hang out, it's turning out to be a good place to conduct diplomacy. Consider yourself welcome to visit Ecopoeia as my guest any time you wish. Goodbye."

She strode away. As she reached the door, she turned one last time and smiled at the Collaboration delegate. Then she disappeared into the cold night.

Later, she wondered why she never asked him his name...

:D I think this is a splendid idea, a place for people to relax after a hard days debating.

The Chief ambassador of the United Pupels of Westmark, whitch untill now had bin dosing in the corner, cradeling a cup of brandy in his hand, suddenly wakes up shouting, "NO I SAID NO INVATIONS" sudenly he reolisez where he was and slides down in his seet, imbaresed

* And from his place by the fire, the only noise from The Rep of Komokom, is that of the lap top, and the occasional slurp of brandy from his cut crystal tumbler, naturally.

"Ha, now that is an economically sound exchange... Oh no, space pirates!"

* Right, if he keeps that up I am taking it off him, he's meant to be co-ordinating our nations links in the U.N. not playing... Hey, this games not too...

"Told you so!"

* No, no, I mean, hmmm, lets go mix with some of the others,

"Agreed, now I've flustered you/me enough!" :)

* Geeez, I am a bastard even to myself today...

Lady Nessa slips into the bar, and waits patiently for the bartender to notice her leaning wearily on the bar. He nods in her direction, and grabs an old-fashioned glass. "No single-malt for me tonight, dear. A nice glass of cognac will do." She tips generously, merely for the smile on his face. So nice to see, after a weary day of listening to petty small-mindedness and outright madness. "Abolish communism, indeed, how ridiculous," she mutters to herself, wanders over to a nice leather higboy, and sits. "I wish there was some soft piano music, any music, really," she thinks, "or someone to play backgammon or chess. Even mahjongg...something mentally stimulating". She takes a heavy draught of her cognac. "Ah well, " she muses, "a few more glasses of this, and mental stimulation shall be out of the question."

With the last of the serious twister contestants leaving the game, Stephanie unknotted herself, and wandered, still with drink in hand, over to the Rep. Of Komokom.

"Hey, whatcha playing?" she enquired.

* The Rep of Komokom looks up to who ever just spoke, then realises it is that amazing Ennish girl who made such a spectacular, errr, display of the trained bodies, hmmm, abilities on the twister mat, and promptly,

"Why my dear Stephanie! Did not hear you walk over, my dear, let me get you a drink, I insist,"

* He stands, bows, signals to the bar, and promptly offers Stephanie a seat across from him,

"In answer to your question, I am playing this rather brilliant super space sim game called, its a mouthful, *Battle Cruiser Millenium, Gold Play* and it is rather addictive, if though the combat and just about everything else interface makes ones brain bleed till you learn the hang of it,"

* Both seated, The Rep of Komokom positions the lap top so Stephanie gets a better view of the action

"Its rather detailed, while not graphically superior to other current recreation software its still a smahing play, you simply need the patience to handle it and its rather cheap, you can do just about..."

* He proceeds to indicate several features of the game, the multiple races, castes, job paths, commander in space, surface or space infantry, fighter jocks, the massive galaxy sized playing environment, and gets rather carried away,

"Well dear, I'd best not go on too much, suffice to say, should you need more info simply telegram a request, and my staff or I will deal with it my dear! However might I add my nation will definately be importing it in bulk! Not to mention should we ever reach deeply into space, military/trade wise, we should be taking alot of ideas from it..."

* Drinks arrive and as both parties sip, theres a temporary lull in convosation, allowing the Ennish delegate to comment on her recreational software preferances, no pressure, naturally, :wink:

Zo laughed, feeling some of the tension slip away. "Actually, honey, I think your nation's way of life sounds just fine to me. I'd appreciate seeing it firsthand. Perhaps we can co-ordinate a cultural exchange, get a few tours arranged. Failing that, I'll come as a private citizen; I'd love to see your mastodons and squid!"

Her communicator beeped softly. She read the message and grimaced. "Damn. Looks like my absence has stretched on a bit too long. I'm needed to oversee the opening of a free-fall sky-diving competition. Ah, the pressures of politics..."

She smiled at the Collaboration delegate. "I'm really glad we've had the chance to chat. I've no doubt Ecopoeia will be sending another Speaker to the Bar fairly soon. Quite apart from the fact that it's a great place to hang out, it's turning out to be a good place to conduct diplomacy. Consider yourself welcome to visit Ecopoeia as my guest any time you wish. Goodbye."

She strode away. As she reached the door, she turned one last time and smiled at the Collaboration delegate. Then she disappeared into the cold night.

Later, she wondered why she never asked him his name...

What a charming smile...and what an odd nation with so many very different delegates...it was all we could do to coerce one of us to leave home for the world of diplomacy, and i was hardly a volunteer, more like a draftee...my name? everyone here just calls me 'Coll' because i'm our sole delegate...our names back home seem somehow uncouth in this settiing...*

Emma watches curiously for a minute the zombie tring to talk with a woman.
Dorothy, noticing that the twister woman has stopped, puts down her darts and walks over to her and the man with the computer.
"what are -- you doing?" she says in a modulated tone and looks at them with unblinking eyes.

President Simon of Bahgum (glorious leader) looks in to see about this bar where Sir Albert has been negotiating all those grand alcohol trade treaties. By eck, what a great place, and those Ennish ones are a real treat on the eyes (makes a note to say 'aay oop' to them). Presidential 50 year old blue bahgumian brandy anyone?

From his position between Stephanie's feet Rory Bigger then Big Rory an' Much Bigger than Wee Rory listens to the conversation. Feigle are easily bored, and computers are incomprehensible to them. He looks around, sees Sir Albert and remembers *CHESS*. He scuttles over...

"Hey Bigjob S'ralb't, A'll gi'ye a game o' the ol' Chess, if Ah kin play white!"

Tha's on little fella! Moves his knight forward. If we played Scots chess we wouldn't have knights, just a rabble with blue faces, big wooden sticks and a bad attitude..maybe we ought to alter the game?

'Och, the Ecclefechin maneouvre, A'll hev tae watch this yin' thinks the Feigle. With little effort he moves his king's pawn froward two squares, and sights over the top of it.

"Ye wouldna realize S'ralb't, that chess ha' had a hame in the Islands fer mair than a thousand years then?"

Aye, too true fella. Some nice old pieces have been dug up out of the peat up there. Maybe some ancient chess sets have accidentally flavoured a malt or two.
Moves a pawn foward two, under cover of the knight.

"An we've had oor share o' knichts too, y'ken: Sir Wullyam Gibson an' a'"

said Rory Bigger than Big Rory an' Much Bigger than Wee Rory.

He shoved his knight forward to protect the lone pawn.

* The Rep of Komokom looks up to the Zirconlandia'n delegate, and promptly states,

"Why, a little super space simulation, called B.C.M.G.P. or Battle Cruiser Millenium Gold Play, its my current rereational software addiction!"

* He points up to his earlier post on page 14-15 about it, yes, I know, he's technically in a bar and as such "posts" don't exist... Ah, I know,

"See, I'll put it on the lap top!"

* And with that, the Zirconlandia'n delegate is given a view of it, and sees the offer to telegram information to them about it, if they telegram their interest.

"Now, my dear Ennish, speak up! What says you on recreational software, any particular favourites?"

*The door to the bar is pushed open tentatively, and a young woman walks in. She dressed in a business suit that half resembles a gown. Jewels adorn her neck and ears, and her dark brown-red hair is done up in a respectable bun. She is Thalia Benedict, the High Empress of the small nation of The Holy Empire of El Cuarto, located in the region of the Western East. She joined the UN and flew in from her small country, in hopes of shedding the isolation of her country and region, and boosting her diplomatic ties. She silently walks over to the bar, surveying her surroundings, and orders a drink, waiting patiently.*

Stephanie cleared her throat.

"Well, I am partial to a bit of Nation simulating, I have always found that enjoyable. Other than that, some roleplaying games are good. Baldur's Gate is great."

* The Rep of Komokom replies to Stephanie,

"Rather, nation simulating IS the way to go I feel, especially on such an open, online way, with the perks of zero cost and maximum social possibilities. Baldurs Gate? Never played it, heards its rather good from a few of my friends though, I'll need to get around to chasing a copy of the latest down one day soon"

* Takes another sip of his drink,

"But my dear, we'd best not get to heavily into computer games, what dread that would be for some of the others here,

:wink:

In fact, I was wondering, whats your opinon on the power of precedent when it comes to N.S. issues over U.N. proposed proposals? Should an U.N. proposal be passed if a issue has already existed for some time that covers it?"

* He sits back in his chair, awaiting his collegues reply.

"You do raise an intriguing point there, my dear Komokomian. Well, I've got two answers - Enn's and my own. The Council believes that the United Nations should legislate on anything anyone wants to raise. Personally, I'd prefer it if we had less work to do."

Albert, slides his bishop across the board, watching the macfeigle carefully (trying not to stare at those legs the wee Scotsman is between). Now then fella, Bahgum was thinking about retyping its sanctity of the pub proposal, what do you think?

The door slams open and in steps a figure shoddily dressed in torn blue-jeans and a T-Shirt emblazened with the single word "BEER".

"Party at my place... all the free beer you can drink! I have a few hundred cases leftover from the victory party I didnt have."

Hannah, by now bored with the non-action of the zombie she was talking to, even after she accidently put her cue through the zombie, decided to leave the game, and wandered over to the Brfitopian delegate.

"Did you say something about free beer?"

Disturbed first by Sir Albert's flashback fantasies (The feigle moved from between Stephanie's legs some time ago) and by the cry of 'free beer', Rory Bigger than Big Rory an' Much Bigger than Wee Rory inadvertantly places a pawn in jeopardy of the Bahgum Bishop.

"Och Waily, Waily, Waily! Ma wee pawn's lost."

A look came over his face.

"Aye right, yer big loon. Pickin' on weeans are yez? That'll be right!"

With that he stoated over to the Bishop and treated it to a 'Glasgow Kiss'. As the valuable crystal playing piece shattered, he muttered.

"Aye, that'll learn ye, can y'r mutha glue, sonny?"

Excellent news Brfitopia, it was a most superb free beer proposal you wrote, glad to see you still carry through with the free beer ideology. By the way, in Bahgum it is talk like a Scotsman week, we'd be overjoyed to see the same here too.

Och aye tha nooooo!

"Aye S'rAlb't, ye're a canny mon! Hey All o'ye, It's Scots week in this howf, The bar'll ainly serve ye wi' a pint o' heavy, a hauf an'a hauf or a wee dram! If ye cannae speak proper Scot's ye're oot! All the beer is on Joccia this week as that scunner's ne're paid oot fer a roond yet!!!"

glad to see you still carry through with the free beer ideology.

Well "Free Beer!" is Brfitopia's National Motto. Beer is the only thing that washes down those toad-kebobs.

*sits down, sighing*

Ever pick at a scab? It hurts, but you keep doing it?

Maybe that's why I keep going over to Moderation even though it raises my blood pressure every time.

Irish coffee, please? With an extra dram o' the Irish?

glad to see you still carry through with the free beer ideology.

Well "Free Beer!" is Brfitopia's National Motto. Beer is the only thing that washes down those toad-kebobs.

So, you have a toad surprus perhaps? Some of our folk eat toad.

Perhaps we could exchange some of our turnip surplus for your unwanted amphibians? Turnip makes a nice kebab if it's properly greased.

Angus shuddered. He looked over to where that Albionean was still standing to attention in front of the now vacant twister mat.

"Now Sharke man, Ye'll be needin' a dram or three tae set ye back up, an I want to talk to ye aboot a Joccian Regiment that might be in the need of a man o' your skills, maybe there would be a majority in it for yourself, man."

He sidled over to the bar and put a few meagre gold coins into the barman's hand.

"When that's gone," he whispered " charge the rest to Taller than Hamish but no' as Broad as Hamish Hamish's tab." In a louder voice " A'll hev ma claymore, ma man, if ye'll be so kind"

Sliding the huge sword into it's scabbard, Angus put his arm around the still bemused Sharke's shoulder and guided him from the club to one of the city's less reputable (and cheaper) venues.

So, you have a toad surprus perhaps? Some of our folk eat toad.

Nae....we dinna ha'e a Toad surplus...

Ouch.... that Scottish talk hurts the throat.... Our description said we ate toads almost to extinction.... but now we cloned the extinct feather bellied toads, so they are coming back.... There is a picture of Toad kebobs on my Free Beer proposal thread.... let me copy it here:

http://home.insightbb.com/~b.fermanich/Toad.jpg

* The Rep of Komokom was never one to do much Scot, he'd rather take Scotch, then an accent, so he'll sit quitely in the corner, and when agreeing to something, will occasionally say,

"Aye, aye, tis true, tis true me laddy / lass."

- The Rep of Komokom.

"Sco'ish?" Stephanie was heard to mutter. "Nae, Ah'm much be'er at the Irish wun. After ell, 'oo dusn't lahk a gud Irish eccent?"

Aye, thas a real one MacFeigle, ye cannae go and tup me chess pieces ye know? With that Sir Albert replaces his bishop with a lump of Bahgumian coal, and moves a second pawn to begin the famed ochnowyeweehardcase manoeuvre. Now see you!

Glad of the mistake by Bahgum, the Wee Free Chess champion moves his knight to protect the defenceless pawn, whilst blocking the famed 'ochnowyeweehardcase manoeuvre' with the 'Ecchlefechenman Strategy'.

"Aye ye'll hev the backing o' the Feigle in your plan to sanctify all Pubs, carry-oots and howfs"

The saloon doors of the UN Strangers' Bar swung open again, announcing the arrival of the Ecopoeian Observer's infamous roving reporter, Cam Desmoulins. He took a good look around, noting the already shabby fittings, trashed grand piano and suspicious slicks of fluid on the floors and walls. He ordered an Ecopoeian whisky and a bowl of peanuts and observed the assembled delegates. A harsh, guttural noise assaulted his ears. The kind of noise that threatens to make your ears bleed. The kind of noise that signals impending violence, sporting failure and incessant complaining.

Scottish.

"Ah, merde..."

Aye, Sco'ish it is. Ye better ave a wee dram an keep yer head doon. A glasgie kiss fer beng a numpty and talking aboot Sco'ish sports is nae a good idea, ye ken?

Desmoulins took a moment to translate the gentleman's comment. He looked again at the throng of alcohol-soaked revellers, particularly at the unnervingly aggressive looking blue...pixie? Survival instinct kicked in.

"Ah, Scortesh, ye say? Nae prorblem, laddie. The name's, uh, Cam. Cameron McDesmoulins. Aye."

Flinty stares from some of the delegates.

"Uh...wud anywun like a wee dram? Mah roond."

* And fitted with the perfect chance, how could The Rep of Komokom resist to use his generic Scotish line of the times,

"Aye, aye laddy, tis true ah'could do with a wee'dram."

* Or something along those lines, I don't know, I think he was speaking in Scotish, :wink:

The wee blue pictsie looked up sharply from his game of chess.

"Cameron McDesmoulins ye say? Wuid that be the Auchtermuchty McDesmoulins, or the Lochgilphead McDesmoulins, laddie?

He gave the Ecopoeian strange look.

'Mc'Desmoulins gulped. Feverishly, he searched his brain for information about the Ochayeopoeians. Hope floated to the surface and took a quick, desperate gulp for air.

"Yes! I mean, aye. The Aberfeldy an' Rannoch McDesmoulins."

He mopped sweat from his brow. Would the blue fella buy it?

" Och NOOOO! The Black McDesmoulins! Shamed an' cast oot fer peein' in Wallace's pint o' heavy in 1304! Ye SCUNNER! Ye ROGUE! A'll no be drinkin' wi' ye... unless o'course it's doubles ye'll be buyin' o' course"

This little guy's an absolute loon

"Ah, wi' r'spect to ye and yer ahncestors, ah'd be rilly grateful f'r the orporchuniteh to mek amends. Eh, Barman! Double Ochayeopoeian Port Wood Malt for mah wee fella here, if yud be so kind."

With this painfully generous (and thus suspiciously un-Scottish) gesture, 'Mc'Desmoulins retired to a nearby booth and began plotting the scoop that would make his career...

Och, free drams then?

A wee drap we'll hae, an anaether t' chase et.

*Scottish enough to appreciate free booze*

Seeing that the wee man is distracted, Sir Albert changes tactics and drops the famed 'ochnowyeweehardcase manoeuvre' for the more classic and robust 'nahseeyoujimmy' castle and pawn offensive.

Ye cannae afford to miss a trick here MacFeigle..now where is that 30yr old Tallisker......

"Nae, stop all'a this Sco'ishness!" Hannah bellowed out to the crowd. "Terdae's St. Paddy's Dae, an' Ah 'ope ye'll all celebraete it wi'h me by doin' yer best Irish eccent, fur terdae only. The rest of the week, th' can be yer Sco'ish speekin' week."

"In honour o' the Emerald Isle, we'll dee it."

Cried the Feigle, now gaily dressed in a donkey jacket and matching wellie boots.

"Oh, to be sure, to be sure, an a top o' the milk tae you, me darlin' colleen"

He returned his attention to the chess board and the growing confusion of pieces trying to make different attacks across the chess board. In what he considered a masterly stroke he moved his Quin to set up the "Kenyamuthasew" endgame strategy.

"Oi think, y'r Honour, that a wee drop of the Bushmills moit be d'ting fer us paddys"

Irish, now? Bloody hell...

"Roight ye are. Did oi say oi was Scartish? Oi meant Oirish. Fram Ec O'Poeia. Though, ting is, this is southern oirish. P'raps you meant northern Oirish. Shoite."

*Summons the spirit of Ian Paisley*

"Thur will bee NOOOO sehdlem'nt with the Brudish g'vernm'nt. NOOO!."

*Realises that it might be best for all if he just returned to his seat and shut up. But first...*

"Barman - point of yer foinest Oirish stout, if ye'd be so koind. Und a whiskey, whoy naht?"

* Agree-ing with nothing in particular, more rather then to cover both language bases, and while rolling his eyes, with the faintest smile on his face to show its in good spirit,

"Aye, aye... And... Oh, yee, to be sure to be sure..."

St.Paddys day so it is. Scots week on hold till tomorrow. A Guinness barman!!

Brilliant!!!, Great idea!!!! :D

Sir Albert spots the 'canyamuthasew' endgame strategy...but too late, he plays on for a valiant draw. Aye, Feigle lad, ye play a canny game. Now what shall next weeks language be? Russian, French, Spanish Waiter, Texan....??

* The Rep of Komokom perks up at this,

"Ser Albard, Ser Albard, make it le language a la fronce, for ze wrain, izzz tres vet dis tame of yeer!"

* Heh heh heh, GTA Vice City has alot to answer for...

Hey Bigjob, we've a' just seen Mary Poppins fer the first time. How aboot a Dick Van Dyke 'Cockerney' accent fer a week, a'm sure East Hackney wuid appreciate that :twisted:

"Oh, 'ow 'bout soomthin' lahk a 'Bad Deep South Accent'? All yuh need tuh duh is add a coupla syllabels tuh everythiang."

Stephanie suddenly stood up, went to the door, and shouted:

"You know, all you people out there, you are allowed to come in. We don't bite. Well, not much, at any rate."

Let's-a all do-a stereotypical Italian-a accents-a. Like-a Super Mario or Luigi, from-a the Simpsons.

* The Rep of Komokom looks unhappy at that,

But wat of zee wrain? Is tres vet dis tame of yeer! Ah, comment?

* Realises support is swinging away,

Alt! Za longuage of choiz sholl be zat of ze government de fronce, 'and it ovar!

"Ai, and a wee bit mor of thee olde Irish if'n ya dunna mind, " Lady Nessa slurs, still celebrating not two days after St. Patricks'.

"Tiocfaidh Ár Lá," she shouts vehemently, then slumps down, cradling a glass of Jamesons...they gonna be rite upset at a emissary o' my peoples behavin' like tis, iff'n I dunna check meself. Gotta quit the drink.

Lady Nessa passes out in a large highboy next to the fire, Jamesons in hand.

The doors open in a flurry of tartan, and Angus walks precisely into the room, a little too precisely. Eyes fixed on an indeterminate point, head erect, he struts to the bar, drawing the giant claymore from its scabbard and nearly decapitating the barman as he hands it across.

He looks at one of the two Komokom reps he can see (thats nearly enough for anybody) and screws up his eyes in an effort to resolve them into one.

"Aye, Mr Repokomokom,kom,kom. Aye yer have it there. The Auld Alliance!"

He alters his balance in a strange way, appearing to be about to fall, whilst still standing stiffly upright.

"Aye Cognac all roond, and some wine tha' tastes like pish!"

"Onneyvar mon braav, ontont cordialitay, liberte, egalite,fraterniteeeeeeey.

Somehow remaining upright he slides down the front of the bar onto the floor.

"Man, tha' Albionean can sink his share!"

A peaceful bliss encompasses his face and he snores gently.

* The Rep of Komokom strides across the room, and drags the good Angus (In a civilised fashion, naturally) to a chair by the fire, props him up, and has a glass of Komokomian K'og'na'k positioned by him.

"Hmmm, and one last thing,"

* He leaves a little note with a link to his proposals third draft.

"There, much better."

(The note reads, Good sir, would thee be so kind as to devote a moment of thy time to this here proposal, to be linked to below, and a good day to thee good sir,

http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=2918539#2918539)

Heh heh heh... Now, all I need do is post my proposal to the U.N. !

Emma wearing a green dress walks in from the rain, tiny droplets falling from her dress and umbrella. She comes up to the bartender and asks him:
"'ees 'erre a boot aye ken seet in whaile aye wayt fer a fren'?" Translation:*if there is a booth that she can sit in as she is awaiting the arrival of a friend.*

Emma wearing a green dress walks in from the rain, tiny droplets falling from her dress and umbrella. She comes up to the bartender and asks him:
"'ees 'erre a boot aye ken seet in whaile aye wayt fer a fren'?" Translation:*if there is a booth that she can sit in as she is awaiting the arrival of a friend.*

Hmm, looks liked watered silk.

oh wow. what have i wandered into...? i love darts though. darts are the 0wnz0rs. especially when i manage to hit the board. :D

* The language of choice further falls away from that of the land of cheese, wine, and stereotypical french bread jokes,

"Eh, bet wat of ze longuage de la fronce? Is tres grande a longuage too use 'ere, ces't le longauge ala diplomatacie after o'll!"

* Sips his glass of Chateu Plonk, and continues,

"Did, ah mentzion 'ave a littal preposoil up in ala list du preposoils ala U.N.? Pleez be a'so kind to informifie yo'r a la delegate promptly, merci!"

Emma wearing a green dress walks in from the rain, tiny droplets falling from her dress and umbrella. She comes up to the bartender and asks him:
"'ees 'erre a boot aye ken seet in whaile aye wayt fer a fren'?" Translation:*if there is a booth that she can sit in as she is awaiting the arrival of a friend.*

*Aleksander strides though the door unbothered by the wet hair in his eyes or the unfamiliarity of the bar. He scans the room looking for Emma, wondering if he'll recognize her after all this time. He spots the green dress first, then the warm smile. He walks to the booth with a grin a mile wide.*

"Hello, it's good to see you. I was afraid I'd never find you. Have you been waiting long?"

this is a great idea! let's drink to this!

anyways, since im also here.... please vote on my pending resolution: Creation of The United Nations Grand Army Act... :D


Quote:

New Proposal: Creation of the United Nation Grand Army

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It has been observed that the World in which we live in is not a safe place anymore because of the growing threat of Terrorism, Ethnic Violence and Religious Fundamentalism and Extremism. It has also been observed that the majority of the UN members do not adhere to the voted Resolutions passed by the UN.

In this era of World History where nothing is safe and constant, the Global Carpathian Federation believes that the United Nation should have a United Force which would be able to enforce Resolutions and protect its members from renegade and violent forces. The absence of this FORCE has led to instability in the UN.

Therefore, guided by the Principle of Global Unity and Sovereignity, we propose the Creation of the United Nation Armed Forces, which would serve as the Grand Armyagainst threats to UN Stability and Peace.

This Resolution calls for all members of the United Nation to give to the United Nations 10% of all their Military Property and Resources.

Since it is imperative limits to the power and jurisdiction of the United Nations Armed Forces (UNAF) be set, this Resolution also calls for the Creation of the UNAF Grand Tribunal which will be composed of 15 elected UN members which would serve as Chancellors for 3 months (in NS month). The Tribunal will be headed by the High Chancellor which would be elected by the Chancellors and would also serve for 3 months. If approved, election of the members of the UN Grand Tribunal will be held immediately. (We will use the FORUM for this)

The Laws governing the Employment and Deployment of the UN Grand Army will be drafted after the enactment of this Resolution.

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

Please Approve this Resolution pending in the United Nations. Please pass the message to other Regional Delegates... This is for greater World Peace and Stability.

"But why would we want to fight?" Stephanie asked of the Great Carpathian Delegate. "We're not destabilised, we don't fight. Here, calm down, have one of these excellent Komokomian brandies. That should put you to rights."

* The Rep of Komokom goes to speak, but pauses, realising this is a double post, and having edited the next one to make it correct, simply picks this one up and slips it beneath the rug. :wink:

* The Rep of Komokom, listening in, says,

"Indeed, though on the upside yonder proposal would make a ecellent drink mat, so as not to ruin this fine varnish on the furniture here."

Hannah wandered over to the V XX delegate.

"Did you say something about playing darts? I love darts! Want to play?"

* The Rep of Komokom, listening in, says,

"Indeed, though on the upside yonder proposal would make a ecellent drink mat, so as not to ruin this fine varnish on the furniture here."

You do realize you were just listening in on yourself?

No more for you for a while, friend. Here, have some nice bread sticks.

[quote="KomokomYou do realize you were just listening in on yourself?

That isnt the same guy who tried to pick up himself in the bathroom mirror last week is it? That was an ugly scene....

* The Rep of Komokom looks insulted,

"No, I most certainly was not that person, I'm the one found often sitting by the fire-place here. Drinking, and conversing with others. Oh, and poking fun at stuff. Maybe being alittle sloshed, but not that far."

* Looks further insulted,

"And that person was also talking to the hat stand I think. And perhaps you mean "bar room" mirror rather then "bath-room" mirror?

(Rude Noise)

"Well, I worked hard. I campaigned for the UNSC board member spot night and day, day and night, and what do they argue about? What year is it?"

Takes a shot of good friend, Mr. Jack.

"I tell ya what, I think all the other members are children, barely able to look over the conference table. I think one kid asked his assistant for a booster seat, and still couldn't see over the table!!"

Takes another shot of his best friend.

"Maybe, just maybe they're chimps. Yes, that must be it chimps! That would answer for the facial hair. I hope they aren't carneys. But they were tossing poo, so they must be chimps."

Again tosses another shot down the hatch, then curls up on the floor in a fetal position, as a string of drool, slowly droops out of his mouth.

* The Rep of Komokom proceeds to do the dilomatic thing for a respected debate opponent,

"Yes, I proceed to pour cheap gin over him, leave the bottle in his hand,take some photo's for the tabloids, then proceed in the time old fashion of poking at him with a stick!"

* Well? I -am- a little bored you know, :wink: .

Awakes from the rank smell of imperialist liquor.

"I'm telling you, I didn't sleep with her, not one wink....., eh? Oh it's you, you're lucky they check body guards at the door to this place. I see we will have to duel this out the old irish way.....Billiards!!

::against his better judgement, the sophistan representative enters the so-called strangers bar. he proceeds to walk towards the actual bar part slowly, keeping a cautious eye on the nearest available exit should something go terribly awry in the near future. clearly, he's on a mission for gin and not much more:::

Stephanie stood up, picked up a bottle of gin near her, gave it to the Sophistan delegate, and sat down again. 'Nuff said.

Angus's soft mumbles grew to snatches of conversation, blurted out.

"Aye Monsewer, vive la Euro! Ye can stick it up yer derriere!"

"A'll nay be dreenkin' votre pish tastin vino, m'n amee!"

"Aye Monsewer Crapaud, where was y' promised help tae Charles Edward Stuart?"

"Aye, freedom o' the press Monsewer Komokomokomokom. Mair big boobs in the Scottish Sun y'ken!"

His wild shouts diminished once more to a mumble, and into a gentle snoring.

The door to the Strangers' Bar swung open and slammed against its frame. A man stepped out of the shadows, eyes wild, mop of ginger hair wilder. His lips moved soundlessly. He stared at the assembled delegates, at the plush interior, at the bar. The suspicion of a tear welled in his eye.

"Vodka. Vodka. Oh, by God and all the angels - I've found you!"

He rushed to the bar, ordered a row of vodka shots and downed half within ten seconds of service. He clutched the rest to his chest as if holding a newborn babe, cooing to them gently under his breath. He found an unoccupied booth and set about lavishing attention on the heady spirits.

Those nearby occasionally heard an angry exclamation from the booth, usually including the words 'gay', 'marriage', 'again' and 'morons'.

Cam (Mc)(O')Desmoulins, tabloid scoopmaster extraordinaire, had watched the man's entrance with keen interest. He chewed the end of his pen thoughtfully and opened his notepad. He began to write.

Into the UN's den of vice and debauch came one Arkady Bogdanov, Speaker for Culture...

Vice and debauch? :shock:

Where?

All I see are a bunch of sots and some struggling comedians.

Oh, and that alien mime over there.

Brfitopia wakes up from under the table.... where he has slept for the past week...

"Beer! Bartender, beer all around! Beer is the nectar of the Gods!"

Then the door flies open and in stomp the Choice Police..

"You, Sir, are under arrest. Your opinion of beer is impeding the Freedom of Choice of everyone here at the bar! Everyone! Do not fear! Your Freedom of Choice is still intact!"

They pick up Brfitopia and drag him out to jail.

Approaches the bar after a crazy night before at the same joint.

"Bartender, I seem to have left my friend Jack behind the counter there. Could you hand him to me please? And I promise you, I will call a cab for myself this time. If I buy a bottle in advance, can you still cut me off from it?"

Fills up a double until a small drip runs off the side of the shot glass, then slams it back, as he begins to sing those old familiar bar songs.

* The Rep of Komokom looks about... Then stares into his drink...

"13.... ha ha ha, the man who spits on luck gets "13" the so called unlucky number, as his proposal endorsements, right then, I am writing 4 more, and I am going to submit one each time my net account get refreshed, then I tele every, every, likely delegate who'd help it along... sigh"

* Takes a sip.

"And every time they pass not, its a re-write and another wait for the cycle to match up again... I will contribute, I -will- "

* Another sip.

"Screw it, I'm off to the forum, I'll go hunt for a flaming newbie."

mumble "why hate the English?..."

"Welsh idiot disnae ken who Hotspur wiz..."

"...the Scots were pushed oot of England by the Saxons...Aye that'll be raight...ye ken nothing at a'"

"ye didnae ken Edward Longshanks wiz a Norman? Och ye Bloody fool..."

Angus wakes up with a start, looks blearily around the room, finds his brandy, swallows it, calls forhis claymore and follows the Rep from Komokom out the door.

"Hey, Mr Komokomom, wait fer me. Wi' your skillet an' ma claymore, we'll see 'em bleed!!!"

Hannah and Stephanie together approached the bar.

"We really, really, need very strong drinks. We've just made the mistake of taking part in discussions in the General forum, particularly in one over Israel/Palestine. What's the strongest you've got?"

As The Rep of Komokom leaves with the rep. Joccia, The Rep of Komokom hears this comment from Hannah... or is it Stephanie, ack, iz ze brandy I tellz zu! Ze brandy...

"My good Joccian, go on ahead, I shall me'y'bee be make'in a de-tour..."

"We've also found out that the word g-o-a-t is now to be spelt with a zero! Try it! Goat!" Stephanie sounded very distressed.

Justin Gautier, Representative to Gethamane, stops outside the door. His curiosity finally overcoming his discretion, the 30-something, thin caucasian pushes open the door, just in time to hear distressing conversation about a "g0at."
He makes a curtesy nod in the direction of Enn's Representatives, and goes to the bar to get a coffee.

Angus MacPeabody bursts back into the Bar, gently barging Justin Gautier across a table and waving his huge claymore above his head.

"Friends! Fellow Representatives and Delegates!"

"Och sorry wee man, let me he'p ye there."

"At last, we kin proclaim oorsel's fer what we are - an Absolute Monarchy!!!"

"We hit the 500,000,000 population target!!"

He throws a heavy bag of Gold Florins to the Barman.

"Fergit the drinks all roond, it's Bottles fer aye!!"

Faced with the tumultuous silence and averted eyes, Angus slowly lowers his claymore and turns toward the door, his head hung low. At the door he stops, turns again and nips quickly to the bar where the stunned barman still holds the heavy purse.

"Och, nae need tae buy a roond then."

He says, taking back the purse and placing it in his sporran.

Somewhat brighter, he makes his way back to the door

:oops:

What's this?
Did we hear something about free bottles?

.......

No?

.......

That is not the sort of thing one usually imagines hearing, now...

This is not meant as spam, but I actually do want to encourage people to join the "Italy" region. We're trying to get it revived, and especially infuse some UN members. Come on, it's Italy! Buongiorno, Principessa! Let's go!

GOOD EVENING BARMAN, GET ME A GUINNESS. DAMMIT, GET ALL OF THESE F***ERS A GUINNESS

(fathers, of course...fathers - I'm the foremost of the Umbrian monks)

* The Rep of Komokom walks back into the bar for a very quick drink just in time to catch the last post,

"Yes, not meant to be spam, just like spam is not meant to be annoying."

* He is seen to whip out of his deep dinner jacket pockets a sleek mobile phone, from which he promptly places his thumb over the option to speed dial security.

"Other then that, would you, good sir, re-cant the above comment in its entire-ety, starting from and including "This is not meant:" to, and including, "-Let's go!"

* He raises his eye brows expectantly.

** Justin Gautier walks in, tosses a now-empty bottle of Pepto Bismol into the trash, and walks to the bar**

Tequila Sunrise... doubleshot.

** Plants his face on the bar and awaits his drink **

[Tactical Grace walks in, orders an iced Turkish coffee with a hell of a lot of Irish whiskey in it, gulps it down, and runs off to control the flames in General.]

A muffled sound was heard amidst the sobs coming from Stephanie. When Hannah moved closer to comfort her friend and colleague, she heard the pathetic "goat... goat..."

Desmoulins broke off from his scribblings to sidle up to the distraught Enn representative.

"It's OK, ma cherie. Calm yourself; here, have a sip of my drink." He handed her his glass of whisky.

"Now, my dear, what is all this 'g0at' business?"

Ahah, free drinks, excellent old chap! We've been out fer a while n have deliberated on this language celebration thingummy. we though we should go all European continental and have a few French days!

C'est bon n'est pas? A bottle of finest Chateauneuf du Pape bartender, I beleive ze monsieur is paying....

Rory Bigger than Big Rory an' much Bigger than Wee Rory finished his drink, checked that there was no more left, and rose to his feet.

"A'll be gan awa' the noo."

He looked around the bar.

"A've nivver seen sich a bunch o' mealy-moothed, taffee-nased baastarts, as the company whit assembles here. If compassion an' humility wiz shite, ye'd ha' died o' constipation."

The blue and red blur disappeared through the doors.

* And the blur is closely followed by a variety of flying frying-pans and billiard cues, and a few cheerful smiles. The Rep of Komokom states,

"Crazy little wee free menace in going to slip one day and get brained..."

:wink:

The red and blue blur materialises just long enough for Rory Bigger than Big Rory an' Much Bigger than Wee Rory to make a gesture, and a rude noise.

"Missed me ye Pie!"

The Wee Free man wiz gone.

Feeling much better now, Stephanie stood up, went over to the bar, ordered a drink, and said quite clearly, "Who wants a game of twister?".

Ah..twister! Splendid idea lass, do we have drink forfeits too?

*runs off to the chiropractor in preparation for the Twister game*

"Well, last time was such a success including the drinks, so I don't see why we shouldn't have them this time," Hannah answered for Stephanie.

I am ready to twist!

(Until the liniment and heat treatments wear off)

*hmm, must have scared everybody off...* :?

*walks off dejectedly, kicking a can down the street*

* The Rep of Komokom has in fact left the bar, but walks back in, looks about to see if one representative of "Mikitivity" is about, and not seeing them, makes his way in, orders a vodka and orange from the bar, and takes his usual seat near the roaring fire.
...
(Sips his drink)
...
* Wisely, none approach him, seeing the cold anger in his eyes, and noting the sudden chill around what one would asume to be a warm and cheery place by the fire...
...
(Sips his drink)
...
* In fact, the cold is so great the vodka and orange has ice chips in it. Oh dear. He is rather unhappy at some one.
...
(Sips his drink)
...
* I would say the cold silence and the cold glare, coupled with the refusal on his part to utter any dialogue, is pretty significant. He is it would seem, decidedly pizzed off at some one.
...
(His eye brows are raised)
...
"You don't say... :roll: "

After re-entering the bar, Hannah immediately went to the bar. On the way, she espied Stephanie on the twister mat, again winning without spilling a drop.

"I'm currently trying to sidestep a full out flame war, so just give me a shandy, then I'll be gone again."

Hannah returned.

"I need something stronger. Got any metho?"

Sir Albert looks up from his precarious contorted position, spies the Ennian through his legs and under his left elbow. Here try a drop of a Bahgumian Mineleachings Throat Tingler, guaranteed to split your mind into pieces and have you hallucinating for a fortnight!

"Whoa... that drink... what was in that?
"In any case, the flamewar seems to be stopped before it began. Anyway, back to Twister!"

* The Rep of Komokom blinks a few times, realises his been siting here with a scowl on his face for over two real world days or there about, while in fact having gotten over himself, and certain other people. Ergo, he speaks:

"Bar-tend, send for my Golden Komokom'ian Mango Liquer Bottle Shaped Horse Pulled Carriage, I am going to buy a digital camera !"

* Uh-huh. Not what I expected, but any port in a storm.

"Thank-you, nice to know I can still surprise myself."

* Oh do shut up and go. Ahem, but first turn to all in the bar and say:

"Good wishes to you all, I'll probably be gone until or on Easter Friday, where, the non-existing diety's permitting my account shall be refeshed!"

* Naturally this being Nation States no one knows he means Internet access account and think he means Bank account, no surprise, tha tab he runs up here, well, chase-my-aunt-fanny-up-a-drain-pipe-its...

"I think you said I/we should be going, ahem?"

:wink:

"Whoa... it's been sorta... quiet, in here lately, hasn't it..."

Hannah spoke this to the silent crowd.

"What happened? I mean, I know the Rep. of Komokom's been away, but surely you can do things without him? Can't you?"

Wow, I didn't know this bar existed. Hi all.

"NORM!"

Er...

Vodka tonic please.

*sits at a quiet table, waiting for any diplomats who might want to talk about the SDI proposal, Mozart or the Dallas Cowboys.

Ah, last summer on here we predicted the 'Boys would have a successful season because their new coach is a genius.

We were laughed to scorn. "Don't you know they're all over-the-hill veterans and second-stringers? They haven't got a chance!" So I was told.

I'd like a lemon vodka with a twist please.

So was I right? But did my superior wisdom receive acknowlegement?
You might well arsk.

* The Rep of Komokom returns !

"Back, I was to lazy to go into the bank to draw out more then the limit that the macines let you draw out, you know, this being back-wards real life Australia, and paper-work means work, so eh, I'll wait till the end of the year and buy a shiny new lap-top...

* Several rounds of blinking about the bar.

"Ahem, round of Komokom'ian Mango Liquer for all ! ! ! "

* Further blinking.

"Two rounds then... three, its really nice ! "

Tomi Kuper (http://www.benovision.co.uk/NS/TomiKuper01-1.jpg) surveyed the plush surroundings from the doorway.

Taking in the cornicing, ornate mouldings, the brass fittings of the bar and the elaborately finished wall lighting. A mild grimace washed across Kuper's square jaw as his gaze swooped over the debris on the floor; the Shiree professor replaced his slippers before picking his way to the Bar.

He reached the relative sanctuary of a solid looking barstool and with a sombre expression ordered a pint of Addlestones and some newspaper to wipe the elephant turd from his sole.

*goes to the men's room to remove the mastodon excrement from his footwear; returns* :oops:

Em, mango sounds very nice.

Ever try it with frangelico? Surprisingly tasty.

Comrade Guevara strides into the Strangers' Bar, doffing his beret at his comrade from Watfordshire. A frown briefly flits across his face as he realises that, when the Hackney delegation last departed the bar, they left the East Hackney diplomatic credit card behind with instructions that everyone should buy what they liked until Guevara returned.
Uh-oh. That was four weeks ago.
He looks over to the bar, where the bartender is eyeing him with a menacing look in his eye and a stout billyclub in his hand.
Comrade Guevara essays a nervous smile. "Aah... would you accept an IOU?"

"Ho! Guevara wee mon"

The strident tones of one Angus MacPeabody ring out loud and clear.

"Whar' the hell hev ye been, ye've missed some awfy guid drinkin'"

"An yer card hasnae been used hardly at all, except fer when them lassies frae Enn were deein' tha' twister thing"

Angus strides to the bar, drawing his huge claymore and handing it to the noticeably shaken barman.

"Will ye tak a dram wi me?"

"Angus MacPeawhistle McMurdo MacMurdoch McMichael MacPeabody O'Joccia! How are ye, ye ol' scunner!"

Oh great, Joccia, Comrade Guevara thinks to himself. Great bloke, if only I could understand a word he says... and that's not half as tough as trying to talk to him in that thing he calls a language. Hah.

But alcohol was alcohol, and a drinker was a drinker... he visibly brightened.

"Aye. Guid man. Ah'll huv a pint o'heavy, an' mebbe a wee dram o' the guid uisquebeathe on the side. No' too wee a dram, mind."

* The Rep of Komokom looks up to see the good representative Coll. and speaks,

"Errr, "frangelico" ? Thats a cross between a flamingo and a gelly, or jelly, right ? Never much liked jellied flamingo of coarse, but if you say so,

* The Rep of Komokom proceeds to make his order at the bar,

"And a plate of those tasty cheesey things too, my good sir"

* Returning to a spot near his seat by the roaring fire, a table tennis, errr, table I suppose appears, and,

"Now, who here for a game frying-pan table tennis, its like regular table tennis... well, you can guess the rest. Now, where will we get a newbie to use as a ball?"

* Suddenly the Rep of Komokom sneezes, and while waving a large white and red polka dot hanky over his nose, is heard to mutter,

"Blody server"

Hannah again entered the bar, and ordered a shandy.

"I've just been wandering around Forum 7, amazing what they've got there. To think of it, people have actually been making temples to moderators! Had to join in, the whole tourist thing, you know."

He peered round the ajar Bar door and took in the scene. The smell of excrement. Slicks of alcohol on the floor. Delegates splayed over tables, their senses having gone on vacation. A Twister mat. A tear came to his eye.

"God damn," whispered Sam Smith, Ecopoeia's Speaker for t'Pub, "I'm home again."

He wandered up to McPeabody and Guevara, plonked himself on a stool nect to them.

"Mind if I join you? I believe there's a fresh bottle of Old Ochayeopoeian with our names on it."

Sam supped gratefully at the rich-hued nectar.

"So, I hear your guys are trying to save us from the latest abomination to come to vote. Am I right?"

"Oh god, please let's not talk about that Education Committee monstrosity." Guevara shudders and takes a deep swig of the heady Joccian ale.

"East Hackney's more, ah, sober delegates are on the case. I'm just here to get blasted and think up some good insults for Comrade Bragg for the forthcoming ACA Flaming Championships. Should be fun."

Rather than waste a good double post, I will say something worthwhile:

"Another mango, please?"

Bah, the abomination will pass, it has a catchy title. That wil be all those blank brained boobies will read, depend on it.

Quite right Coll.

"Now, comrades of Collaboration, there's no call for such unwarranted cynicism. We have the utmost faith in the intelligent and well-informed voting population of the UN."

But Comrade Guevara's rictus grin and shaking hands belie his words as he drains his glass in two desperate gulps.

Sam Smith raises an eyebrow, shakes his head and drains his glass.

"Better make the next drink a large one, bartender. We're about to fund one nation's education programme and all for the sake of a misplaced bleedin' apostrophe."

Good point, Mr. Smith. I propose a toast to all U.N. members who vote for this resolution.

Amber, leader of the Borderlands of Gemraven walks purposefully in and orders a midori sour from the nearest bartender. She then strides confidently to her seat, still feeling her importance after having completed a succesful powerplay to become the UN Delegate in her region. As she waits for her drink she begins to wonder what's so special about being a delegate anyway. Just then the waiter arrives with her drink and she suddenly remembers "oh yeah free booze at the club." That's a benefit with incalculable value.

Hear, hear.

"When we drink, we get drunk.
When we get drunk, we fall asleep.
When we fall asleep, we commit no sin.
When we commit no sin, we go to heaven.
So, let's all get drunk, and go to heaven!"

Just then the waiter arrives with her drink and she suddenly remembers "oh yeah free booze at the club." That's a benefit with incalculable value.

Eh? thinks Comrade Guevara. Did some weaselly resolution author somehow slip through something mandating UN funding for the bar tab in here?

A sudden inspiration strikes him so hard he drops his glass. The crash, and even the spreading pool of precious beer engulfing his army boots, go completely unnoticed, so powerful are the thoughts swirling through his mind. He reaches for pen and paper and begins scribbling furiously.

Free Alcohol Resolution - a resolution to improve international relations and reduce sobriety. Now, it's just a question of misplacing a significant apostrophe, and we need never pay our bar tab again...

My God! The young prince of Vivelon thinks entering the bar for the first time in months. This place sure has changed.

As usual, he orders some expensive wine and sits by himself in a corner. Bastard conservatives, I can't beat the dead horse known as gay marriage by myself.

A slender, shaven-headed fellow of mixed race and serene expression slips into the bar, clad entirely in comfortable black.

"Minister Capleton expresses regret at her continued absence due to vital affairs of state, and I have volunteered in her stead." He selects a vacant barstool and sits down heavily. "Also, since education is among the responsiblities of my own Ministry, current goings-on in the General Assembly warrant drinking to memory-obliterating excess. Triple Celdonian whisky, if you please."

Propping his elbows up on the bar and adjusting the capacious folds of his rollneck, he glances around. "Ladies, gentlemen, otherly gendered, I am Thackeray Sung, Minister of Personal Development for Rehochipe. That covers, well, education and religion and so forth. I am honoured by your company."

He then stares into thin air for several minutes, though this does not impede his alcohol consumption.

* The Rep of Komokom blinks a few times as he reads the sheet of paper before him titled education something or other,

"Idiots."

* What, oh, I see, it is a bit,

"Idiots! Idiots. Bunch of idiots. IDIOTS!"

* Oh dear, he was winding up,

"IDIOTS ! , IDIOTS ! , IDIOTS ! , IDIOTS ! , IDIOTS ! , IDIOTS ! "

* Yes, I know, but,

"Bloody raving idiots, why not call it Commitee of Public Safety, "

* Well, I know its looking bad, but,

"AND THE BLOODY FREEKING SHEEP ! "

* Valid point, they do seem to be voting yes in droves, but,

"SHUT UP, Shut up, this cannot be forgiven, this is such, such, such a ... "

* I know, just have another shot of mango and...

"NO, BLOODY HELL NO. I WILL NOT SUBMIT TO THIS MOCKERY OF, "

* Yes, but,

"I AM DROPPING OUT OF THE U.N. FOR A FEW DAYS."

* Now, now dear,

"AND I SUGGEST THE REST OF US DO TOO."

* Fine, I give up, blow a fuse I am getting a drink...

"WAIT FOR ME ! "

* (Grabs his coat and follows the voices in his head clear of the bar)

" ... "

* A last cry is heard as he exits the bar,

"BLOODY IDIOTS. WHERE IS MY FRYING-PAN ! "

Tomi Kuper - a melancholy funk hanging over his fez - raises his glass to the companieros discussing the UNEC and swivels on his barstool to face the newly arrived Rehochipean

"Commiserations, Minister Sung. It seems the UN is a beautiful and fickle lover ¿no?"

Sam Smith nodded at Coll and raised a glass to the idea of such easy heavenly access.

God's a pisshead. Who'd a thunk it?, he thought. And smiled, blissfully.

He purchased a full bottle of Ochayeopoeian and proceeded to offer it to the weary remaining delegates of East Hackney, Rehochipe, Watfordshire, Collaboration, Joccia, HotRodia, Vivelon, Gemraven and Enn.

"To our nations."

As the toast was proposed, Speaker for Education Michel Duval stormed through the saloon doors, strode up to Sam Smith, took the bottle from his unresisting hands and proceeded to glug a quarter of the contents. He handed it back to his mortified countryman, muttered a few choice expletives concerning the UNEC and addressed the barman.

"Pernod! Beaucoup! Vite!"

The barman glared at him. Duval recovered some composure.

"Apologies, mon ami. Pernod, beaucoup, vite, s'il vous plait."

He looked again at the UNEC proposal. Merde. He tore it into pieces, watched them flutter in the air. He grinned as the last piece fell to the floor and turned his undivided attention to the process of communing with God via the blessed medium of alcohol.

Stephanie accepted the Ochayeopoeian from Sam.

"To our nations."

She drank, picked up a pack of cards, and began playing solitaire.

Comrade Guevara gratefully takes the bottle from Stephanie and holds it up to the light.

"Ladies and gentlemen... let us pray."

He drains fully half the contents in one pious swig.

"Aye, yer sleekit wee jobbie, tha's it, leave nane fer puir auld Angus, jest the dregs."

Angus signals the barman for another bottle of Chivas Regal, opens it, takes a wholesome swig and passes the bottle to Sam Smith.

"Aye, yer may mak light o' ma claymore Stephanie, but it surely put a hole in Facemob's day!"

"Y'know, Ah think we cuid hev some guid fun wi' this education legislation. A'm thinkin' in terms o' Feigle school inspectors, an' mebbe Bahgum wuid lend us some MILs fer dinner ladies...."

He coughs shyly

Ah mean, it wuid only affect Hersfold's Nation's schools, wuidnae it?" :twisted:

Michel turned to the Joccian. Genius. He smiled. He started chuckling. He found himself roaring with laughter.

"Let's unleash an unholy apocalypse on the little blighter!"

It was only when he started coughing up Pernod that his laughter subsided.

"Here, Here Mon, calm yersel'. Hev ye no handkerchief? Och, there's nae drink looks worse than Pernod fleein' oot a body's nose!"

Bahgum is pleased to announce that a crack detachment of MILs are currently undergoing anti-cooking training in preparation of full dinnnerlady status! As you may imagine, our glorious leader is more than pleased at the prospect of loaning out his mother in law to schools on a regular basis and has already dispatched a cart-horse load of Bahgumian Heavy Ale to the Strangers Bar as a thank you for such an inspired idea! Hows the Feigle doing?

"A beautiful, fickle and illiterate lover who is frigid for weeks and then comes prematurely, my friend," Thackeray agreed, accepting the Ochayeopoiean and wafting its rich flavours beneath his nose.

The young prince of Vivelon looks up from his dark corner upon hearing the word "Vivelon." They had proposed a toast to several nations, including his. He raised his challice, now empty, and the rowdy representatives filled it with their ale.

"To Vivelon... and against the education proposal, which I would not be aversed to had it been presented solely to my nation. But to the entire UN? That's..."

"Shut up and drink yer ale!" One of the reps yelled at him. He did as he was told, holding up his glass for a refill.

Bahgum is pleased to announce that a crack detachment of MILs are currently undergoing anti-cooking training in preparation of full dinnnerlady status! As you may imagine, our glorious leader is more than pleased at the prospect of loaning out his mother in law to schools on a regular basis and has already dispatched a cart-horse load of Bahgumian Heavy Ale to the Strangers Bar as a thank you for such an inspired idea! Hows the Feigle doing?

The doors of the establishment spin frantically as a small blue/red blur streaks towards the bar. The speed of entry is only exceeded by the actions of the barman in opening and placing a bottle of Special Sheep Linament on the bar in the path of the speeding Feigle.

"Ho S'ralb't, ma man! Will ye keep yer Mutha in Laws awa' frae ma boys when we get tae Hersfold"

Its Rory Bigger than Big Rory an' Much Bigger than Wee Rory who speaks.

"Och, they're muckle skeerie beasties, an' their powtry is awfy potent"

Aside to the Barman

"Aye, that'll dee, wee man, that'll dee."

"Mr Sam Drinks Mair than a Feigle Sam McSmith!, for sich a name we hev honoured ye with fer yer amazin' consumption. Will ye no try a wee swallee o' the spaicial ship linament wi' us, it'll dee ye good mon!"

"I wunner, S'ralb't, dee ye think yer MILs wuid be up fer a wee bit o' school nursin' as well, y'know, the checking fer the wee beasties in the hair, clean necks an' ears an' arse an' a' tha'?"

"Mebbe yon sickly lookin' fella frae Rehochipe, cuid send some o' his people fer the training o' the wee bairns in extrae-currikular activities an'all. That lassie Nusku seemed awfy braw?"

Angus MacPeabody looks up sharply at the mention of 'the linament' and desperately tries to signal the Speaker for t'Pub, shaking his head vigorously.

Mr Sam Drinks Mair than a Feigle Sam McSmith was profoundly moved by the honour bestowed on him by the Feigle. However, even his pickled brain was dimly aware of the danger posed by the linament. He noticed the frantic gestures by MacPeabody and frowned. But, would the Feigle take offence if he turned them down?

The world span around him, time slowed - it was as if his future hinged on this moment. He gulped, took a deep breath and made his decision.

He raised the bottle to his lips...

Noticing the vast sphere of influence surrounding the diminutive arrival to the Bar, Tomi Kuper extends his arm towards Rory Bigger than Big Rory an' Much Bigger than Wee Rory, with an open fist - and averts his gaze from the Feigle, before making a gentle Huh-Huh (http://www.sky.com/skynews/article/0,,91059-13050600,00.html) sound.

Angus winces as he sees the move from Kuper

Hmm, that open fist move, as nicely as it is meant, shouldn't be offered to the Feigle. Mother in law nit nurses also sounds like an excellent use of latent ferocity.....

Despite the ambiguous gestures of friendship and/or aggression floating around, Coll felt a warm glow toward these comrades.

"Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder", he murmured.

"Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder"

Michel Duval found himself snorting up Pernod again.

"Ho! Mr Sam Drinks Mair than a Feigle Sam McSmith, steady noo! Nae too much, ye mind"

The Feigle gave Duval a pitying look as he received the bottle back from the shaking hand of Ecopoeia's Speaker for t'Pub. He now turned his beady wee eyes to Kuper.

"Ho y'ijit, are ye wired tae the moon mon? Wha's wi' the Huh Huh, yer nae frae Glesgae an' after ma drink are ye? Ya Scunner ye!"

The Pictsie stood back and drew his fearsome 4 inch long claymore.

"Mr Collaberation, ye cannae let yer fancies whiskey awa like that. Why it's tae much tae beer, Ale tell ye!"

OOC: Well, time for me to hit the old dusty trail. Back on Tuesday - try not to harm my people too much...

ooc Me too, until a week on Tuesday, unless i sneak to the computer whilst nobody's looking - we don't have broadband where I live.

Rory Bigger than Big Rory an' Much Bigger than Wee Rory lowered his sword, and looked sorrowfully at Mr Sam Drinks Mair than a Feigle Sam McSmith as he slid gracefully from his barstool to the floor.

"Aye, that'll be raight. He no' come roond 'til aboot Tuesday, Ah wuidna think"

He shifted his gaze back.

"Noo, Mr Kuper, ye may be a scunner, or ye may be a decent sort o' body, but we'll no' find ouut the noo."

The Feigle blurred and reappeared at the door.

"Blessings be upon this hoose, A'll see ye in a week"

With that, he was gone, leaving only 'Rory Bigger than Big Rory an' Much Bigger than Wee Rory wiz 'ere' etched across Tomy Kuper's glass.

* The Rep of Komokom walks right into the bar at some speed, straight to the bar itself, and proceeds to slap down a "Diamond Klass" Komok Krediting Kardifikation, or the humble credit card to some,

"This is to pay off by debt here,"

* He stated quite regally,

"And - this - , is to be brought to my table at once, good man,"

* " - this - " is a sheet of dark grey Komok diplomatic card with a silver embossed list printed there on. Needless to say, the bar-tend's eyes go quite wide, the list states about 1 bottle each of the finest booze in the bar, but, as requested, he loads up the (rather large thus) silver tray,

"And make sure there are at least two bottles of Komok Mango Liquer, it is only 28% alchohol anyway, and another tray of those cheesey things."

* He notices people in the bar looking at him rather oddly, granted perhaps his rather alchoholic order deserved it,

"I'm riding out the "E.C." rubbish storm here, feel free to pull up a perch."

* He proceeds to his chair by the fire, to get regally smashed, followed by the bar-tend, straining under the weight of the dual trays. :wink:

Seein' as 'ow we've fair enjoyed t'pub downt'UN, Bahgum 'as submitted a proposal in support o'raisin standards an' all o'pub appreciation worlwide, tek a look an' if tha like, give it a vote....grand!
http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=3022955#3022955

Kuper looks sorrowfully into his drink, until his eyes focus on the Nac Mac Feigle inscription - whereby his spirit picks up.
The ambassador from Bahgum seemed undisturbed as Kuper let the pamphlet extoling the virtues of the licensed hostelry fall to his side.

He joined with the Representative from Komokom by the fire and removes a small box of Hells' Bovinian Poros from under his Fez and offers one to the dapper gent.

* The Rep of Komokom takes the offered object and places it in his jacket, and procees to offer this stranger a glass of what-ever they will from the large selection on the tray beside him,

"Jolly kind of you old chum, take a sip while your here!"

* The Rep of Komokom leans back in his chair by the fire, takes a sip of his orange juice and mango liquer, and wonders when he'll get his U.N. telegram, though judging some of the proposals in que, he wonders why he bothered re-applying to an extent...

"Good-ness, I do wonder why I bothered rejoining the U.N. when I look at some of these proposals."

* See, I told you he would.

"I think we should ask [violet] for a game mechanics change, so that even if a proposal reaches quorum, a mod has to manually certify it for it to be allowed onto the floor. Maybe that would cut them back a bit..."

* Suddenly he realises he's been a tad rude,

"Sorry, old chum, went of on a tangent, said your name was Kuper did ye not? Jolly sorry about that, stress of it all and all that, takes one by surprise, one minute mentos-compos, next moment compost mental, eh, what!"

* Suddenly he sneeze's which doth cause his chair to go ( ( ( BUMP ) ) ) ... Tres subtle, eh?

Comrade Guevara, foregoing all pretence of subtletly, drops his glass with a bump.

* The Rep of Komokom nods his thanks at the good Comrade Guevara of East Hackney, and motions for him to join him if he does wish, there is a cornocopia of bottles, some still full (Almost, :wink: ) on the tray beside him. And the fire is warm.

"It saves one the constant walk to the bar-tend and such."

* Plus, The Rep of Komokom can be a lazy beast at times...

"Hey, I heard that, damn voives.... By the by, has any-one seen hide or hair/hare of the good Enodia'n?"

* (Shrugs) And takes a pull on the tall glass of Mango Liquer and Orange Juice as per usual now...

Having crumpled up his subtlety and tossed it out the window, Comrade Guevara nods his thanks to the Rep of Komokom and selects half-a-dozen assorted large bottles of spiritous liquors, which he proceeds to secrete in a variety of pockets. He uncaps a litre of Old Ochayeopeian and takes a long swig.

"Enodia? Well, don't let on, mate, but a little bird told me something weird..."

He leans across the table to whisper furtively in Komokom's ear.

"Apparently, Our Mighty Mod's got some sort of 'social life', whatever that is. Heard something about the 'real world'... but I don't know what that means either..."

He takes another deep swig and shrugs expansively.

An gentleman walks in nodding to all and muttering "Gentlemen," sits at the bar and orders a pint of stout. He sits back to listen to some conversation.

After a few more pints the man from Brazakastan lights a cheap cigar, leans forward on the bar and starts a loud conversations with the bartender.

"Do you know who I am, barkeep."

"No sir, I don't."

"Well I'm a delegate from the Absolutional Alliance. We're small now, but boy have we got big dreams. Right now I've got a proposal up that will end the UN's involvement with all religious matters. Just gotta get it past..."

"Sir thats quite enough for you"

"I agree, why don't I just go over to that table over there..."

The man stumbles to an empty table and starts singing some unknown melody, although it happens to be the Brazakastan national anthem.

*seeing the new gent, Coll filches a botle and totters over to join him*

Religious separation eh? Deep waters those.
In our place we have umpty-ump tribes most of which have different little sects, and it takes some careful manuevering to avoid stepping on spiritually sensitive toes.

So what happens when someone's beliefs have rather extreme consequences, such as refusing medical care? Or practicing canibalism, ot human sacrifice?

Then again how to you prevent the state from erasing all free expression of personal values; will you censor T shirts? Ban WWJD bracelets? Go around grabbing skullcaps and turbans off people's heads?

"Good point, Coll," opines Comrade Guevara, nodding sagely in between gulps of whiskey.

"See, East Hackney's pretty much atheist these days.... the only thing you could really say we worship is ethanol." He genuflects briefly at the name of the Sacred Substance.

"So if the UN were to ban religious symbols in public places... well, let's just say you'd have to prize the booze from our cold dead hands." Guevara cradles the bottle protectively and scowls at the assembled drinkers as if daring them to try.

The gentleman orders another round for the table leans back, almost falls, catches himself and says:
"By the way, you can call me Protector Terrell, or just Terrell. Comrade, Coll if you don't mind me calling you that, the thing is that there wouldn't need to be any of that. If the United Nations doesn't make the laws, then it leaves things up to the nations to take care of. That way the job still gets done, but not by a global organization giving orders for all people to follow. Instead if a nation's government percieved a threat with religion they could take care of it.

The pint...er, point...is that there are some things better left up to the nations. The UN shouldn't make laws telling people how to or not to worship something that they chose to worship to begin with. And Coll, the police wouldn't get out of hand simply because the state wouldn't make any laws taking away rights of religion.

The drinks arive and he sits back to await the response as he sips on his seventh mug of ale. Fortunately he is man capable of holding his alcohol.

Hannah stood up, and went over to the Brazakastani.

"There there, it'll be alright. Just don't try to do anything religious, and people won't hurt you any more. Are you feeling better now?"

* Having spent too long sipping at his mango/ethanol splice, The Rep of Komokom speeds into a set of reply-ing,

" Comrade, I agree, one should never have the risk of ones most sacred item being taken from you, especially if its able to do a good job of stripping paint. And take a bottle of Komokom'ian mango derived spirit, should you like it then maybe we can hammer and sickle out a trade deal. "

* He turns to the representative of Brazakastan, Coll himself, and back to the good Comrade, Enn too, and raises his cut crystal tumbler in a toast, and utters,

" And a here, here ! No touch-ee my drink-ee ! "

* He proceeds to then slump down in his chair as if asleep. Not wise, with the, errr, questionable ethics of some people here regarding free booze, and the still quite wel furnished tray beside him. Ah well, such is life. And a beefy expense account.

Well! A fortuitous circumstance.

*raises Komokom's bottle in a salute*

Here's to our fallen comrade's casket!
May it be made of 100-year -old oak,
and may he plant the acorn tomorrow!

*Takes a healthy jigger and passes the liquor*

Time had passed, its gentle flow carrying the peoples of the Nation States along the paths of their lives. For many in the Bar, it may have appeared that Time had stood still. However, its leisurely progress was about to become all too apparent for poor Sam Smith.

He awoke. Moved his head slightly to one side.

"nnnnngggggggaaaaawwwwwrrrOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH MIGODTHEPAINMAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOP PLEEEEEEASSE UUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGHHHHHHHHHHH!"

A heavy cloak of silence enshrouded the Bar. A small voice whispered from the vicinity of the bar stool.

"does anyone have any painkillers? please?"

The server kicked Sam in the head.

The server giggled evilly and kicked him again.

Hair of the dog, perhaps?
Here, Sam, try a Prairie Oyster, guaranteed to cure the hangover blues.
*mixes and serves with a deftness which betrays extensive experience in hangover cures*

Sam stretched out a shaking hand and took the proffered mug from Coll. He gave the contents a dubious look, steeled himself and downed it in one. A great shudder resounded through his body and he was struck with the fear that the drink would be rejected. He fought the urge to puge with his body, mind and soul and emerged from this inner trial of strength gasping yet triumphant. Unsteadily he got to his feet, leant on the bar and cought the beleaguered barman's attention. He licked dry lips contemplatively.

"Pint of Seductively Smooth, please." He nodded at Coll. "And whatever he's having, it's on me."

He took a deep draught of the velvety night-black beverage, savouring its malty, bittersweet goodness. Top lip still coated in cream, he turned to Coll and smiled.

"Cheers. Now, who kicked me in the head?"

Evening all,

"Barkeep a pint of blue mushroom juice pls."

Walks to a dark corner and reads comics.

*nods at Sam in friendly fashion*
Glad to help.

As for the "kick"; it may as well be blamed on the server.
Everything else is.

The gentleman from Brazakastan removes a cheap cigar from his pocket lights it up and looks around as he once again tries to lean back in his chair. This time he does not fall. As the others stare at his tactless attitude and lack of taste for cigars he simply says "Next round's on me boys!" and continues to puff his cigar, waiting for another conversation he can barge in on.

Another man walks into the bar, looking stuffy in that British type of way, and orders himself a vodka from the bartender. As he walks in, he hears the last bit of a conversation on religion, followed by a hideous scream. After wiping away a memory of a rather nasty conversation with the Queen that ended about the same way, he walks his way up to the man with the cheap cigar.

"Protector Terrell," says the man, "greetings. I am Minister of Foreign Affairs Voegelin, from the Royal Commonwealth of Oakeshottland. What is that you were saying about a resolution regarding religion?"

* The Rep of Komokom wakes with a jolt, grumbles something, and reaches into his pocket, drawing out a cheap Motor-Rolling C200.2 (Heh heh heh, it IS Nation states rather then reality after all, :wink: ) and speaks into it, completely missing the fact the tray of bottles beside him is some-what depleted considerably more then when he went into sleep.

"Bytek nearly bought it, Eh? Said what about me? Well, that was rather nice, glad to know I'm... Huh? Enodia? Oh, well, strike "drop dead" from my list of "Smack fore-head in angst and make a comment" list. I deserved that one I admit. Civil of them. I'll have a drink waiting for the good man... Final warning for both of them? Well, it was coming to them, still, said to see them go one-day, even if they are a tad repetetive, okay, more then a tad... Well I don't know a metric equal, do you? ... "

* Must be his office staffers, holding fort as usual. The convosation ends, he walks to the bar, and before returning to his seat, informs the bar-tend,

"Good man, have a stiff drink awaiting the Enodian, and one for the representative of Bytek should they ever stumble in, though hopefully not at the same time as each other... No you fool, stumbling in, not the drinks..."

**The lights go out and the juke box cuts off abruptly,,,, Out of nowhere blacklights power on revealing the various images of fractaled Ganeshas and Shivas.... Then the sounds of Shpongle's "Divine Moments of Truth" come on over a previously hidden PA system... upon the completion... the music kicks to 140+ bpm Goa... and the air is saturated with the smell of Charas and Nag Champa... and psychedelic Chai is being passed around**

In the midst... 69 Bishops wearing day-glo fractaled clothing start to dance,,, Pope Liam raises his Goblet of Ayahuasca in a cheer wishes all "A very trippy evening"... then proceeds to the dance floor himself.

* The Rep of Komokom, his eyes almost suffering over-load from the, errr, display before him, seems to retreat into his chair, but diplomacy over-rides his shock and he raises his now full glass of white wine at the Pope, then retreats even further into his chair. He takes a long sip on it, then looks at it, looks at the display before him, frowns into the glass, and hurls the contents into the fire, which at first low, suddenly flares in a variety of colours to match the,errr, current events. He mutters to himself,

"Bloody hell"

after politely nodding in a particularly vague and non-committal manner as the various reps make their hullabaloo, Kuper throws himself up into the torrent of black light and audio-nonsense that has materialised.

His long white robes glow ethereally as he spins like a dervish. The tassle on his fez slapping at the cheek of the Speaker for T'Pub like a lovesick hornet - stuck in a hairnet.

* With a BUMP The Rep of Komokom finds the very depths of his chair, the limit that is.

"Ouch."

* Indeed.

"Ack, me needs a drinkee, darn'd, never realised dark-lights could be so bright ... "

Thackeray Sung screws up his eyes. "Buddha's bouncing bollocks. Why does everyone consider drugs a legitimate excuse for bad taste?"

He leans back in the comfortable armchair he has appropriated. "Now, if I hadn't already overindulged on the eths, I would recommend we retire to a room well provided with soft horizontal surfaces, 5-HTP and Gorky's Zygotic Mynci. Since this seems impractical, I propose we brew up a batch of Rehochipean sangria to counteract the headache this Goan crap is giving me. Barman! I have a long and extraordinarily abtruse list of ingredients for you to fulfil..."

nemaste psychotropics says a large green cat setting quietly previously
unseen off in one corner, stepling his forepaws in the traditional manor and bowing politely in their direction.
exceltent taste in colors i'd say
limes and golden oranges and terracottas and turquoises being our favorite colors.

a health!
to the diversity of reality:
long may it frustrate
the lives and policies
of tyrannts of every shade and stripe

=^^=
.../\...

The man from Brazakastan leans back to watch the performance and pulls out another cheap cigar, orders something hard and lets out a deep belly laugh of joy at the spectacle before him.
"Cigars anyone?"

Comrade Guevara shudders at the hideously bad-taste spectacle unfolding before his slightly unfocused eyes. Since when did this place have a dancefloor, anyway?

He takes a long swig of whisky and hums a traditional East Hackneyite revolutionary anthem under his breath to distract from the unearthly racket emanating from the Psychotropic delegation.

"A dancefloor?" Hannah wondered. Then she looked again.

"Oh, that's just the twister mat. We must have forgotten to put it away earlier. Someone'll trip over soon enough, they're not designed to be danced on."

Cigars, eh?

Sure, why not?

*pulls out his non-metallic mechanical flint*

Watch out, this makes quite a stream of sparks; not sure what it will do with any ethanol in the vicinage...

There are a couple of small gasps and a short round of sporaic applause as Tomi Kuper - despite his lack of youthful lustre - plants his left hand firmly on 'green' and spins 180 degrees, to place his right foot on 'blue' and dismount the dance-mat, back into the chair opposite the Rep of Komokom.

"My my, what a busy week it has been", the ambassador of the People's Republic of Gouda sighs. He walks quietly but firmly past the twister mat to find a place at the bar.

"Does this place serve cheese platters, by any chance? And a coffee please. One where a spoon will stay upright in, please."

A very small meteorite crashes through one of the ornate stained-glass windows, blasting a tiny crater right where the delegate from Groot Gouda had been standing just seconds earlier.

Hmm, thinks Comrade Guevara. Maybe we do need that asteroid shield...

Thackeray Sung observes the breakdancing Shiree with interest.

"You know, we really must get a visiting lecturer in Military Dance to a university or two of ours. We'd be happy to reciprocate with an aikidoka or two, naturally."