NationStates Jolt Archive

Interesting side note about hoods, but probably off topic...

Christian angels were not always drawn or painted with wings, in the pre-renisance period, Angels were often portreyed as hooded figures.

(OOC: Seabear70, please label out of character comments as such. Or better yet, if it's interesting enough to say, find some way to say it in character.)

[Sammy] paused a moment to take in (what could have been) a look of absolute horror on the prince's face, then suddenly burst out laughing. "Just kidding dude!" he said. "Only most of that is true!"

Rhodri looked immensly relieved. He really would have to remember to read the briefing documents in the morning. "Thank goodness," he said. "For a moment we thought you were serious about the American football. Why grown men need body armour and team substitutions between each tackle to play rugby (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rugby_union) we have never understood."

[Sammy] stifled his giggles long enough to go back to what Rhodri had said about elections. "You guys elect your royalty?" he asked curiously. For a moment, he was glad that he served at the pleasure of the president, and the president's habit of constantly seeking out "pleasure" wherever he could find it meant total job security.

"By the way, should I call you 'Your Highness'?"

Rhodri gave Sammy a wry look. "At the moment, only if you are feeling particularly formal, Mr Ambassador."

He paused and sipped at his beer for a moment, wondering how best to describe Gobbannium's internal power structures. Probably by skipping most of the details.

"We don't elect our royalty as such," he said. "You have to be born royal. We do however elect which members of the royal family get which high governmental posts. No one is interested in challenging Llewellyn for the High Princeship while he's as popular as he is, but there is quite a bit of jockeying for the other important positions. Not that we are particularly important; we suppose our position would be a junior minister or subordinate to a secretary of state in other cultures?"

"Then there is the parliament elected from the commoners. They are supposed to advice us and report on our doings to the people -- you won't catch the Speaker to Segontium making any speeches in this building, thank goodness -- but in practise they just suggest more and more brand new laws to do the same old things, and get terribly upset when everyone ignores them.

"We imagine your president finds his life a good deal quieter in that regard."

<<BAAAAASSSST!>>

"You summoned me, O Witch Queen, and I am here," the Cat intoned jokingly, ducking the predictable swipe. "What's with the telepathy? You figure you can get away with anything, now you're President?"

"I figure they can't do anything worse to me. Anyway, you're my Feline Advisor, right? So, advise." She thrust the crumpled note at him.

Bast sighed. "You know you'll drop dead of curiosity if you don't, so why not find out what it's all about?"

"Yes, but -- Cluichstan!"

"What's he gonna do, whisk you off to the Death Star? C'mon, Dice, he couldn't have been much more obvious. Sending that god-awful Tarquin over, waving at you as if you're both demented, he can't be up to anything dodgy. What've you got to lose?"

"My reputation, my credibility, my --"

Meaningful feline silence.

"Oh, very well. But remember, you talked me into it!"

"I endeavour to give satisfaction."

As Dicey reached the Sheik's table, Neville, arriving at the same time, politely pulled her chair out for her and presented her with a strange implement: a bowl-shape at the end of a very long handle. Dicey queried him with a raised eyebrow.

"He who sups with the devil must use a long spoon," said the BarLord sententiously, making himself scarce.

The Spook of the CWG Office of Security walked into the bar. No one noticed, of course, but that's the price one pays for being invisible. He didn't need to hide, really. He was just so used to it. Avoiding the giant cat, he approached the bar and sat down and turned off his cloak, to the apparent surprise of the bartender. "Whiskey," he said in a low, surprisingly smooth voice. Sigh... The only reason he was here was that Commonwealth had an interest in the current bio-warfare repeal vote. Or, at least, that's what his Beta had told him. Of course, the Beta of OoS did things even the Alpha didn't know about. The current resolution didn't really affect the Commonwealth, and while the humanitarian in him would like to see a replacement, both the scientist and the soldier in him didn't. He got the feeling he'd be here for a while. Sigh again.

She'd known he was here the instant he came in, of course. She didn't need her witchy powers for that. She'd sneaked a look while she was talking to the other young women, and he looked so ... mysterious. Ascetic. Monk-like. Hang on, she didn't want him looking too monk-like. Well, angels were sometimes hooded, too, weren't they? (OOC: Thanks, Seabear70.)IC:

Her train of thought derailed. Not even the besotted Avaya could bring herself to think Sammy Faisano angelic. Nonetheless, she watched him carefully in the bar mirror and was sure she could see the pom-pom of the hat she'd knitted him sticking out of one of his pockets. Maybe not an angel, then, but definitely a pussycat.

Speaking of Cats, there was one tickling her mind right now. <<Pounce!>> Bast urged telepathically -- highly illegal, of course, but she appreciated the encouragement. It just showed, though, mixing so long with a criminal like Dicey was undermining Bast's moral standards, too. Nevertheless, his advice was good; she would pounce.

In a minute. When it was polite. When that other delegate went away. When Dicey got more involved with that terrifying Sheik. When she, Avaya, could think of something to say. "Hello Mr Faisano would you like to tutor me as privately as possible ..." -- no, not that. "Hello Sammy I wondered if you could explain this paragraph in this book that I just happen to be carrying with me everywhere I go in case I meet you ..." -- nope.

Dammit! I am Woman, Avaya told herself. I am lithe, powerful, tireless. I am the Huntress. I will pursue him to the End of Days, sink my sharp white teeth into ...

Neville was rather surprised to see the meek little Ardchoillean intern push her veil aside, bite a bread-roll savagely in two and stride (as much as one can when burdened by several layers of purest linen) towards the table where the Kennyite and the Gobbannean dallied in masculine converse.

"So there you are, Mr Faisano," she said breezily -- in fact, cyclonically, or even typhoonically. Turning to the Gobbannean, she continued, "I do hope you'll excuse the interruption, m'lord,(and, she added privately, damn your ridiculous hereditary titles, you aristocratic leech!) but I just wanted to check with my tutor, here, the exact time of our study session tomorrow in the UN Library. Was it 10.30 or 11.30, sir?"

There, that wasn't so bad, she congratulated herself. Nobody would ever suspect that that was anything but an innocuous little timetable enquiry.

Hello, all.

I'm Cornelius Higginbotham, the Representative for New Archadia.

We've recently joined the UN, and I thought I might drop by for a quick pint before reporting back to HRH Victoria Archadium III.

So, what are we all up to? And how does one get a beer here?

- Prof. C. Higginbotham, Rep. New Archadia.

"One asks the bartender." Christelle Zyryanov (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Christelle_Zyryanov) walked into the Bar, accompanied by a four year-old boy who looked around with wide-eyed fascination. "He's quite a nice bloke, Neville is. I hear he doesn't even defenestrate people." She smiled at Higginbotham, and held out her hand. "Christelle Zyryanov. Welcome to the United Nations. If it's your first drink here, it's on me."

Sheik Nadnerb bin Cluich rose to his feet as Dicey Reilly took the seat opposite him, then seated himself again. "Ah, Ms. Reilly, it is indeed a pleasure," he said cheerfully. "Here, have some whiskey, my dear."

"I see Tarquin delivered my note," he continued, now in a hushed tone, as he poured some whiskey into the glass in front of Dicey. "I am aware you have certain...abilities -- abilities that I was hoping you might consider using in order to do me a little favour..."

Dicey said nothing and waited for the sheik to go on.

"I do not know the extent of your abilities, but I was hoping you might be able to..."

The sheik cleared his throat and lowered his voice even more, almost to a whisper. "Raise and bind a spirit for me."

The sheik cleared his throat and lowered his voice even more, almost to a whisper. "Raise and bind a spirit for me."


OOC: Surely not the return of Larebil bin Cluich (http://img112.imageshack.us/img112/4951/wvlarebilghostjd6.png)? :eek:

OOC: Surely not the return of Larebil bin Cluich (http://img112.imageshack.us/img112/4951/wvlarebilghostjd6.png)? :eek:


OOC: No comment. http://209.85.48.8/9854/48/emo/Ninja-Invisible.gif

"So there you are, Mr Faisano," she said breezily -- in fact, cyclonically, or even typhoonically. Turning to the Gobbannean, she continued, "I do hope you'll excuse the interruption, m'lord,(and, she added privately, damn your ridiculous hereditary titles, you aristocratic leech!) but I just wanted to check with my tutor, here, the exact time of our study session tomorrow in the UN Library. Was it 10.30 or 11.30, sir?"

There, that wasn't so bad, she congratulated herself. Nobody would ever suspect that that was anything but an innocuous little timetable enquiry."Umm, er, Avaya! Hi!" Sammy stammered, finding with the girl's so-sudden appearance that much of the control he had maintained through his conversation with the royal was lost. He laughed nervously as his face flushed the brightest red. Desperately he tried to regain his composure by resorting to formality: "Your Highness," he addressed his new friend. "I'd like to introduce my b--" (horrified, Sammy almost heard the word his staffers along with Ace and Rico had been using to describe her escape his lips) "--I mean my girl-- my, ahh, girlfr-- my friend. My friend, Avaya Thibaudet." The odd string of stutters had finally taken him to the correct introduction, though as usual he mangled the last name. "She's an intern with the Ardchoillean delegation, and I guess, thanks to Cdr. Chiang, my--" (what was the word for someone being tutored? tutee? student? pupil?) "--well, she's asked for me to school her in political science, which is an odd coincidence, because--"

He turned to the girl, his eyes dancing amongst an apprehensive gaze. "Avaya, this is Prince Rhodri of Gobbannium, and as luck would have it, we were just discussing the subject that interests you! We were talking about--" how the prince had just implied that President Fernanda was a dictator "--the political differences between our two nations, and how even though we are both democracies--" he was sure to emphasize that last word, not only for the prince's benefit, but also for Avaya's, since she had given a recent speech (http://z6.invisionfree.com/UN_Old_Guard/index.php?showtopic=1350&view=findpost&p=9521522) implying that his employers were heartless autocrats "--we still find ways to maintain tradition in our nations. For instance, in Gobbannium, the prince was just telling me that even though there is still a royal family, you have to be elected to have any power. Just like you have to be a hardened criminal to have any power in your nation!" He gave her a wink, hoping she'd take that last line as tongue-in-cheek, rather than insulting.

"While in the Federal Republic, there may be a common misperception that we are a police state of sorts, but we are actually a democratic republic, with an elected president, vice president and bicameral Congress, and a Constitution protecting the rights of our citizens. It's really only our foreign policy that many of the more lefty nations find distasteful. And the only 'quiet' our leader finds is in his endless 'leisure' time, and in delegating most of his real duties to the secretary of state. Really, he doesn't care for politics all that much; it was mostly the women-- er, the power, that lured him into public service."

Sammy realized his efforts to correct false impressions of his homeland were turning into a lecture, but meh; Avaya did want to learn more about political science, didn't she? A little civics lesson never hurt anyone. For Rhodri's sake, however, he decided to drop the part about American football not being a joke.

For a moment he'd totally forgotten the purpose of Avaya's visit. "Oh, sorry," he told her. "10:30 is better for me, then we can catch some lunch afterward. Umm, if you want."

Hello, all.

I'm Cornelius Higginbotham, the Representative for New Archadia.

We've recently joined the UN, and I thought I might drop by for a quick pint before reporting back to HRH Victoria Archadium III.

Marco Ignatius and Maria Chuffingley-Chuffingley rose simultaneously as the newcomer entered the bar. Ignatius looked over Cornelius Higginbotham with his usual military scrutiny, his swagger stick lodged firmly under his arm. Eventually, his face softened and it seemed that the new delegate met with his approval.

"Colonel Marco Ignatius, Ambassador for the People's Republic of Leninia-Trotskya," he said, striding over to the delegate in question and extending his hand. "And this is my beautiful assistant, Major General Maria Chuffingley-Chuffingley. Welcome! you find us enjoying a respite from the usual boisterousness of the bar."

"Allow me to buy you a drink! You can't visit the bar and have just one!" Ignatius continued, ushering Higginbotham towards the bar. "It's all paid for by the state, you know."

"Allow me to buy you a drink! You can't visit the bar and have just one!" Ignatius continued, ushering Higginbotham towards the bar. "It's all paid for by the state, you know."

Christelle coughed lightly.

"I've already offered the ambassador a drink (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12398458&postcount=5507), comrade."

It is a pleasure to meet you all.

Ms. Zyryanov, enchante. Thankyou for your kind offer of a drink, and I will take you up on that, on the condition that I be allowed to purchase your next drink.

Col. Ignatios, Maj. Gen. Chuffingley-Chuffingley, it is a pleasure. I, of course, relish the opportunity to have a quiet drink with you ...

... but seeing as Ms. Zyryanov asked first, we shall have to postpone for ten minutes or so.

*Takes Ms. Zyryanov's arm, and escorts her through the crowded bar to the barkeep*

Ms. Zyryanov, enchante. Thankyou for your kind offer of a drink, and I will take you up on that, on the condition that I be allowed to purchase your next drink.

"Enchantée moi aussi." Christelle smiled. "And that's fine by me. Thank you."


*Takes Ms. Zyryanov's arm, and escorts her through the crowded bar to the barkeep*

She smiled again at his gentlemanly behaviour, and took a seat by the bar, lifting her son up onto her knees.

"Neville, Ambassador Higginbotham's drink is on me." She looked at the newcomer. "What would you like, Ambassador? Neville has almost anything you can imagine... and some things you'd never have thought of."

Admiral Rusty Shackleford (http://i46.photobucket.com/albums/f105/juhanikivisto/Rusty.jpg) had taken the time to put on a clean shirt and jacket before coming to the Stranger's Bar. Having never been here before, he wasn't sure what to expect. He surveyed the room, the wide variety of amenities and comforts that it offered from the standard dart boards and pool tables to what appeared to be some sort of mystic or spiritualist. Interesting. He could pick out a few recognizable faces, Faisano, Zyryanov, that new bloke from New Archadia, Nadnerb, Dicey (to whom he owed thanks for making him aware that this bar even existed.

He sidles up to the bar and waits patiently for the 'tender. When he is asked what he would care for, he replies:

"I would absolutely love a single malt, around 10 years old, neat, in a cheap glass, smudged with something unidentifiable if you've got it. Oh, and maybe a broom for later. Thank you kindly."

He finds himself a stool at the bar and turns to simply watch the room and enjoy the scenery while he lets his scotch warm up to body temperature in his hand.

With the bar filling up, no one noticed the entrance of another indvidual.

Dressed in a red military outfit with close-cropped black hair, several glowing instruments were strapped to his belt. Looking around briefly, he spotted Christelle Zyryanov and made his way over.

"I don't mean to interrupt, Ms. Zyryanov, but I need to speak with you oabout an urgent subject... something to do with Mr. Umdiroplach."

After meandering up to the bar with the utterly delightful Ms. Zyryanov, a kindly looking man asked him what he wanted to drink.

"Neville, could you please get me a pint of beer that's so cold that it'll give my tongue frostbite?" the man requested.
"On its way."

Once he had settled down with his drink, he saw someone inconspicuously make his way over to his charming companion, and ask for a moment with her.

"I have no objection to your interruption, old chap - I'll head over and resume my conversation with the dear Colonel, and his stunning example of the Modern Major General" he acceded graciously.

He wound his way to the back of the room, where he greeted the delegation from Lenina-Trotskya with a broad grin, his beer slowly freezing his fingers.

"It was nice to meet you," Christelle told Higginbotham with a quick smile, before turning to the newcomer from Allech-Atreus. "Has something happened?" she asked, concerned, remembering Umdiroplach's situation.

She lifted little Michael up off her lap and sat him on the bar.
"Neville will look after you, for just a moment," she told her son, and kissed him. "Mommy'll be right back. Be good. Neville, can you get him apricot juice? Fresh? Thanks."

She stood, and followed the officer from Allech-Atreus, a worried expression on her face.

"I do not know the extent of your abilities, but I was hoping you might be able to..."

The sheik cleared his throat and lowered his voice even more, almost to a whisper. "Raise and bind a spirit for me."

"First up, I don't walk on the Dark Side," said Dicey firmly. "Second up, I can't see why Ardchoille should be doing Cluchstan any favours -- or why I should be doing you any, either."

That should have ended the conversation, really. But Dicey made no move to go. She sipped thoughtfully at the whisky. He had been considerate enough to select the '86 ...

"However, third up, I haven't had a real professional challenge in quite a long time." (She wasn't going to count morphing into a Wabbit.)

Eyes alight, she dragged a used envelope and a purple highlighter out of her robes.

"The thing is, you've got your basic equation here," she explained, scribbling. "Now, if it's gone here (purple arrow up) I'm out; I'm not tangling with Her. And if it's here, (purple arrow down) forget it; I leave Them strictly alone. Or, if it's reincarnated already (purple dotted line), you'd be better off with a decent Assassin; I know someone in Ankh-Morpork ...? No? Ah, no, well, of course you wouldn't need ..." She wrenched the conversation away from that line of thought.

Carefully, she drew a wiggly purple circle. "But if it's here -- bound by something like anger or passion, or the need to fulfil a promise, say, or right a wrong or complete a task -- then I think I can help you out. If it's human, of course. Animals --" she wiggled her hand side to side "-- cosi-cosi. Devas, tree-spirits, firedrakes, loci, yeah, I'm good. Though it's more a matter of persuasion than binding, as such ..."

She fell into one of those technician-at-play abstractions common to every breed of geek. Wisely, the Sheik said nothing, letting her lure herself with the thought of something really, really difficult -- a bit of the old cross-dimensional with a nice time paradox thrown in, perhaps.

Finally, though, intelligence returned to her eyes and she looked straight at him. "You're going to have to give me the details, you know. All five who-when-where-what-whys, plus the How. Don't worry, I'll keep shtum. So, give, and let's see what we've got to work with."

She lifted little Michael up off her lap and sat him on the bar.
"Neville will look after you, for just a moment," she told her son, and kissed him. "Mommy'll be right back. Be good. Neville, can you get him apricot juice? Fresh? Thanks."

"Uhhh ... you like pussycats? You wanna play with the nice pussycat?"

Neville looked pitifully at Bast. "You've had kids, you take him!" he begged.

"Kids love dogs," Bast assured him. "Hand him over to Wolfgang there. Maybe he'll let him blow his head off."

Michael perked up, and swung his legs as he sat on the edge of the bar, looking at them.

"Dog?" he asked hopefully. "Who's Wolfgang? Is he a dog?"

"Well, my dear Ms. Reilly, first of all, I wouldn't necessarily call this 'dark' -- a bit dogy perhaps, but there is no evil intent here on my part, I assure you that," the sheik said, a mischeivous smile playing on his thin lips. "And I'm not asking for your services on behalf of my government. This would be a personal favour to me alone.

"As to why you should do me a favour," he continued, "well, let's face it, we're both politicians here. Trading favours is part of the job description. Someday perhaps I'll be in a position to return the favour. I don't suppose you'd be interested in some free CPESL services, would you?"

Dicey glared icily over her glass at the sheik.

"No, didn't think so," Nadnerb said, "but I had to try."

The sheik let out a long breath and went on. "Now...details, yes. Well, as I'm not skilled at all in this area, I really don't understand all this diagramming you've done, but I can tell you whose spirit I'd like raised and where I'd like it bound."

Pulling a pen from his robes, Sheik Nadnerb grabbed another cocktail napkin and scrawled a few words on it, then pushed it across the table to Dicey. The impish grin had returned to his face.

[Check your TGs, Ardchoille, for what's written on the napkin. ;) ]

Down the bar, Wolfgang's ears perked up at the mention of his name. "Hmm? Oh." He had his computer play back a bit of what was going on, then instructed it to call his "nephew." After a brief, quiet exchange, a Guardian elevator-style Doorway opened up in the middle of the bar and a Guardian kid stepped out. He was wearing a suit almost identical to that of his "uncle," and seemed to act older than his appearance would dictate.

The pup walked over to the boy. "Hi! I'm Kyle!" he proclaimed, wagging his tail.

(OOC: There, not just a dog, but a kid Michael's age, too. Damn, I'm good, lol.)

Michael blinked, and gazed at the child in surprise... then smiled.

"Hi!" he said cheerfully. "Mommy's off talking to a grown-up. Want to play?" He looked at Neville. "Help me down off here please, Mr. Neville?"

Walking with the ambassador, the man didn't smile.

"I wouldn't know, he's living in your country. But that is the thing... we need him back. We could just go in ourselves and take him without dealing with the Ariddian government, but the Emperor wants to do it with more diplomatic consideration."

"Well, I'd hope so," Christelle said, mildly. "We wouldn't take too kindly to anyone abducting people from our territory. But Mr. Umdiroplach is free to remain in Ariddia as long as he wants, and to leave whenever he wants." She paused. "Is it safe for him to leave?"

Kyle, having helped Michael down from the bar, asks, "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know," Christelle's son said. "I've never been here before." He looked round the bar, then at Kyle again, curiously. "Why have you got a tail?" he asked, intrigued. "I haven't."

Kyle giggled. "Because I'm a Guardian, and that's how we're designed. You're not." He giggled again. "I've never been here, either. Want to explore a bit?"

"OK!" Michael said enthusiastically, and began to walk towards the back of the room, avoiding the tall legs of the grown-ups. His curiosity not yet satisfied, he added: "What's a Guardian?"

Kyle, curious about all this curiosity and not sure as to what the question meant, followed, simply saying, "I'm a Guardian."

"Yes, but I've never seen anyone with a tail before," Michael insisted. "So how come you've got a tail?" He reached a corner of the room near the fireplace, where a man and a woman were talking (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12401650&postcount=5523). He looked up at them, and gave them a disarming smile. "Hello!" he said, then added proudly: "I've found a friend with a tail!"

"I guess it's just how we're designed." Following Michael to the table, he followed suit, showing the adults a big, fanged grin. "Hi! I'm Kyle!" He chirped, wagging his apparently mysterious tail again.

After observing the crowd for a while and seeing that whatever would normally not be considered normal is what passed for normal in this normal seeming yet so very abnormal bar. Rusty liked it, and felt more confident with being a little more relaxed.

"Neville, if you and Bast would not mind," nodding to the gorgeous little cat that could apparently speak, "I'd like to go sing by the fire. That shouldn't be a problem, I'm sure, but I was wondering if there was anyone here you might suggest for some form of musical accompaniment. If not, I'll be forced to sing all alone, and it would look ever so depressing, seeing an old man sing into his whiskey all by his lonesome."

Sheik Nadnerb bin Cluich glanced at Michael and rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Why the bloody hell do they let kids in here?"

He then returned to his discussion with Ms. Reilly, waiting to see what she would have to say about what he'd written on the coacktail napkin.

"Well, I'd hope so," Christelle said, mildly. "We wouldn't take too kindly to anyone abducting people from our territory. But Mr. Umdiroplach is free to remain in Ariddia as long as he wants, and to leave whenever he wants." She paused. "Is it safe for him to leave?"

The officer, whose name happened to be Serim, smirked grimly.

"Of course you wouldn't."

He went on.

"As safe as it can be. The Emperor himself is requesting his return- the Emperor's order means that he has the utmost protection. I don't mind letting you know what this is all about, either- it has much to do with his role in the wars. The Grand Duke is causing some political trouble for the Imperial government, and Pazirbashan is going to help his Emperor. You understand- it's all politics."

Christelle sighed.

"My government's main concern - and mine, for that matter - is Mr. Umdiroplach's safety and well-being. If you can guaranteee that... Well, in any case, it's not up to me. I can transmit your message to my government. And they'll say, of course, that Mr. Umdiroplach is free to do as he pleases. With our best wishes."

Kyle's ears flattened against his head a bit at the man's words, but he kept smiling. Turning to Michael, he asked, "Who should we bug next?"

Rhodri would have liked to have claimed that he had a true hunter's instincts for being hunted. He didn't, but he'd have liked to have claimed it. What he did have was years of experience growing up in the same palace as female royal cousins a few years his senior. All those instincts were screaming at him to get the hell out of the way of Miss Thibaudet while she was so set on cornering Sammy. Of course, that would hardly be the act of a friend, and while Rhodri wasn't entirely sure that the blunt but prickly Sammy counted as such yet, he didn't want to preclude the possibility. Besides, he still owed Sammy a beer.

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Thibaudet." Perhaps he could distract her for long enough for Sammy to make his escape. Unlikely, given the way her eyes were still locked upon Sammy, but he could give it a shot. Flailing for something to say, Rhodri latched onto possibly the worst choice he could have made given the UN's rumour-mill. "Actually, we were wondering if we might impose upon you for a few moments of your time. We, uh, well without wishing to seem too forward, we found ourself wondering if she has any particular, um, associations?"

Christelle sighed.

"My government's main concern - and mine, for that matter - is Mr. Umdiroplach's safety and well-being. If you can guaranteee that... Well, in any case, it's not up to me. I can transmit your message to my government. And they'll say, of course, that Mr. Umdiroplach is free to do as he pleases. With our best wishes."

Serim nodded, the same smirk on his face.

"Of course. I'll allow your government to make the necessary arrangements, and we'll make the transfer here. Thank you for your time."

He smiled, nodded his head, and turned to leave.

"Neville, if you and Bast would not mind," nodding to the gorgeous little cat that could apparently speak, "I'd like to go sing by the fire."

"Uh, I wouldn't go sing by that fire, if I were you, your, er, Admiralship," said Brother Tim of Findhorn, who had come inside still glowing after a joyful welcome from his new goat, Priscilla, in the Bar's back courtyard. "Not unless you can do a pretty convincing imitation of a kettle. Those two may look merely decorative, but she's a rather high-powered witch, and he's, um, a rather high-tempered Sheik."

"Decapitated an unsatisfactory member of his own delegation right in the middle of the GA last year," confirmed Neville. "You should have seen the bill the Building Management sent him. By the way, Admiral Shackleford, let me introduce you to the witch's chief advisor, Bast."

The gorgeous little cat rose, advanced delicately towards the Admiral's smeared, cheap glass, took a disdainful sniff and, hopping down from the bar, transformed itself into its usual form, a muscular, scarred black-and-white tomCat of considerably more than human height and weight.

"And let me introduce the Admiral to some Ardchoillean magic -- in a bottle," the Cat said, smiling down on the Admiral. "Neville, has the Sheik left any of the '86? We don't do a bad whisky, if I do say so myself -- Damn kids!" he added, though without any real heat, as he whisked his own tail out of the way of the venturesome Kyle.

He then returned to his discussion with Ms. Reilly, waiting to see what she would have to say about what he'd written on the coacktail napkin.

Dicey didn't say anything. Her eyes widened, then narrowed; then she smiled
with painful sweetness at the Sheik.

"I could, technically, do it; but I can't, ethically," she said primly. "I am a witch, after all, even if a not very observant one, and the Rule says: Do No Harm. However ..." she said hastily, noting that the Sheik seemed about to conclude the conversation, "I could do half of this without any problem. Then it'd be up to you to achieve the other half -- by persuasion."

She sat back happily, pouring them both a generous slug.

"It's practically my duty to raise a disturbed spirit," she explained. "So it can be sent on to where it's supposed to be. And if this spirit is disturbed, all I'll need to reach it is something with some of the relevant DNA on it."

A quirk of the Sheik's eyebrow conveyed a question -- to Dicey's mind, anyway.

"Detritus of Normal Activities," she clarified. "Magic has progressed a little since the days of John Dee, you know. So, anything the ... uh, departed ... used in everyday activities, or felt very strongly about -- you get the picture, surely? Then I contact the spirit to find out if there is anything holding it here. Like, say, if someone were to off Christelle Zyryanov, which Goddess forbid, of course, but, well, she'd be a very sweet, lovable spirit, with a deep commitment to human rights and international harmony and a very forgiving attitude. So of course I'd just have to show her the way to go home, and that'll be it, she wouldn't stick around. And if this spirit --" (she waved the cocktail napkin) " --was actually like that deep down inside, well, Sheik, you're outta luck."

She paused to see if her digression had planted any barbs in the Sheik's conscience. Finding no evidence of such -- after all, what did she expect? -- she carried on: "But if there's anything the spirit feels must be done before it leaves the 'physical plane' -- I'm sorry, I do have to use these bits of professional jargon -- then it will go anywhere and do anything to achieve it. Which is where you come in. You'll have to convince the spirit that doing what you want it to do will help it reach its goals."

She smiled sunnily."See, if I magically bound it to do that, it would be restricting someone's civil liberties, wouldn't it? And you can't expect an Ardchoillean to do that sort of thing."

There was always the chance, she considered, that if she trowelled on the prissiness hard enough the Sheik might become so impatient he'd call off the whole idea.

"Oh, sorry," he told her. "10:30 is better for me, then we can catch some lunch afterward. Umm, if you want."

"Lunch would be wonderful," agreed Avaya, her eyes, if Sammy had only been able to see them, shining like stars. She could have stood there for hours just gazing admiringly at him, if the aristo from Gobbannium had not interrupted.

" ... We, uh, well without wishing to seem too forward, we found ourself wondering if she has any particular, um, associations?"

"Who, Dicey?" asked Avaya, puzzled. "She's a member of AA, of course -- that's the Ardchoilleannes Association. They're a very worthy bumch, they try to promote male equality in our society."

The expression on the Prince's face told her this was possibly not what he meant. "I'm afraid I can't comment on her personal life, if that's what you were after."

Wrong again. It was fortunate these Gobbanneans had such mobile, expressive features. "Political, then? With the Sheik? Oh, really, no, I mean, re-al-ly -- he's from Gatesville!"

She had been so open with the Prince, she felt she had a right to ask him a question in turn. It was one she had always wondered about aristocrats, but she had so seldom met one. Now here was a prime example, and ripe for the inquisition.

"I do want you to understand, we're very tolerant in Ardchoille, and your answer won't make a scrap of difference, of course, but -- well, you are a Prince ... what was it your ancestor did? That was so bad, I mean, that he had to get made into a Prince? It must have been something really heavy, to have it be handed down to his descendants, too. Genocide, perhaps?"

Two pairs of male eyes fixed on her in incomprehension forced Avaya to explain. "Well, I mean, take Michael Grandison, a while back. He wasn't really involved in Dicey's row with the Oldest Coven, just peripherally, and yet they slapped a Knighthood on him, and he was a first-time offender. And they were being lenient, too, because he was an ex-Kennyite and didn't know what he was getting into.

"So, you know, to get made a Prince ... I'll understand if you don't want to talk about it," she added hurriedly, though in fact she was, by now, consumed by curiosity. "After all, you're obviously leading a life of probity yourself, and you shouldn't be blamed for what one of your forefathers did, but ... well ..."

She trailed off, hoping the stranger would be willing to answer properly. She was becoming very interested in the criminal classes, probably as a result of her UN experiences.

EDIT: Sorry about the storm of posts, I'm trying to get some loose ends tied up before my next computer-related disaster hits.

"And let me introduce the Admiral to some Ardchoillean magic -- in a bottle," the Cat said, smiling down on the Admiral. "Neville, has the Sheik left any of the '86? We don't do a bad whisky, if I do say so myself -- Damn kids!" he added, though without any real heat, as he whisked his own tail out of the way of the venturesome Kyle.

Rusty quickly made a quick nod/salute of his head to Bast

"Will wonders never cease? I daresay I have never met quite the likes of you before, and I've seen quite a bit in my day. Whiskey, you say? I could definitely be persuaded to try some. Especially if it warms up these old bones a little.

"I'm familiar with the Sheik already; if he's conversing with a witch on any matter of import, it's probably best to leave them alone. That's unfortunate. That fire would be a welcome change from all the electric heating that I get in the city. Remind me of home, so to speak. Ah well.....Rusty's eyes glaze over for a moment, as though he's not really there in mind I'll just wait until they're done. Don't want to be rude, after all."

Rusty gives Bast a little wink and smile at that last comment

"I don't rightly know if it's completely out of line to ask, but....uhh....could I give you a scratch behind the ears? I won't take it personally if you say no, but it's something I always like to do when I meet a new friend as furry as you are. You're the first one that could actually answer me when I ask, is all."

Velma (http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f235/HoratioSulla/sm_Turasatana.jpg) walked into the bar and looked around at the various clientel in various stages of sobriety and sighed,
"Looks like its feeding time at the petting zoo. At least working in Minsky's Burlesque Hall in The 'Burgh gave me some training on dealing with the situation."

She then noticed her boss, Sen. Sulla walking away from the Golden Tee(TM) machine and moving to his table. She started to make her way there, but stopped at one table and hit a patron with a wicked looking right cross to the jaw.

"Watch where you put the hands Buster! Touching the goods ain't free!", she snarled.

Arriving at the good senator's table she took a seat and pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes. Sen Sulla lit her cigarette for her and said smiling,

"Velma, my dear, you certianly know how to make an entrance."

"How much have you drunk so far you reprobate?", asked Varla.

"I've had three or four.",replied Sen. Sulla with some dignity.

Velma stopped one of the barmaids and sweetly said,
"Dear, could you bring me 4 Wild Turkeys on the rocks. I need to catch up with the Senator."

The Wolf Guardians;12404256']Kyle's ears flattened against his head a bit at the man's words, but he kept smiling. Turning to Michael, he asked, "Who should we bug next?"

Michael looked around, shifting his feet, then grinned and pointed.

"Them (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12399291&postcount=5511)?" he suggested. They looked friendly.

Kyle grinned back. "Ok." He started off towards the strangers.

Michael smiled, and set off towards the table on his little legs. He reached Avaya, Faisano and company, waited for Kyle to have joined him, then grinned at the grown-ups.

"Hello! What are you doing?" he asked curiously.

Elanara (http://i54.photobucket.com/albums/g93/JamieNesci/airelemental.jpg) sat in her corner of the bar watching the people around her socialize. They seemed to be having a good time, so much so, that they didn't notice her pop into existance. She stood and walked over to the bar. "I'd like a cup of tea please." Once given her order, she returned to her seat. For the moment, her only goal was to observe the people who frequented this place.

Taking out a notepad, she began writing things down. Descriptions of the people and other interesting indivduals she saw around her. One in particular caught her eye. He was a wolf, but he stood upright and walked on two feet. "Interesting," she thought. "I'd like to study him."

"I've already offered the ambassador a drink (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12398458&postcount=5507), comrade."

"Of course madame, no offense intended," smiled Col. Ignatius, bowing his head slightly, "Still, no harm in ensuring the new fellow's glass shall never run dry here in the strangers' bar, eh? ;) "


Maria Chuffingley-Chuffingley blushed slighty at Higginbotham's gentlemanly comment and extended her hand.

"Mr. Ambassador is too charming! Please, do be seated, and tell us about your homeland."

"So, my friend," Ignatius continued, "I assume that your nation is new to the UN. What is the nature of your work here?"

As genuinely interested as Ignatius was, he hoped that it did not sound otherwise to the New Archadian delegate. He was not a natural conversationalist.

The Wolf Guardians;12404256']Kyle's ears flattened against his head a bit at the man's words, but he kept smiling. Turning to Michael, he asked, "Who should we bug next?"Michael looked around, shifting his feet, then grinned and pointed.

Those other people who were near to this conversation might have heard a few wabbitish chuckles in response to it.

Invisible Wabbits;12409135']Those other people who were near to this conversation might have heard a few wabbitish chuckles in response to it.

The grand high Mother in Law of Bahgum merely scowled, always best to get in some practice she thought, then scowled again....

Rhodri was somewhat taken aback by Avaya's question. "We must confess that while we have often complained of nobility being something of a trial, we have never actually considered it a punishment before. We fear your familiarity with your nation's system of advancement may be colouring your perceptions of others, ma'am. Our ancestors came to positions of power by a variety of routes, including in one case being the sole survivor at an inconvenient moment. How those original rulers were elevated to Princehood is, I regret, more a matter of mythology than history, for no doubt entirely deliberate reasons on their part.

"On the other hand, there is something to be said for your point of view. It is very often the case, wouldn't you say, that in nations that have not achieved the enlightenment of democracy, rulers take their places very often by means of warfare or deceit. That would make to some extent... oh, hello?"

Fortunately for the sanity of all involved, Rhodri's vague intention to dissect historical political systems was interrupted by the arrival of two young children. One of them may have been sporting a tail, but Rhodri had been in the UN long enough not to be bothered by that any more. More to the point, being nice to children was something drilled into Gobbannaen royalty pratically before they left their nurseries. He could do it in his sleep, and occasionally had when insufficient coffee had been available.

"What are we doing? We're talking about how different countries do things differently, which is rather boring now we come to think about it. Our name's Rhodri, how do you do?"

"I do well. Thank you." Michael smiled up at the nice man. "I'm Michael. This is Wolfgang. Are you both called Rhodri, then?"

OOC: Wolfgang? Kyle. Wolfgang's the adult wolf at the bar, now, lol.

IC: KYLE raised a clawed hand towards the adults, as if to shake their hands. "Hi!"

"Bloody cilvil liberties," Sheik Nadnerb growled. "Always getting in my way."

He knocked back the glass of whiskey that Dicey had poured for him and leaned back in his chair, pensively stroking his chin.

Suddenly, he leaned forward, his dark eyes ablaze with inspiration.. "Very well! Half it is then," he said, his smirk returning. "If you can handle the first half, I think I know how I can accomplish the other bit."

He refilled his glass and smiled at Dicey. "Y'know," he said, an impish grin cracking his countenance, "you and I, despite our political differences, might make a good team, Ms. Reilly."

He then quaffed the whiskey from his glass and refilled it once more. Yes, everything might work according to plan after all...

He refilled his glass and smiled at Dicey. "Y'know," he said, an impish grin cracking his countenance, "you and I, despite our political differences, might make a good team, Ms. Reilly."

"I've been told before, I'm not a team player," Dicey said repressively. Nonetheless, she began to smile as she considered the task ahead. Grave and sombre though it was -- no witch moved into the Cailleach's role lightly -- there was a certain leeway for simple mischief. For example ...

"So, where should we actually do the deed?" she asked. "As far as I'm concerned, the more public, the better. I don't want the other social democrat nations to think Ardchoille's setting up some sort of secret deal with you lot. And, personally, I'd rather enjoy letting my political opponents at home see me flaunting my abilities. So ... here, front and center at the Bar? Bang in the middle of the General Assembly? Or we could call a press conference with that Ariddian broadcaster who's always interviewing national leaders. Whaddya reckon?"

"I do well. Thank you." Michael smiled up at the nice man. "I'm Michael. This is Wolfgang. Are you both called Rhodri, then?"

"He says "our" a lot because he's a Prince. It's what Princes do where he grew up," Avaya explained. "My name's Avaya."

Seeing the little boys -- well, boy and pup -- staring at her robes, she continued, "And I'm dressed up like this because it's what women do where I grew up. And his name is Sammy, and he's wearing a hoodie because he likes hoodies. We're all having a drink. Would you like something to drink, too? There's juice, and there must be milk, because there's a Cat over there."

She nodded to where Bast and the Kivistan were getting along famously. The great Cat had assumed a sort of Egyptian-tomb-cat pose, which brought his head about level with the seated Admiral's knee.

"Just stroke above the eyebrows first, if you don't mind," he was explaining. "Then scratch the ears, then you move slowly down, along the jawline, and finish up under the chin, that bit where the bone curves. See, it's mostly stroking, not scratching."

The Admiral was evidently a quick learner. The Cat sat blissfully upright, paws together, eyes shut, purring loudly and kneading his claws in and out of the Bar's newest carpet. (Carpet in the Bar suffered even more from stress than the clientele.)

"The things some people will do for a vote," said Neville, sotto voce.

"Kivisto wants Ardchoille's?"

"Ardchoille wants Kivisto's, I think. Or possibly not." Neville pretended a sublime indifference to his customers' machinations.

"It could be just innocent friendliness, you know."

"Friendliness isn't innocent at the UN."

"He says "our" a lot because he's a Prince. It's what Princes do where he grew up," Avaya explained. "My name's Avaya."

Seeing the little boys -- well, boy and pup -- staring at her robes, she continued, "And I'm dressed up like this because it's what women do where I grew up. And his name is Sammy, and he's wearing a hoodie because he likes hoodies. We're all having a drink. Would you like something to drink, too? There's juice, and there must be milk, because there's a Cat over there."


"Hello!" Michael said again. "You look as if you're all dressed up for a party," he added with a friendly smile. "Yes, please. Juice?"

"Is it possible to get milk with chocolate in it?" Kyle asked, apparently being very excited at the prospect.

Michael looked at him in slight surprise.

"Don't you mean chocolate with milk in it?" he asked, then thought about it, and turned to the nice lady Avaya again. "Could I have fruit juice with chocolate in it, please?" he asked hopefully.

Kyle looked perplexed. "You don't pour the milk first?" He raised an eyebrow at the thought of chocolate fruit juice. I'll have to try that sometime.

"No, you pour the chocolate first," Michael said, and giggled. Kyle was strange, in an interesting sort of way.

Kyle still seemed confused. But the volume of the milk surpasses that of the... eh, whatever. "Er... I'd like it either way." He was still practically bouncing at the thought.

Elanara was snapped out of her thoughts by her phone ringing. "Hello? Hi, Sammy. I'm fine. Oh really? What would that be? An Ambassador. It just so happens that one of them is here. Okay, will do. Talk to you later." she sighed. "I suppose it's better than sitting here all day doing nothing." she continued to eye the wolf.

"Ms. Telrune? This is for you." an unnamed man stood in front of her holding out a stack of papers. "Give this one to that wolf thing over there."

"Where the hell did you come from? Oh, never mind. Thanks." she grabbed the stack of papers and took a quick look through them. "Guess there's no time like the present." she stood and walked over to Wolfgang. She tapped him on the shoulder and held out the letter. "Hello. My name is Elanara Telrune and I am the person they sent as an ambassador from Karmicaria. This is for you." she smiled warmly at him.

"Oh. Pleased to meet you." Wolfgang accepted the item, simultaneously reaching his other hand out to shake the woman's. "I'm also the Beta of Foreign Affairs, so that makes things incredibly easy. Do you require anything for your stay in the Great Commonwealth? Do you require transport, et cetera?"

"Transportation would be nice, as well as a comfortable place to stay. But before we get into all the details, why don't you join me for a drink and tell me about you and your nation?"

"Ah, sure. When you're ready, I'll open you a doorway to the Foreign Affairs building, where head officer will see to your quarters and offices and the like." Wolfgang pressed a key, holographically making the barstool next to him look very comfortable. "What'll you have, on the Commonwealth? And what would you like to know?"

"Well, that's the thing. We don't have much information on the Commonwealth. Tell me everything and anything you can think of. I'm going to get some tea. Would you like some as well or will you be having something else?"

"I'll just work on my grape juice, here. As for the basics on what you should probably know..." He pulled out a small memory card (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/The_Wolf_Guardians) and handed it to her. "This is the basics on everything you should probably know. Any questions?"

"Thank you. I'm sure I'll have a few questions later on. Right now, I'd really like to get out of here and settled." she finished her tea and smiled at him. "Would you care to give me a tour of your nation?"

"Err... well, I can't exactly give you a tour of the NATION, as it's rather large. I could show you the Government Complex, though, I suppose. If there's time later, someone could show you around Origin City, too." Wolfgang touched a command on his computer, and a doorway opened up. Visible on the other side was an office lobby. "After you?"

Elanara looked through the "doorway". "Interesting. Nothing strange is going to happen to me if I go through?"

"No, it's perfectly safe. Kyle just came from his flat in the Commonwealth a little while ago through one of these." Wolfgang decided he'd lead the way. Looking back from the other side, he said, "See?"

Just as Elanara was about to step through the "doorway" her phone rang. "Hello? Really! That's awesome! Will do. Bye!" she looked a Wolfgang. "Come back through. We have some celebrating to do!" she turned to the rest of the customers and in the loudest voice she could muster she yelled out, "The repeal has passed! Drinks on Karmicaria for the rest of the day!"

Wolfgang hopped back through the doorway, which closed behind him, tail wagging all the way. "Congratulations!"

Sammy's face brightened at the sudden appearance of two small faces peering over the tabletop. He liked kids. (Kennyites are naturally good with children, since mentally they're ... yeah.)

"Hey guys!" he said happily. "What up? How 'bout I take you to the bar and we can make some of that chocolate milk?" He nodded toward Rhodri and Avaya as he rose from his chair, indicating he'd be back. They could even come with if they wanted; the prince did still owe him a beer.

His grin soured, however, as he turned to find yet another Karmicarian slut flirting with yet another strange man (or in this case, wolf-man) in the bar. The woman's nationality couldn't be any more apparent than if someone had taped a sign to her back reading "Karmicarian SLUT!!" to inform strangers of her progeny. In fact, that's exactly what Ace and Rico had done when no one was looking.

He watched in horror as Wolfgang opened a dimensional portal in order to take his new friend to tour his homeland, and the girl squeal with delight as she beheld the door that appeared out of nowhere. The gal's intentions with the handsome young interspecies delegate couldn't be more obvious than if someone were shouting out "SLUT!!" in her general direction at random intervals. In fact, that's exactly what Ace and Rico were doing, whilst hidden behind the Kawaiian shrine and wearing Captain Spaulding masks (http://www.inmagine.com/thumbnails/photodisc/pdgr020/pdgr020719.jpg) to remain inconspicuous.

The ambassador found himself wanting to rush over to his Guardian friend and warn him about the Karmicarians' less-than-admirable rep (for God's sake, their "ambassador" to OMGTKK kept her office in President Fernanda's bedroom!), but it wasn't exactly advantageous for him at the moment, not while he had youngsters in tow. Thankfully, the two decided against a more private conference as the most recent floor vote was announced, to celebratory, drunken cheers from the other bar patrons -- more at the prospect of free drinks than the bioweapons-ban repeal's success.

Sammy frowned. What the hell was Zyryanov thinking?! This was no place for children.

Michael followed the nice man Sammy happily, grinning at Kyle. It seemed they had found themselves a grown-up friend. And he was getting them drinks!

"Can I have a yellow straw?" he asked Sammy hopefully. "Yellow's my favourite colour." He paused. "I think..." he added, thoughtfully. "Green is nice too. And purple..."

"The repeal has passed! Drinks on Karmicaria for the rest of the day!"

Rhodri was out of his chair and a good six feet further away from the woman who had shouted that across the bar before he consciously thought about it. It was fortunate that the worst had in fact not come to the worst, given that he had utterly failed to warn Sammy, Avaya and the children before acting.

"Sorry about that," he said to Avaya, since the others were by now at the bar. "Some years ago I frequented an establishment run by an irksome Irishman who had an unfortunately literal response to declarations of that nature. For some reason, getting beer stains out of these robes is an immensely expensive operation."

He looked at where Sammy and the boys were attracting Neville's attention. "Shall we join them?"

"I know what you mean," sighed Avaya, gesturing at her own white robes. She'd expected that when she came to the UN she'd spend her spare time studying texts on international law and diplomacy; instead she'd become a devoted listener of "Out, Damned Spot!", a public radio phone-in program on household dilemmas.

Carefully -- very carefully, given the kids-'n'-juice combo -- she followed Prince Rhodri to the bar, where an argument was already in progress.

"If they're old enough to understand, they're old enough to see," Neville said dogmatically. "If they're too young to understand, it won't hurt 'em to see. So why bother chasing 'em outside?"

"I am not arguing this, Neville," said Violet. "I am simply telling you: Christelle will take us apart if she comes back and finds her kid watching an orgy. And it'll be you she starts on, because it was you she asked to look after him."

Into the sudden silence -- the "right you've won this one but your tactics were dead low" silence -- fell the voice of Brother Tim, offering to introduce the kids to Priscilla, who liked to give kids rides and, like all Findhorn goats, was pretty good at games such as Stingaree and Red Rover, Come Over. (Findhorn goats were usually good at anything involving aimless running and indiscriminate pain.)

Somebody remembered where there was an old tennis ball; somebody else thought they could find some frisbees; and a third somebody was drunk enough to challenge a fourth somebody to shoot hoops. The bar divided. Outside staggered an uproarious group intent on exercise. Inside stayed an equally uproarious group, equally intent on exercise.

It was one of those wonderful moments when all the noble ideals of the UN -- brotherhood, co-operative action, care for the next generation, education, health, freedom, eagerness to learn about the culture of others -- came together in one glorious moment of realisation.

At least, that was how Neville would try to explain it the next day, when sundry Mrs Grundy types inundated the Building Management with anguished complaints invariably ending in calls to "think of the children!"

Christelle stared as she returned to the bar, and quickly strode over, picking up her son in her arms and holding him close.

"Neville! What's going on here?!" She noticed Faisano, Avaya and the others, and gave them a polite nod before turning back to glare at the bartender. Michael giggled, and waved down at Kyle.

"What's going on here? Easier to say what isn't," answered Neville glumly, glaring at the giggling Michael. Dammit, he'd been sure the little brat had been swept outside with the healthy-mind-in-healthy-body lot playing in the courtyard. But he'd apparently stuck around, and now his mother was on the warpath, and Neville would sooner have faced a she-bear.

"Look, if the worst sight he ever sees in his life is a naked lady --" he blustered.

"Those aren't ladies," Violet said, enjoying herself. "Those are Karmicarians. I can't see any Kennyite Stripper Commandos right now, but they were celebrating in the General Assembly. We all saw them on the 'cams. They're very, ah, talented, aren't they?"

With any luck, the message that little comment conveyed to an outraged mother would be something along the lines of, Michael was watching when the GA went mad, too, and that's Neville's fault as well, Christelle!

"Well, she started it," said Neville cravenly, waving at the newcomer Elanara.

He knew as soon as he said it that it was the wrong thing to say. In his mind, a long line of ghostly teachers, bosses, scoutmasters, Sunday School helpers, relatives and parents, all the way back to feisty little Miss Phillips who taught Kindergarten at Toongabbie Primary, put their hands on their hips and glared at him. "I don't care what she/he/they did, Neville Notthatone Chamberlain ..." they all said.

"I don't care who started it!" Christelle fumed, predictably. "When I left him in your care, I expected you not to expose him to... this!" She would have swept her arm round the room for emphasis, barely knowing where to begin, had she not been holding Michael in those same arms. "I leave him with you just a few moments..."

"Mommy," Michael asked curiously, "why is the lady-"

"Not now, Michael!" She turned his head away gently, sighed, and glared at Neville again. "How much do I owe you for his fruit juice?" She paused. "Please tell me that was just fruit juice."

"Fruit juice and chocolate," sulked Neville, trying to send the brat a message: Don't throw it up! "And there's no charge, it was Sammy's treat."

He darted swift glances around the Bar. At least he couldn't see Kyle anywhere. So he wasn't going to have Uncle Wolfie yelling at him as well. Though, on second thoughts, wolves probably weren't shocked by anything humans did.

"He probably didn't notice anything, anyway," Neville suggested, trying to make peace. "He was too busy playing with Kyle, the little Wolf Guardian."

Domingo slowly opened the door allowing his eyes to leisurely pass over the room. Seeing the mess before him he let out a slow sigh, it had not been a good day and it did not seem like it would be improving anytime soon.

He gingerly picked his way to the bar doing his best to avoid the beer, vomit and delegates decorating the floor.

The bartender was vigorously polishing what was possibly the only clean spot on the counter in a less than subtle attempt to avoid the wrathfull gaze of the ariddian representative. Seeing the approach of moustached stranger he promptly seized the change to remove himself from the awkward predicament the merriment had placed him in...

"Afraid you've missed out on the free drinks sir but you'll find our drinks reasonable and our selection of beverages the most complete in the world"

He peered at the newcomer hopefully awaiting a response, the downcast eyes rose to meet his gaze briefly engaging in a tired but hard look of concetration.

"Do you stock Bar-stewardian whisky?"

A blank look crossed the bartenders face as he ran the inventory in his mind and drawing a blank realised why he hadn't recognised the man from previous visits.

"Erm I'm afraid not sir, but be assured we try to accquire the beverages of new UN states as promptly as possible and I'm sure we'll have it when you next visit, could I interest you in a fine borbon from Karmicaria?"

The man sighed.

"Bourgeoisistan single malt, do you have any?"

A grin split the bartender's face.

"But ofcourse sir I'll fetch a glass immediately"

As the bartender turned to his work Domingo raised his voice slightly.

"Two glasses, and bring the bottle"

He saw the barman acknowledge his request and turned his focus to the counter, letting his eyes focus on the myriad of stains whilst his mind wandered.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that news of the liberation hasn't reached this far yet, to them were just an amusing side show, the plucky little nation next door. A pet to some and a pest to others but largely ignored by most.

Depression creeped over him as his thoughts turned to the days events.

If only the damn plane hadn't been redirected I might have arrived in time to deliver the presidents official position on the matter and now it's too late to get them to amend that blasted climate refugee proposal

The bartender returned with a bottle and two glasses and seeing the dark look on the delegate's face deposited them quietly in front of him before snatching up a cloth and returning tho polishing the counter.

Domingo distractedly picked up the glasses in his right hand and the bottle in his other and made his way to a darkened booth in the corner. He knew he'd have his work cut out trying to get delegates from the major states to reconsider the motion and even more trouble trying to reppeal it if it became legislation but for the good of his people and his president he'd try the impossible.

Christelle looked at Neville suspiciously, then held Michael up and smiled at her son.

"Have you found a friend, then?" She turned to Faisano. "Thank you for... looking after him, Ambassador." It sounded strange, saying that to a Kennyite. "Michael, have you said thank you to the nice gentleman?"

"Thank you, Sammy!" Michael said enthusiastically, and hiccupped.

"I'm going to take him somewhere a little more... normal," Christelle said. "Michael, where's your friend Kyle? He can come with us and play with you, if his parents agree."

"I've been told before, I'm not a team player," Dicey said repressively. Nonetheless, she began to smile as she considered the task ahead. Grave and sombre though it was -- no witch moved into the Cailleach's role lightly -- there was a certain leeway for simple mischief. For example ...

"So, where should we actually do the deed?" she asked. "As far as I'm concerned, the more public, the better. I don't want the other social democrat nations to think Ardchoille's setting up some sort of secret deal with you lot. And, personally, I'd rather enjoy letting my political opponents at home see me flaunting my abilities. So ... here, front and center at the Bar? Bang in the middle of the General Assembly? Or we could call a press conference with that Ariddian broadcaster who's always interviewing national leaders. Whaddya reckon?"

The sheik's smirk didn't waver, not even at the "you lot" remark. "A press conference, eh? I rather like that idea," he said. "In fact, I wish I'd thought of it myself."

He pondered for a moment. "And yes, I'm rather keen on that Ariddian piece of...er, young lady, as well. I do believe that's the way to go. Shall I make the necessary arrangements for the press conference then, or would you prefer to handle that?"

Kyle had stealthily remained about, and, upon hearing his name, snuck up behind Christelle and tugged at her. "What are 'parents'?"

Christelle looked down at him, and smiled.

"Oh, hello! Are you Kyle?" Michael squirmed excitedy in her arms, seeming to answer her question. "A child's parents," she explained, "are... well, the people who... created you. Who are raising you, who love you. I'm Michael's mother, for example." She tilted her head, curious. "Haven't you got parents, Kyle?"

... Shall I make the necessary arrangements for the press conference then, or would you prefer to handle that?"

"No, you go ahead, I'm sure your people have plenty of experience with the media." (Experience, hell; they probably own half of it. But not the Ariddians.)

"I'll make quite sure our lot sends someone, too." (There's that kid who covered Avaya's 'press conference'. He seemed a bit interested in her. Maybe a nice young journalist could get her mind off Sammy Faisano.)
It won't be glowing coverage, I know that already. But I'll make sure we give 'em something to cover.

"About that ... it's actually a fairly unspectacular process, but I can do a bit of son et lumiere quite easily. What mood do you want to project -- menacing, thunderous, gloomy rolling clouds, flashes of lightning? Or I could do you a nice Higher Plane thing for the New Agers -- distant birdcalls, mysterious pan flute, all-encompassing diffused Light, the odd rainbow effect. Or the Scottish one: that's always good, the bagpipes come across a treat and the mist soaks everyone. Mucks up the mikes, though -- no, better hold that ..."

Though mental alarms howled every time she looked at the Sheik, Dicey had to admit, he was a joy to plan a PR campaign with. Pulling the bottle a little closer -- damn, they'd got through most of it -- and snapping pen and paper into existence, she settled down to deal with the nuts and bolts of the enterprise.

Kyle looked confused, as he sorted this out one thing at a time. "A machine made me..." Wolfgang, hearing all this, helped him along without looking.
"Who teaches you things, Kyle?"
That's a silly question. "The school."
"And who gives you money and makes sure you have food?"
"The government?"
"And who loves and cares for you?"
He had to think about this one, as though the answer was too obvious. "Doesn't everyone?"
Wolfgang reached over and scratched the pup's head. "Right."

Christelle smiled.

"I see things are rather different where you come from." She looked at Wolfgang. "I assume you're not his father, then. Are you... responsible for him right now? Would you mind if he came to play with Michael for a while?"

"Well, really, he's responsible for himself in such matters, though if he needed an 'adult', I'd be the one he'd look for right now, just because I'm the nearest Guardian." He turned to Kyle. "Do you want to go play?"
"Yes!" Kyle yipped, tail wagging.
Wolfgang saluted. "As you will, Citizen," he said with mock authority.
Kyle looked at the woman. "Where are we going?"

"Erm..." Christelle thought quickly. There was the viewing platform on the 39th floor (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/UN_Headquarters#39th). A nice view, a large room, indoors, all perfectly safe. The children could play there without being exposed to the more unpleasant aspects of the UN building. "To the top of the building," she told them with a smile. "Well, almost. And first we'll stop off at my office to get some of Michael's toys."

Janvier Solana got up thanked Neville and left the bar, he then turned around and looked back, smiled and sighed. And that was the last time he was ever seen in the UN Stranger's Bar...

As he walked out a man dressed in only a toga ran into the bar and screamed: "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead!" and then as the whole bar gave him strange looks he said only "This is the 5th floor isn't it?"

Kyle turned to Wolfgang. "Isn't your office on the top of the building?"
Wolfgang chuckled. "Well, technically, it's a bit over the building."
The pup turned back towards the woman. "Can we go now? I want to see how far I can see from up there!" he excitedly proclaimed.

"Of course." Christelle smiled, and led him out of the Bar at last. Once in the corridor, she set Michael down on his own two feet, and took the two boys towards the lift. "Now you promise you'll both be good?" she said, still smiling, as she pressed the button for the 39th floor.

"Erm I'm afraid not sir, but be assured we try to accquire the beverages of new UN states as promptly as possible and I'm sure we'll have it when you next visit ..."

Violet waited for a lull to seek a private moment with Neville. "Uh ... Nev ... when you were talking to that bloke who wanted the Bar-Stewardian whisky ... did you really say what I think I heard you say?"

Neville flushed. Violet thought she heard a small scream.

"But ... I thought ... well, don't we get a national drink in, the very minute the Gnomes register a new nation? Did we really not have his favourite tipple? How could you have let that happen? What about the Bar's reputation?"

Neville braced his shoulders in the manner of one facing an unpleasant task. "We did have his national drink in. We do not now have his national drink in."

"But, Nev, why?"

"I prefer not to ... oh, very well," the BarLord capitulated, having put up a token fight. "We don't have it any more because we have to draw the line somewhere. I mean, Violet, you didn't taste the stuff! It was ..."

"Bats' piss?"

"I didn't say that."

"So how are you going to cope when he comes back and orders it again?"

"I saved the bottle. I'll just put a bit of something decent in it and fill it up with water. Then gradually I'll cut the amount of water. We'll have his tastebuds trained in no time at all."

Violet was impressed. She'd never credited Neville with such a high degree of social responsibility.

"Set a good example of the Commonwealth, Kyle!" Wolfgang called after the pup. "Bloody SeaBearians," he muttered, returning to his diplomatic readings.

Felix Dzerzhinsky enters the Strangers Bar, accompanied by a squad of Robotic Destructor Bunnies™ in little black leather uniforms.

"Vodka! And prepare a feast of boiled Russian delicacies for everyone present! Put it on my tab."

Felix receives his drink and goes off to a corner to sulk, plot and scheme. A lone Destructor Bunny hops up on the bar, taps its little feet a couple of times, wiggles its tail and says "Gack!"

Christelle Zyryanov entered shortly thereafter, smiling, patted the bunny's head, then walked over to Felix.

"That was a superb defenestration!" she said, almost gushing. "Please, let me get you a drink to express my gratitude."

Wolfgang, mildly alarmed at the fact that Christelle had just taken two youths up to the top of the building and then returned with the word "defenestration," turned towards her. "So... er... the kids are playing in the observation deck, yes?"

Who clicked on the TV set over the bar, noone knew. But apparently they were a fan of giant monster movies, for that's what was showing. A great behemoth of a creature, 100 meters tall at least, was shown wading through an urban landscape, wreaking utter havoc upon it, stomping on buildings and setting fire to others with weird, actinic breath. Hordes of people were seen running through the streets, and military vehicles could be seen rolling towards the monster, firing rockets and shells with apparently little effect.

After a few minutes it looked as if it were one of the countless Kawaiian film classics of that genre, since the astute observer could tell that the setting was Sanrio City. In fact, the giant monster appeared to be leveling the downtown district, and had just sat on the magnificent Grand Temple of the Cute One, flattening the huge ornate structure. Only one thing seemed to be missing--the stirring orchestral music that always accompanied such scenes of carnage and destruction.

A few minutes more into the show, and a news announcer's voice began:

"...this footage is believed to have been smuggled out of the territory of the Holy Otaku Church of the Eternal Kawaii by Palantine naval dolphin two weeks ago. As amazing as it may seem, ladies and gentlemen, but some...thing...some monstrous force of nature...appears to have attacked the capital city of that reclusive nation (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=513898). It is unclear from it how the Kawaiian military fared against this onslaught, but from what little we've gleaned from our analysis, it looks bad for the people of the Eternal Kawaii..."

With those brief words, the mystery behind the disappearance of the Kawaiian delegation to the NSUN was revealed...

Christelle Zyryanov entered shortly thereafter, smiling, patted the bunny's head, then walked over to Felix.

"That was a superb defenestration!" she said, almost gushing. "Please, let me get you a drink to express my gratitude."
"Thank you Comrade Zyryanov. I'm having Stolichnaya. Will you try some of this Voryonoye Miaso Po-Russki the chef has prepared? It's very good."

Meanwhile, one of the Destructor Bunnies notices the scene of Kawaiian mayhem playing out on the TV set over the bar. Its somewhat startled expression slowly gives way to a series of coos and burbles. Then in a fit of apparent exultation it points and exclaims "Gack! Gack hraphogack!", followed by a cute little dance, a cartwheel and much bobbing up and down. It is soon joined by ten others which bob up and down in unison while chirping, gurgling and cooing at one another.

The Wolf Guardians;12424839']Wolfgang, mildly alarmed at the fact that Christelle had just taken two youths up to the top of the building and then returned with the word "defenestration," turned towards her. "So... er... the kids are playing in the observation deck, yes?"

"Yes." Christelle smiled. "They're with my deputy ambassador. She's good with kids, although she hasn't got any of her own yet."

"Thank you Comrade Zyryanov. I'm having Stolichnaya. Will you try some of this Voryonoye Miaso Po-Russki the chef has prepared? It's very good."

"Yes, please." She sighed, and sat down. "Is it strong? I need something reasonably strong. Before I go back out there and reply to the objections of a bunch of broken gramophones." She paused. "A bunch of broken, deaf gramophones.

Including your defenestratee, by the way, who's climbed back up into the GA," she added with a deep, shuddering sigh.

Sheik Nadnerb pushed his chair back from the table and smiled at Dicey. "Well, I'd best get to it then, eh?" he said.

He strode towards the Ariddian ambassador. "Yo, Christelle baby! No hard feelings about the floor debate, I hope, especially since I'd like to ask you a favour."

The Ariddian ambassador's face displayed no reaction, so the sheik continued. "I'd like you to help me set up with that hot li'l...I mean, that respected journalist who's been conducting all of those interviews for Ariddian television. The rep from Ardchoille and I would like to hold a press conference, and we thought that smokin'...I mean, hardnosed reporter would like first dibs."

Christelle blinked, her mind swimming in and out of focus for a moment. Finally, she sighed.

"No, no hard feelings. What happens in GA debates stays there." She paused. "You mean..." It took her a moment to remember the name. "Dupré. Mélanie Dupré? An interview?" Her interest had been awoken. "Yes, I'm sure PINA would be interested. How soon would this be?"

"Yeah, her. She's freakin' slam -- "

The sheik cut himself off, coughed, then continued. "She's a great reporter. I saw her interview with our footballers. Grade A stuff that. I think she'd be perfect for what Ms. Reilly and I have in mind. As for when, well, we're willing, I think, to wait for an opening in her schedule, though we were hoping you might nudge things along a bit."

Sheik Nadnerb cringed somewhat. "That is, if you're not still holding that debacle that followed our two nations' friendly against me..."

"Is it strong?
"Da! Very much so. Will make you strong like bull. Here, have some more. It will aid you in your struggle against the reactionaries on the debate floor."

(OOC: Voryonoye Miaso Po-Russki isn't a drink, it's a boiled beef dish. I should have explained that.)

Felix turns his attention to the Destructor Bunnies.

"Ha ha ha ha! Look at the silly Bunnies! Now they are doing their little dance in front of the Otaku shrine. Aren't they cute?"

(OOC: It's worth noting that Felix is unaware that this behavior might trigger a manifestation of The Cute One.)

A Bunny runs over to Felix, taps its feet, wiggles its nose and happily exclaims "GACK!".

"Yes, yes. Run along little one. Go play with your comrades."

"Thank, I think I'll pass," Christelle told Felix with a smile. "I just need a stiff drink."

She turned to the sheik again.

"Oh, no, that's ok. Let's see... I can't make any promises, but if it's a special event perhaps we can squeeze in a special interview."

"Oh, believe me, this is bound to be verrrrrry special," Sheik Nadnerb said, tossing Christelle a sly grin.

"Now I'm curious," Christelle admitted, and smiled. "You're going to keep it a secret, I suppose?"

"Oh, we can leave the details for later. Let it suffice to say that Ms. Reilly and I would like to um...give a little demonstration..."

Christelle felt slightly wary at that.

"Should I be worried? You're not going to let Ole' Biscuitbarrel show us a video projection, are you?"

"No, no...Tarquin's got no part in this. There'll be no Hoff. It's really Ms. Reilly's show," the sheik explained.

"Oh, good..." She nodded. "Well, as I said, I'm curious. I'll pass the request on, and I can't see why there'd be any problem."

As Christelle spoke with the Sheik, she got the feeling that she was being watched... and suddenly felt a strange lump in her pocket.

Were she to reach at the offending object, she would discover a small black cylinder, no larger than a tube of lipstick, with a roll of paper inside.

Tonight, 12:00. 32nd Floor. Behind Lo Fat's Laundry. Come alone.

Dr. Jules Hodz strolled in, looking exasperated. His hair seemed unkempt, although it was really just stress. He sat down next to a conveniently placed, new glass of chocolate milk.

He took a drink then surveyed the room. His mind enumerated the occupants. There's Shiek Nadnerb, a guy from Yelda, and... Wait. Christelle? What the crap is she doing here?! What a way to spoil a day! I just finished debating her in the GA!

"How's it going?" Hodz said to no-one and everyone.

Sebastian Ennuk entered the bar. For someone who had never previously left the Twin Cities, the UN was completely overwhelming. Different people, different languages, different species...

He was now regretting having never taken part in one of his borther's trading voyages down the River Maron. At least then he'd have had some experience of the multitude of types of life.

But no. A rude shock, and the one thing the sailors agreed on was that wherever there was life, there were interesting types of alcohol to try. Hence his entering the Strangers Bar.

"Um... I need a drink. What are all of you having?"

That same evening, Christelle found herself making her way down a lit but eerily empty corridor at midnight, towards the mysterious rendez-vous point. She did not feel entirely reassured; this was the United Nations HeadQuarters, after all: not exactly the safest place on Earth. And the message had been anonymous. From Ardchoille, perhaps? Messages materialising out of nowhere...

"Hello?" she called, her voice a lot more confident than she felt. She had told Christopher where she was, just in case, and she had a mobile phone.

Behind Christelle, there was the sound of a crunch of metal, preceded by a muffled "gack" sound. The scent of laundry detergent wafted through the air.

From the darkness, a voice sounded.

"You are alone?

Sheik Nadnerb bin Cluich returns from the floor of the General Assembly, pleased with the presumed demise of the proposal currently at vote. "Drinks are on me!" he cries. "That is to say, they are for those who voted against that climate-refugee crap."

He strides to the bar and orders a bottle of Cluichstani whiskey, which is promptly set before him, along with a glass. "A glass? I don't need no stinking glass!"

"Free drinks eh?" said Roderick. "I'll drink to that!"

Tana casually walked over to the bar, "White wine, please." she smiled as the bartender handed her the drink. She then turned to the Sheik. "Good day, Sheik Nadnerb. I see you plan on keeping these people nice and plastered. I think some of them are still going on the free drinks from Karmicaria." she winked at him as she went to join her friends on the other side of the bar.

"Free SD guns to all the losers! Courtesy of the Great Commonwealth!" Wolfgang barked, pulling out a small crate. "Oh, the winners can have them if they want, too. Try our new "Moron" targeting selector! Guaranteed to temporarily blind, maim, or kill drive-by debaters and other idiots, even if you're too drunk to actually aim at them!"

Behind Christelle, there was the sound of a crunch of metal, preceded by a muffled "gack" sound. The scent of laundry detergent wafted through the air.

From the darkness, a voice sounded.

"You are alone?

She turned quickly.

Bunnies?

The voice did not sound familiar.

"Yes, I'm alone," she said, calmly.

Sheik Nadnerb bin Cluich returns from the floor of the General Assembly, pleased with the presumed demise of the proposal currently at vote. "Drinks are on me!" he cries. "That is to say, they are for those who voted against that climate-refugee crap."

He strides to the bar and orders a bottle of Cluichstani whiskey, which is promptly set before him, along with a glass. "A glass? I don't need no stinking glass!"

Back in the Bar the following day, Christelle took a seat at the bar.

"Neville, a bottle of... something very expensive, please. Put it on Sheik Nadnerb's tab. He's paying to say sorry for campaigning against my proposal." She smiled sweetly.

She turned quickly.

Bunnies?

The voice did not sound familiar.

"Yes, I'm alone," she said, calmly.



Out of the darkness, a Robot Destructor Bunny flew, landing at her feet with a thud, its head wrenched and broken, wires poking out.

From the darkness emerged a figure, dressed in black and grey.

"Yeldan pests... you can never be sure when they're not around."

Prince Tang looked at Christelle, his face serious.

"I'm sorry to have asked you here under such secretive circumstances, but in this case I think it's warranted... I fear that the secrecy of our offices has been compromised. Lo Fat doesn't ask questions. He's also very good at starching collars, but that's another story."

Free drinks from Cluich! *makes a note of date and time*

I'll have a bucket of brandy please, I need it for my quiz;)

Christelle blinked, that last comment throwing her off balance slightly.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, although she had some idea what it might be related to.

Christelle blinked, that last comment throwing her off balance slightly.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, although she had some idea what it might be related to.

"I believe that you are in personal danger from forces in our Empire. You know the stroy behind the Grand Duke and Pazirbashan. I should tell you that our Inquisitor was not entirely truthful with you earlier... the reason we want Pazirbashan back is because he is in great danger, and so are your people."

He paused.

"The Grand Duke, for all appearances, is a quiet, intelligent, and kind man. Beneath that is a powerful, vindicitive intellect- he wants Pazirbashan dead, and somehow he knows that you helped him flee. He wants you dead, too."

"Me?" Despite herself, Christelle paled. "But..." She fell silent a moment, her mind struggling to absorb that. "No-one's ever threatened me in my entire life!" she whispered, and shook her head, uttering a nervous laugh. "This is insane!" She stared at him. "Your Grand Duke is insane."

He may be insane but he has ten thousand men, he'll march them up to the top of the hill and....................

Back in the Bar the following day, Christelle took a seat at the bar.

"Neville, a bottle of... something very expensive, please. Put it on Sheik Nadnerb's tab. He's paying to say sorry for campaigning against my proposal." She smiled sweetly.

Overhearing Christelle's remark, the sheik turns to Neville. "Yes, get this lovely lady anything she likes. It's all on me."

He glides over to where Christelle is seated. "You do realise, my dear, that our opposition to your proposal was nothing personal, no? We can still share a drink in friendship?"

He takes a long quaff from his bottle of Cluichstani whiskey and pulls up a stool beside Christelle. "By the way, how goes trying to get that press conference set up?"

Overhearing Christelle's remark, the sheik turns to Neville. "Yes, get this lovely lady anything she likes. It's all on me."

He glides over to where Christelle is seated. "You do realise, my dear, that our opposition to your proposal was nothing personal, no? We can still share a drink in friendship?"

He takes a long quaff from his bottle of Cluichstani whiskey and pulls up a stool beside Christelle. "By the way, how goes trying to get that press conference set up?"

"Yes, of course." She smiled slightly. "I've been in contact with PINA. They say if it's some sort of special announcement, they can be there more or less as soon as you're ready. And they'll send Miss Dupré." She looked at him curiously. "You're still not going to give me a hint, are you?"

"Now why would I spoil the surprise?" Sheik Nadnerb asked, smirking knowingly. "I'll just have to check with Ms. Reilly to see when she'll be ready."

The sheik took another long slug from his bottle. He'd clearly been at it for a while. "I'm glad we're gonna get that Dupré chick, too. Any chance you'll put in a good word for me with her?"

"Proper, schmoper," Sheik Nadnerb slurred. "You can do it for me, can't ya, Christelle? I'd really like a shot at tapping that."

"Me?" Despite herself, Christelle paled. "But..." She fell silent a moment, her mind struggling to absorb that. "No-one's ever threatened me in my entire life!" she whispered, and shook her head, uttering a nervous laugh. "This is insane!" She stared at him. "Your Grand Duke is insane."

"Insane? Hardly. He is a very, very smart man, and he is very good at making sure people don't oppose him... if you understand me. The Abdians are a very different sort of people from you Ariddians... some of them make even my skine crawl."

The Prince frowned.

"I cannot apologize enough for bringing you into this... although he meant well, Landaman Pendankr didn't foresee something like this happening. But please- I don't want to scare you needlessly- I wanted to warn you."

Christelle coughed.

"I... don't think that would be very proper, now, would it, sheik?" she said mildly, glancing at his bottle.

"Insane? Hardly. He is a very, very smart man, and he is very good at making sure people don't oppose him... if you understand me. The Abdians are a very different sort of people from you Ariddians... some of them make even my skine crawl."

The Prince frowned.

"I cannot apologize enough for bringing you into this... although he meant well, Landaman Pendankr didn't foresee something like this happening. But please- I don't want to scare you needlessly- I wanted to warn you."

"But to... kill people..." Christelle shuddered, then pulled herself together. "All right. What do you suggest I do now? And what about Pazirbashan?"

"Proper, schmoper," Sheik Nadnerb slurred. "You can do it for me, can't ya, Christelle? I'd really like a shot at tapping that."

"I'm sorry." She smiled gently. "I think, perhaps, you should think about this again once you're sober. I wouldn't want you to do anything you might regret later."

"I'm sorry." She smiled gently. "I think, perhaps, you should think about this again once you're sober. I wouldn't want you to do anything you might regret later."

"But does he ever regret doing anything?" murmured a nearby Wabbit...

Seeing the Sheik avidly arranging the press conference and, more importantly, it seemed, the sex life of the interviewer -- goddess, men! -- Dicey sashayed back to the bar. She was surprised, as always, to realise how clear-headed a person could stay if they discussed interesting things while drinking.

"So, what'd he want?" demanded Bast.

"He wants me to ... do some magic."

"What magic?"

"Tell you later. Right now I've gotta go raise a spirit."

Shw waited for Bast's shocked gasp -- "Necromancy? Dicey, have a care!" -- and grinned.

"An Ariddian spirit, or two, or three. Possibly using some Ardchoillean spirit. Can't have the poor things sitting around like wet ducks in a thunderstorm. Not after that valiant effort."

Rising, she took an exasperated swipe at a couple of the dreadful little bunnies.

"Nev-ille, will you please get the pest exterminators in?"

Seemingly catching sight of someone where no-one was standing, Dicey winked at the gap.

"Not you, Sweetcheeks!" she grinned. "Just these little blighters!"

[QUOTE=Ardchoille;12431589]
"Tell you later. Right now I've gotta go raise a spirit."QUOTE]

"ere" slurred Sir albert, awakening from a somewhat over innebriated slumber, awakened only by his worringly selctive hearing, "ah can help there lass, Neville!...neat blue Bahgumian Brandy for me an'th'Ardchoillean delegation"..."raise that glass of spirit".....Sir Albert valiantly attempts to raise his hand above his lips, a most unusual motion for him, causing him to slip off his chair and slide under the table, with only his hand clutching a fizzing, spitting glass of Best Bahgumian blue waving forlornly above table height......

Sebastian thought. Free alcohol? That's a good start. And if someone else is paying... this might be about the only place with any of that drink left. And every trader I've spoken to recommended that one above all other alcohols.

Clearing his throat, and smiling, he said, "Barman. One Ennish Shandy."

Neville brought the drink over with some ceremony, in a glass with a curious crest.

"Whatever made you choose this, sir?" he queried. "It's a long, long time since anyone ordered that."

His voice positively oozed Sig-Nif-I-Cance.

"Emen Un's a port city, always has been. We hear about things from a huge amount of different places. And every trader I ever spoke to recommended this drink, and bemoaned the fact it isn't available any more, after whatever happened to Enn itself.

"Anyhow, time to see if the press matches the experience."

Sebastian sipped at the beverage before him.

"Wow-za. That's one drink. How much more do you have available? You can't get this anywhere else, nowadays."

"But to... kill people..." Christelle shuddered, then pulled herself together. "All right. What do you suggest I do now? And what about Pazirbashan?"

"You don't have bodyguards or security for your embassy, do you? Well... it wouldn't matter. The Duke's assasin's would kill them anyway. We can protect you."

He closed his eyes momentarily.

"Pazirbashan needs to be brought back here immediately. If you can have your government move quickly..."


Meanwhile...
The Adiran Palace, Abdus IV

"My lord."

The Grand Duke Orn IV, Innti, blinked and turned the page of his book. The birds chirped in the garden, and he sat in a wicker shair in the sun. His majordomo stood off to the side.

"My lord, the Directorate has offered no objections to your plan."

The Duke turned a page.

"There has been no word from the Prince."

The Duke turned another page adjusting his pince-nez glasses. His bushy white eyebrows arched with literary interest. He cleared his throat.

"We will depart in two days, with my usual retinue. Send a message to the Prince before we arrive- let's have it be a surprise." the Duke finally said, his deep, smooth voice rolling out of his mouth like honey.

The majordomo bowed, turned, and left. In the palace, he came upon a steward.

"Prepare the Lord's traveling things, and summon his retinue. The Grand Duke is paying a visit to the United Nations office."

He closed his eyes momentarily.

"Pazirbashan needs to be brought back here immediately. If you can have your government move quickly..."

"Of course," Christelle said, trying not to feel too shaken. "I can put a call through... In fact, you can talk to him yourself." She switched on her mobile phone.

"Wow-za. That's one drink. How much more do you have available? You can't get this anywhere else, nowadays."

Neville slowly raised one eyebrow while delivering a knowing wink, a gesture which he had had to practise before his mirror for simply hours before getting it right. (OOC: WARNING! Viewers should not try this at home!)

"Our supplies, sir, are quite adequate for our needs. As to how this could be, well, that depends largely on what you will believe. I could say 'refugees', or I could say 'time warp'. However, I think it best if I merely look smug and say 'trade secret'."

Whereupon he did.

Dicey, meanwhile, had been seriously distracted.
"ah can help there lass, Neville!...neat blue Bahgumian Brandy for me an'th'Ardchoillean delegation"..."

He really did care! Her eyes moistened.

As far as Sir Albert was concerned, Dicey felt, it had been a long time between drinks.

did [/I]care! Her eyes moistened.

As far as Sir Albert was concerned, Dicey felt, it had been a long time between drinks.

Somewhere below a table, Sir Abert belched....

Gabriel Thanatos, Representative of the Salvadorian Union of Chodean Kal to the United Nations and United Nations Delegate of The North Pacific, usually tends to avoid these parts of the world. He doesn't quite know why, just never quite appealed to him. He supposed it was the fact that he never had time, between meetings with foreign diplomats to the running of one of the largest regions in the world. However, today, Gabriel made an exception.

Sauntering around the bar, he finally reaches the bar table after looking around. With his thick Chodeani accent (OOC:think a nice Russian accent), he inquires as to what their wine selection is.

Greeting fellow members of the United Nations. I am from the Undbagartian News Ministry and I was wondering if I could ask you all a couple of questions about the New Economic Block proposal that the Secretary General presented.

New Economic Block? Sebastian thought through a Shandy-induced haze. Where does he think he is, the General Assembly?

"Here now, I've barely been here five minutes and I already know what the Strangers Bar is for. Leave all that political nonsense at the door, pull up a chair and have a taste of this stuff. That's top drop, that is."

New Economic Block? Sebastian thought through a Shandy-induced haze. Where does he think he is, the General Assembly?

"Here now, I've barely been here five minutes and I already know what the Strangers Bar is for. Leave all that political nonsense at the door, pull up a chair and have a taste of this stuff. That's top drop, that is."

"Nah, I usually only drink vodka," the thick Russian accent echoed across the bar "but what the hell, I will have a scotch on the rocks."

Neville cast a hopeful glance toward the Trophy Case (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=5946475&postcount=2).

The notebook and pen of the last reporter to attempt an interview in the Strangers' Bar rested there. His fellow journalists had subscribed to allow them to be cast in bronze and mounted on a stained coffee-cup, as a respectful tribute to his memory. Was the Bar about to gain another such ornament?

Leave all that political nonsense at the door, pull up a chair and have a taste of this stuff. That's top drop, that is."

Apparently not. Damn socially responsible types, always spoiling a guy's fun. Neville returned to his exacting task of trying to turn the several famous Blue drinks of various countries Green. Though, as far as he could tell, Paddy's Day was over and gone -- but the impulse to celebrate wasn't.

Dr. Jules Hodz walked around the bar, spectating. Finally, he sat down at the bar.

"Neville, get me a pint of Arrogant Bastard Ale and some chili, please."

He then began watching one of the TVs while waiting for the food and drink. The NS World Cup was on and Hodz began ignoring it.

"Shame, that." Hodz said, motioning towards the reporter from Undbagarten. "I can never escape politics. No even in a frikkin' bar designed for that purpose.

"Give him time, he'll learn," said Neville tolerantly, "Or if he doesn't, the UN Press Gallery will teach him. Those boys and girls wouldn't want to have to go out in the cold night air to have a drink. We're not the only bar in town, but we're the only one they like."

"tha'sh reet Neville besh bar in....beshesh bar...in t'UNwotsit t'is..oh eck whish one of you should i speach too...didn't know tha had a twin...hic...." slurred Sir Albert in a spectacular display of how to find the bar from under a table, drink a glass of brandy on the stagger and still place the empty glass directly in front of Neville for a refill. All while being a teensy bit innebriated, even by Sir Albert's standards.

"another bahgumian Blue Neville, ahs got to tek me mind off er Bahgumian nashional weekthingy, osherwise ah'd 'ave to smoke these ere lovely lasses, twins too, woudn't do, not at all...hic...."

Responsible Service of Alcohol laws demand that Neville do something about Sir Albert. Several years of determined pursuit demand that Dicey do something about Sir Albert. Narrative tension demands that somebody do something about Sir Albert ...

"LaaaaaDEEEEEZZZZ!"

Violet has grabbed the two-way mike that (usually) merely broadcasts UN General Assembly debates to the Bar. But this time it is broadcasting from the Bar, to the GA. And seated in the GA, protesting about -- what was it, again? Whatever -- are the massed hordes of the dreaded Bahgumian Mother-in-Law squads.

"Ladies, he's at it again!" bellows Violet's voice, much amplified, bouncing off the Assembly walls. "Pissed as a newt! Falling down drunk! You knew it, but would they listen? And now look at him! Dis-graceful! Staggering about all over the -- (meaningful pause) -- Strangers' Bar!"

Does a ripple pass throught the monstering maternal masses? Will the doors soon be thrown back by viragos vowed to vengeance? Violet doesn't know; but at least she's done something about Sir Albert.

.....a horrified silence descended on the bar as the realisation that Violet had invited the full strength of the Bahgumian expeditionary force of Mothers in Law into the room to quell one man. They all knew they'd find something else to dissaprove of as well.

Sir Albert belched.

then...

nothing...

not a mother in law in sight...

Sir Albert staggered back to his table, muttering something about the great secret pie formula not being worth it's weight in whippets, collapsed and dropped into a deep sleep.

After a while, rumours circulated that while Sir Albert had been staggering around the bar that the UN bingo hall had been efficiently and ruthlessly destroyed, with only a knitted note about employing at least a halfwit to call the numbers next time. It seemed a group of middle aged to elderly ladies had suddenly descended upon the hall en masse, somewhat tiddly, whilst celebrating the success of an only slightly threatening democratic protest. What happened next had apparently been so terrifying that no survivors were yet able to speak of it. The ladies in question had dissapeared into what was best described as a skulking dissaproving lurk mode.

Tenderly, Neville raised the sleeping Bahgumian form long enough to allow an impatient gnome to tuck what appeared to be a detailed list of expenses into one non-ferret-occupied pocket.

Who'd have thought a simple Bingo pencil and a notebook would cost so much? he wondered inwardly, having caught a glimpse of the word in one of the items -- the one with several zeroes on the wrong side of the decimal.

He hadn't even known Sir Albert played. And he must have put a lot of time in, to have lost so much (Neville, a Bingo virgin, didn't realise the game's insidious appeal.)

A hideous thought struck the BarLord. Dicey had recently mentioned an inexplicable shortage in her region's treasury. "Probably just that the Delegate hit the wrong buttons on his calculator," she'd said.

But Bahgum was in that (OOC:great and glorious) region too. And here was Sir Albert, obviously accumulating enormous gambling debts. Oh, no, surely not. Surely not.

Sheik Nadnerb bin Cluich burst into the room, huffing and puffing, holding a rubber chicken. He takes a quick look over his shoulder to assure himself that he'd lost the lower half of the pantomime horse that had been chasing him. Seeing that he had, he tossed the rubber chicken aside, smoothed his robes and made his way to the bar. "Neville, my good man, a bottle of Cluichstani whiskey please!" he called to the barkeeper.

As Neville set the bottle on the bar, the sheik pulled up a stool and took a seat, looking around for the Ariddian ambassador. He was very anxious to set up that press conference.

Alex Nordolf walks through the doors into the bar, humming himself a tune resembling the old nursery song, "Row, row, row your boat" but every few seconds he begins humming some other song, then goes back to Row, row, row your boat.
He steps on a rubber chicken and nearly falls over it, but he grabs onto a nearby table before humiliating himself in front of the nations of the world.
Satisfied by his quick reflexes, he shrugs the experience off, and has a seat at the bar, still humming that distorted tune.

"Bartender! A glass of wine, please." He shouts at the current bartender while dusting off his brown suit.

Nathaniel Trundlebucket enters dressed as the lower half of a pantomime horse, 'Anyone here seen a rubber chicken?'

Brandishing a rubber chicken with one hand and ostentatiously rubbing an abused portion of her anatomy with the other, Dicey Reilly stormed over.

"I'll thank you, Sheik, to keep your vulcanised poultry off my delegation!" she said loudly. In more confidential tones, she explained, "I'm not really mad, I just used that as an excuse so we could talk without causing comment. How about it, Sheik, are we still --" she lowered her voice still further "--on?"

The Sheik's utter immobility and unresponsiveness alerted Dicey that she just might possibly have made an unfortunate choice of words. She had been innocently referring to the business understanding she and the Sheik had developed some nights earlier. But suddenlya moment stood out with dreadful clarity among her memories of that morning's many debates; a moment when the Sheik had evinced a degree of interest in her expensive underwear. Furthermore, had he not threatened to ... have her ... in some ... what was it ... NatSov camp?

The thought of going camping with anyone, let alone a dew-dropper, was more than city-bred Dicey's equanimity could take.

"I meant ... that is, I ... ," she said, and stumbled gauchely backward.

Resignedly, both halves of the nearby pantomime horse put down their drinks and swung their (plainly addled) leader onto their mutual back. Her robes flapped about, tangling annoyingly with tail and hooves.

"Next time, Bert, we wear a side-saddle," said the head, cantering sedately out of the Bar.

(OOC: Sorry, Gorillapigs, we posted at the same time. I trust your delegate won't mind that one of the Ardchoilleans was wearing the same costume? It does open the possibility of there being an unmatched horse's head wandering around somewhere ...)

Wolfgang, bewildered by the item, leaned over and picked up the rubber chicken left by Dicey, using his forefinger and thumb, and being sure to only let his claws come in contact with it, as though he didn't want to touch it. He set it on the bar next to him, continuing to stare at it with child-like wonder. Why did the rubber chicken cross the road? he wondered. Seeing movement outside the door, he glanced over and then faltered again. It was silly, but he could've sworn he saw a pantomime Princess Margaret.

Velma gets up from the table she was sharing with Sen. Sulla and walks over to the bar, her hips swaying like two cats caught in a burlap sack. she overhears Wolfgang and answers,
"To get to the other side."

She then smiles sweetly at Neville and says,

"May I have two more Wild Turkeys on the rocks, good sir?"

"No, no, wait, Ms. Reilly," the sheik said. "In answer to your question, yes, we are. I'm still trying to make arrangements for the press conference with the Ariddians."

Sheik Nadnerb paused and took a sip from his glass of whiskey. "However," he said conspiratorially, "I've made a slight change of plans regarding where the um...'package' will be deposited."

He smirked. "I think you'll find it most amusing..."

Wolfgang was now aghast. Did... can she read my mind?! Looking at the monitors displaying the GA, he squinted. Terence Rattigan?

OOC: lol :D

Christelle walked in and went straight to the bar. This time, she had left Michael with hubby; being a housefather for a while couldn't do him any harm.

"As usual, please," she asked Neville, and looked around, nodding at sheik Nadnerb when she saw him.

"Ah, my dear Christelle!" Sheik Nadnerb exclaimed. "Any luck with arranging that press conference with that tasty -- I mean, talented -- journalist from Ariddian television?"

Christelle nodded, and walked over to him.

"PINA is ready as soon as you are, my dear sheik. An exclusive interview for a special announcement isn't something they'd want to pass up on. And they're as curious as I am," she added with a slight smile.

"Well, my dear," the sheik said, an impish grin cracking his face, "you'll have to wait to find out just like everyone else. But let me assure you, you'll find it very interesting."

He thought for a moment, then took a sip of his whiskey. "Shall we say Monday, around this time, assuming that suits Ms. Reilly?"

(OOC: Since I'm not on much on the weekends, I'd rather get it rolling at the beginning of a week so I can be around for the RP, without causing any extended delays in it.)

"Yes, that would be fine. Live?" She looked at Reilly.

"Oh, most definitely!" the sheik replied, unable to contain his excitment before checking himself. "That is, if it meets with your approval, Ms. Reilly..."

"Well, of course we'd do it live," Dicey said, returning after disentangling herself from both halves of the pantomime horse. She strove for a more professional demeanour -- think of the dear Wabbits! she told herself to buoy her confidence. They think you're great!

"You have to do magic live," she expanded, happier now she was talking about her area of expertise. "For one thing, it often doesn't record well electronically -- we have some theories about that, but I won't go into them now -- and for another, if the people watching at home know it's not live, they think it's just special effects in the studio. Of course, they will anyway," she added sadly.

About then, several rather forceful kicks on the ankle nearest the Sheik reminded her that the Ariddians didn't know she was planning anything magical.

"I ... ah ... I may use some minor spells to, um, illustrate some points," she said hurriedly. "Think of it as a just anotherl Powerpoint presentation."

(OOC: If you mean live live, the time gap's going to be a problem. I'll check GMT and send you a PM, Ariddia.)

"Excellent! That's settled, then." Christelle had diverted her curiousity from the sheik to Reilly now, her gaze a questioning one.

(OOC: I'm not sure "live live" will be possible. I'm not in all day on Mondays, and of course there's the time zones. I don't see any reason why it would have to be "live live", though.)

[OOC: Damn Jolt! Damn database error! Lost an entire post! Anyway, that's a relief. Not live live. No need for PMs,then. So, you'll start the thread, Ariddia?)

IC: It occurred to Dicey that now might be an excellent time to go thwart her intern's attempts at having a love life. Or to check out what song the cobweb-covered delegate from East Hackney was crooning to himself at his gloomy end of the Bar. Or to see what could be done about that odd discrepancy in the Zhaucauozian Friendship regional treasury. Anything, rather than stick around and let slip even more info she didn't mean to let slip.

"Well, enough of this dalliance!" she said airily, disposing of the rest of her drink in one disrespectful gulp. "Gotta go see a man about a bingo hall!"

Actually, that might not be a bad idea, she told herself as she sailed out. The Great Hall at Ardrigh was empty half the time, and it had worked brilliantly as a bingo hall that time a busload of Mothers-in-Law had dropped by on tour, and now Ben Chifley wsn't co-President he'd have lots of time to stand in as bingo caller ... visions of national solvency danced in her head.

"Oh... All right." Christelle wondered briefly whether the bingo hall might have something to do with the secret announcement... then shook her head. No. That would make no sense at all...

She paused.

... Precisely?

She gave the sheik a friendly smile.

"So... Are you into bingo, too?"


(OOC: I can start a thread on Monday if you like, in the NS forum. Where would you like it to happen? A PINA studio? Somewhere in the UN building?)

OOC: The interview has now begun (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=521987). I'm off to work now, but I'll be back in a few hours.

"Bingo? Hell no."

"No, somehow I didn't think it would really suit you. Well, it was worth a try." She smiled innocently.

Previously on “Quintessential Officials Attempt To Fit Into The General Atmosphere Of The Strangers’ Bar With Staggeringly Little Success”…

George Madison…meets some people, waits for them to piss off so he could eat some peanuts…

Luc Montsettier…sits, and sips and his drink…

Samantha Benson…pretty much does the same…

Coriolanus Digweed…is a complete tool…

And now, the thrilling conclusion:

George noticed the people had pissed off, and opened his packet of peanuts. Luc sipped his drink thoughtfully. Samantha put hers down, and turning to him, said, “Hey, have you noticed Digweed is still a complete tool?”

Dun dun duh!!!

"Of course," Christelle said, trying not to feel too shaken. "I can put a call through... In fact, you can talk to him yourself." She switched on her mobile phone.

OOC: Sorry to let this slide.

IC:

Tang raised his hand.

"No. I can't speak with him. All you need to do is bring him here in the most secret way possible. I'm returning to the Empire to do my reports, and I'll send someone with a bit more... finesse at these things than myself."

He paused.

"But don't worry. You'll be safe while I'm gone. One of the members of our office is keeping an eye on you. Goodnight."

With that, he slipped back into the shadows, leaving Christelle alone with the broken hulk of a Robot Bunny and the whiff of detergent.

Christelle looked around warily as she found herself alone once more in the ill-lit corridor. Or perhaps not entirely alone... Who was watching her, then? And where from? The idea of being watched was distinctly unappealing... but the idea of being threatened even more so.

For now, she decided, she would head back to the relative safety of the Bar.

Neville was bored. All his usual sources of entertainment had absented themselves; he could see a few of them right now on the screens, banging on in the GA when they could have been cosily ensconsced in the Bar, wrapping themselves around some decent liquor. Tcha!

True, Sir Albert was still present in body, but the Bahgumian was scarcely able to provide much amusement in his current state. Neville absently poured a tot of whisky into one of the dear man's pockets for the ferret (or ferrets), but that took less than a minute.

That left the Quintessentials. They were standing about, not saying much. Neville was strongly reminded of a group of well-fed sharks. He could almost see the thinning trails of blood in the water, feel the slight disturbance as one or the other finned lazily to stay in place ... somehow, having seen them savaging unwary legs and arms in the GA, he didn't feel inclined to disturb them at their rest.

He was settling in for an excruciating afternoon chasing robot destructor bunnies with a broom when the kid hove into view. The press pool guy, lowest reporter on the totem pole, the one whom the others had monstered into sticking around in case something developed. Well, then ...

"So -- Roland, isn't it? -- whaddya hear about the Karmicarians, eh?" (Always a good opening; everybody had heard something about the Karmicarians.) Some of the things one heard were, in Neville's opinion, physically impossible, but all the same ... "I hear Mme Vermithrax has refused to confirm or deny, and we all know what that means ..." (Neville didn't, actually, but it sounded good.)

The trouble was, most of the UN gossip was about the delegates, and the delegates were, collectively, so weird that, no matter what they did, someone would be sure to smile fondly and say, "Isn't that just like him (or her, or them, or it)?" The thing to do was match the most unlikely person to the most unlikely event ...

" ... Jamie Macdougall's secret career as a World Chamipionship Wrestler?" he found himself saying. "You watch, every time the tag teams come to town, the Forgottenlands delegation 'retires' ... black tights, black mask .. the Ithanian delegate, too, but her tights are spangled ... and Accelerus Dioce leads ve-ry select NationStates By Nite tours ..."

"Neville's having you on," said Violet flatly, beginning her shift and signing the timebook with a flourish. "He does that from time to time. He thinks it's funny." She tied her apron on and gave the bemused reporter an extra-large drink to compensate. "None of it's true, none of it."

Neville could scarcely contain his glee. What better verification could anyone ask for?

Christelle looked around warily as she found herself alone once more in the ill-lit corridor. Or perhaps not entirely alone... Who was watching her, then? And where from? The idea of being watched was distinctly unappealing... but the idea of being threatened even more so.

For now, she decided, she would head back to the relative safety of the Bar.

Behind her, a pair of Wabbits who'd tagged along in case anything interesting happened, looked with satisfaction at the junked robot and then decided to go home for a nap...

"Christelle?" Cornelius wandered up, carefully stepping around some rabbit faeces.

"I've just given a series of lectures back at UNA, and am looking for a drink before I head back to my roost. Please, accompany me into the Bar. It very cold out here, and I don't want you to get a cold. Besides, I owe you a drink."

He shook out his coat, and offered it to her.

"Christelle?" Cornelius wandered up, carefully stepping around some rabbit faeces.

(OOC: Not from any of us, we're better-behaved than that... Must be 'Robot Destructor Bunny' faeces... ;))

Walking into the bar, Tana saw all the usual suspects occupying the space. All but dragging herself over to the bar, she ordered a drink and tried to find a table off in a corner. There were none. "Figures." becoming increasingly annoyed, she found a seat and took it before anyone else could. Looking around, she smiled at the few she knew.

Sailing into the bar as though she were mighty Pegasus riding the wind, a rather elated Avaya hugged the strong arm of her beau, whom she was not the least bit ashamed to introduce to acquaintances as her “good friend Sammy.” The formality with which she formerly addressed “Mr. Faisano” had long since been abandoned, along with a portion of her usual modest array, it seemed. She didn’t even mind as onlookers raised a curious eyebrow at her strange new public exposure as she gazed lovingly up into her playmate’s deep brown eyes with her own.

Somewhere off in a corner, Ace and Rico were vomiting copiously.

Not much had transpired on the former duo’s planned study date in the UN library. There was an interesting debate over whether Cluichstan qualified as a “prostitutocracy,” or if Combustianism pervaded HotRodian society to the point of modifying its avowedly anarchic system of governance; a surly gnome librarian who wasted no opportunity to whack them both in the rear with her trusty ruler if their whispered giggles got out of hand; and a brief recess to the Enodian Memorial Loft, ostensibly to seek out an obscure volume on Felinocracies of the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries -- wherein Avaya had ascended the staircase fully veiled, and descended with a flushed, and shamelessly uncovered, complexion. No one dared question what went on in the moments that elapsed between; what happened in the Enodian Memorial Loft stayed in the Enodian Memorial Loft.

A defiant flash of previously concealed pearly whites could now be seen as Sammy pulled out a chair for his grinning companion at an isolated table. “Wait here a moment,” he instructed her. “I have to clear up my bar tab with Neville first, or they might not let us order.”

The girl gave her giggled consent as Sammy departed with a bashful smile.

It was at this point that Cdr. Chiang, observing the couple from a safe distance, hurriedly slipped a note into George Brown’s hand and pushed the former deputy ambassador in Neville’s direction. “Go, George, go!” she ordered. “Make sure the ambassador doesn’t see you!” A split-second later, the commander was standing over Avaya’s shoulder.

“So nice to see you again, Miss Thibaudet,” she said with an unusual level of cordiality. Nonetheless, the girl’s smile faded somewhat as her gaze shifted from the hormone-inducing view of Sammy walking away to the grim specter of his security director hovering portentously over her. “Sorry to be so bold, but I have a job for you,” Chiang explained as she audaciously stole a seat next to the intern.

Avaya’s tender eyes brightened adventurously at the thought of Carrying Out Official Business. “What is it?” she asked expectantly.

“I need for you to schedule another study date with the ambassador at noon, a week from Saturday,” replied Chiang. “His birthday’s coming up and we want to surprise him with an informal get-together in his office.”

“Sounds fun,” the girl said, masking any wonderment in her voice as to why out of all of Sammy’s friends she had been elected for this Very Important Task.

“Yes. Now remember, at precisely 2:00 you are going to get very horny and coax him into taking you up to his office for some privacy. If he resists, seduce him with your feminine wiles. Don’t worry; he’s a man; it won’t take much for him to fold. If there’s anything I’ve learned from this business, it’s that.” Any register of shock or alarm in Avaya’s expression went unnoticed as Chiang continued: “It’s all just a ruse to bring him up for our classy birthday soirée, of course,” she said obviously. “Now, the theme we have planned for the evening is bondage. You can be either slave or dominatrix; it doesn’t really matter. I’ve got an extra leather corset that would fit nicely underneath your robes, and a harness if you fancy leading Faisano around with you. I’ve also got a cattle prod if you’re feeling frisky. And don’t worry about Sammy’s outfit; he can easily change into one of his ‘Rocky Horror’ costumes once we’ve dropped the bomb.

“Now, does this sound like something you can do?” came the inevitable query.

Meanwhile, Sammy had made his way to the bar without incident, and was presently fishing his wallet from his jeans. Unbeknownst to their owner, a white piece of fabric had been hanging from the pocket, and duly accompanied Sammy’s wallet as it was produced. Startled, the boy let the item drop to the counter. From her usual perch at the bar, Dicey glared at the scrap lying there with scandalous glowing; to the knowing eye, it was the bottom portion of Avaya’s veil.

So that’s where that went, Sammy thought with revelation as he picked up the article to examine it closer. As he did so, his eyes wandered to his side, where he beheld the furious gaze of his friend’s terrifying superior. Quickly he pocketed the fabric, but it was too late. He was definitely in for it. He could have afforded to be more smug about it if he wanted -- Avaya was only too innocent with her inadvertent disclosure (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12405494&postcount=5544) during their previous conference of her boss’s involvement with Sir Alfred, thus proving that the intern wasn’t the only one in her delegation to cavort with a Kennyite -- but considering how much the witch frightened Sammy the thought never occurred to him. Desperately he looked away, pretending to be amused by joking remarks Violet was giving another envoy, as he awaited Neville’s attention.

Had Neville bothered to read the note Brown had been stealthily slipped him just seconds before the ambassador’s arrival at the bar, he would have read: “Keep Faisano occupied at the bar for as long as you can. Have him arrested if you need to. If it helps, I’ve planted a dimebag in his sweatshirt pocket. ~Cdr. Chiang.”

Lars Inki wanders in, beat as from Archon-Elect responsibilities, and orders three large White Russians (two shots of vodka, one of Kahlua, and milk and a dashette of cream) and sits down exhausted. Of course due to licensing laws I am buying them for three of us ;)

But why, WHY, is Tarquin looking so...enticing?

I think I need a holiday.

His waxen cheeks, the bad lippy, and he won't say no...dammit, he's not my type but he's cracking on to me...I'm not sure I like the way his hand just bangs onto my thigh: when I can see the strings! ;) :p :D

Do I gracefully exit after downing my drinks or do I sip them and think "PeeWee Herman, bad but an experience?"

I need advice people...there's a standing space and a few masculine sexy guys givin' me that what for look...fascinating as Tarquin is...ooooooh, the lippy and synthetic hair are NOT soup de jour, at all!

Lars.

The Blue Eyed Man walked into the bar looked around and saw Neville, so he went over for a drink and some small talk

Ikir Askanabath (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Altanar_UN_Mission) strolled leisurely to the bar and ordered himself a glass of wine. Taking a sip, he looked around, a pensive look on his face. With Jinella and Markus off in various debates, and the RIS agents guarding Altanar's office proving to be less than entertaining, Ikir was.....bored.

The Blue Eyed Man moved over a couple of seats next to Ikir and said simply "Hello"

The Blue Eyed Man moved over a couple of seats next to Ikir and said simply "Hello"

"Hello! I don't think we've met. But I haven't met anyone here yet, so that would make sense," Ikir grinned. "I'm Ikir Askanabath, with the Altanar delegation," he added.

"I've just given a series of lectures back at UNA, and am looking for a drink before I head back to my roost. Please, accompany me into the Bar. It very cold out here, and I don't want you to get a cold. Besides, I owe you a drink."

He shook out his coat, and offered it to her.

"Oh! Thank you." Christelle accepted the coat with a grateful smile, and sighed. It was a relief not to be alone at that particular moment. "That sounds lovely," she admitted, walking with him back towards the Bar.

"Hello! I don't think we've met. But I haven't met anyone here yet, so that would make sense," Ikir grinned. "I'm Ikir Askanabath, with the Altanar delegation," he added.

"Hello Ikir, no i don't think we've met before either, you can call me pretty much anything though most people refer to as simply The Blue Eyed Man." he smiled, it was always nice to meet new people. "Oh i'm the Cookeslandic Mission by the way and this is the first time i've ever been in the bar too." he quickly added also.

"Oh! Thank you." Christelle accepted the coat with a grateful smile, and sighed. It was a relief not to be alone at that particular moment. "That sounds lovely," she admitted, walking with him back towards the Bar.

They walked into the Bar, Cornelius holding the door for Christelle.

"If you could get us a table, Christelle, I'll go and get us a drink. What would you like?"

... Had Neville bothered to read the note Brown had been stealthily slipped him just seconds before the ambassador’s arrival at the bar, he would have read: “Keep Faisano occupied at the bar for as long as you can. Have him arrested if you need to. If it helps, I’ve planted a dimebag in his sweatshirt pocket. ~Cdr. Chiang.”

Finally getting time to read the note, Neville snorted. As if he was going to start having his customers arrested! The Bar operated quite well on a "don't ask, don't tell" policy. Nonetheless, Cdr Chiang, he had to admit, had him spooked.The thought of disobeying her ...

Actually, the thought of disobeying her was ... quite delicious. Neville tucked that line of thought away for later access. Right now, he'd better stick to instructions.

"Don't worry about the tab, Ambassador, your credit's good here," he told Sammy. "It's only blokes like that one ..." -- an infinitesimal nod towards the Cookesland rep -- " ... who're strictly cash. You wouldn't believe the stunt he tried to pull! But, look, I was wondering ... see the guy down the bar a bit? The one from Minyos? Ambassador, he needs help."

Neville leaned over the bar confidentially, doing the manly-man-to-man bit for all he was worth.

"I think he's got in with, you know, the wrong crowd? He's been all over that Tarquin Bim-bam-boom or whatever his name is -- the Cluichistani nutcase? I mean, of course, I don't like to interfere, but, you know, just a word from the right quarter might make a big difference right now."

The look Sammy gave him was indescribable, but Neville chose to interpret it as discomfort. "Yes, I know you've got that choice little bundle waiting for you" -- smirk, smirk -- "but she's not going anywhere soon. This'll only take a few minutes. Introduce him around, find him a few steady types to hang out with -- you've been an officer, you know how important this sort of thing can be ..." Hope I'm not laying it on too thick, he thought, but the responsibility button's always a good one to push" ... and it's for the benefit of all of us, in the long run. I mean, you know, the tone of the General Assembly, and all that ..."

Sammy's pocket began to wriggle. A white rat poked its head out of the spot where Avaya's veil had been.

"Not now, Dicey!" said Neville, irritated.

"Just making a point," Dicey said calmly. "Carry on, chaps." She wasn't going to mess up whatever swifty Neville was working, but she wasn't going to let young Sammy get away with whatever he thought he'd got away with, either. Though -- (extending her magical sense, she swiftly checked out her intern's aura) -- he apparently hadn't got away with much.

Neville, clutching the reluctant Sammy by as much of one arm as he could reach, hauled his prey over to the unsuspecting Minyossian, supplied them and himself with fresh drinks and began an excruciatingly inept conversation about football. He seemed unaware of the finer points -- such as the shape of the ball, and what the game was actually called. Sammy, in the interests of simple accuracy, had to sort out the confusion, and the conversation was under way.

"Well, I'll leave you two to chat, then," Neville said happily, tipping a luxurious wink to Cdr Chiang.

That worthy, having delivered several life-changing shocks to Avaya in a few brief sentences,was sitting back calmly with, to Neville's experienced eye, the self-satisfied expression of a volcano that's just wiped out several villages.

Avaya herself was still reacting. Inside her, it seemed, a series of explosions were working their way through her psyche. Bondage? Sammy was into bondage? Horny? She was supposed to show she was horny? Dominatrix? She was supposed to be a dominatrix?

The explosions went to freeze-frame for a minute while she considered that last one. Dominatrix = strong woman. All her life she'd been around strong women: first her mother, then Dicey. It was about time she had a go.

"Corset? Harness? Tell me, Cdr Chiang, would that mean... say ... black lace? Scarlet ribbon, even?"

Avaya, whose all-enveloping costume had previously sheltered her from having the normal girlish experience of Wardrobe Issues, wouldn't have noticed if Sammy had taken time out for a quick jog, a shower, a healthy meal and a brief address to the GA.

"Hello Ikir, no i don't think we've met before either, you can call me pretty much anything though most people refer to as simply The Blue Eyed Man." he smiled, it was always nice to meet new people. "Oh i'm the Cookeslandic Mission by the way and this is the first time i've ever been in the bar too." he quickly added also.

"Well, it's good to meet you," Ikir said cordially. "That's an interesting handle you go by...how did you come to be called that?"

They walked into the Bar, Cornelius holding the door for Christelle.

"If you could get us a table, Christelle, I'll go and get us a drink. What would you like?"

Pleasantly surprised, Christelle gave him another grateful smile.

"Tea, please," she said. "I need something to warm me up. And thank you again!"

Pleasantly surprised, Christelle gave him another grateful smile.

"Tea, please," she said. "I need something to warm me up. And thank you again!"

Cornelius walked up to the Bar, smiling benignly at the various patrons clustered there.

Having wended his way through the throng, Cornelius hailed Neville with a smile and a nod.

"Ah, Neville, my good chap. Having a good evening? It looks a little busy for my taste. Christelle", he gestured to where she was just settling herself, "would like a tea, and I would like a black coffee and a glass of port."

Neville scurried off, and Cornelius surveyed the bar. It was the same old crowd. He'd initially thought it would take him longer to get comfortable here, so far away from the ivy-covered walls of UNA.

His reverie was broken by Neville arriving with his drinks.

"Thankyou, Neville. Please, keep the change. Her Majesty is footing the bill." Cornelius thanked him, passing over a new folded note.

Cornelius then picked up the drinks, and walked carefully over to the table.

"Thanks," Christelle said again, with a warm smile, as she took her tea. "I've had a lot on my mind these... well, these past few minutes really, and I really appreciate your kindness."

It was, she felt, comforting. The Strangers' Bar was not exactly the sanest place one could be, but at least she was not alone.

"Of course, Christelle. Anything I can do?"

Cornelius sipped his coffee, put the cup down, and cradled his port glass in his palms, and inhaled deeply.

"Unless, of course, it's a confidential issue, in which case I am more than happy just to bask in the warm glow of your company."

He grinned broadly, hoping to charm her into a smile.

Christelle blushed, then smiled, surprised... but flattered.

"That's very kind of you. Yes, it's... rather confidential. And I wouldn't want to turn my problems into your problems." She gave him another grateful smile. "But I really do appreciate it."

"Well, it's good to meet you," Ikir said cordially. "That's an interesting handle you go by...how did you come to be called that?"

"actually, now that i think of it im not entirely sure." he replied. Then he looked down to where Neville was pointing over towards him and talking to someone about what sounded like bartabs. The Blue Eyed Man thought about it for a moment and chuckled to himself. It was really lucky he had decided to bring his wallet today.

They processed in solemnly, singing a very pleasant if mournful tune. The Kawaiians. After what seemed like months, the missing delegation to the NSUN had returned. It was a motley assortment of shrine maidens, Happiness Policewomen, black-clad Shirt Ninja, and even a few wide-eyed ordinary citizens.

But no otaku. The brightly-robed priests that ruled the people of The Eternal Kawaii were conspicuous by their absence.

The oldest shrine maiden, a grim looking grandmotherly type who seemed to be the head of the procession, marched towards the bar and addressed Neville, bowing and stating plainly, "We are back."

Three words seemed far too few to sum up the rise, fall, and rebirth of a civilization. But they would have to do, for the elderly shrine maiden turned and looked over the Shrine of the Manifestation, still perched on its pole at the end of the bar.

It was still intact, amazingly so. But in a rather sorry state of disrepair. The rope wards that once defined its perimeter were tattered and fallen away, and all over the pole there were tacked notices and flyers by ignorant or disrespectful patrons.

The old shrine maiden scowled, and from the sleeve of her robe she pulled a purification wand, the familair stick with folded paper streamers. With a yell of enthusiasm, she struck at the Shrine, sweeping away the notices, clearing the ornate wooden birdhouse-looking structure to its former appearance.

The last remaining religious edifice of the Eternal Kawaii was back in business.

The explosions went to freeze-frame for a minute while she considered that last one. Dominatrix = strong woman. All her life she'd been around strong women: first her mother, then Dicey. It was about time she had a go.

"Corset? Harness? Tell me, Cdr Chiang, would that mean... say ... black lace? Scarlet ribbon, even?""Ah, into domination, are we?" Chiang replied happily. "This should definitely be interesting. Seeing the cute, demure little novice disciplining the Army officer? Ha! Priceless." She was hoping the girl would share her joy, but suddenly realized the Ardchoillean may not have been as pleased with the party theme as any average Kennyite would. And she was just a touch naive. Black lace?! Scarlet ribbon?! What was this kid thinking?? Chiang glanced over at Sammy at the bar, silently considering that the boy had a ways to go before he knocked all the confounded innocence out of her.

"Don't worry too much about the wardrobe, Princess," she quickly added, turning back to Avaya. "Whatever you think will make it work, you can wear a frilly pink tutu for all I care! Just don't hurt the ambassador too much," she cautioned. "You'll give him bad memories of Chechnya." She fixed her gaze once more upon her superior, of whom the Minyossians had just won custody. Poor thing looked miserable, like he wanted to shoot himself, Chiang thought. Sammy stared dully into his beer, stealing longful glances at Avaya. Neville certainly could be a cruel, cruel barlord. The commander counted herself fortunate she had managed to confiscate all her boss's guns before he moved into UN Headquarters; otherwise, he might want to harm himself. She did miss one, though: Wolfgang's holographic weapon. And there it was now, lodged against the kid's temple! Chiang's eyes widened with alarm; she could almost hear herself scream across the bar: Don't do it, Ambassador--!

Bang!!

That's a shame.
__________________
Sammy Faisano simulated death count: 2

"SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!"

Avaya literally flew across the room -- there are advantages in being a witch. Desperately she flung herself on Sammy's inert body, cradling his poor, dear head, kissing his face ... forcing herself hungrily against every handsome, muscular inch of him, hoping against hope that the movement she thought she could detect was life throbbing back into his virile ...

"Really, Avaya!"

... heart, restoring the power to his manly ...

"Not on the bar-room floor! Not in front of everybody! Discretion is the better part of diplomats, remember?"

... frame ... "What?"

"He's not dead, you idiot!" Dicey's voice softened as she realised the kid had been totally taken-in by the holographic gun. "You poor dear! You thought it was real, didn't you? Neville, give her some brandy! It's just another bloody silly adolescent Kennyite practical joke, chicken," she added, doing her awkward best to sound motherly. "You don't think Neville would let people really go round shooting themselves all over his nice clean bar, do you?"

Neville watched glumly as Dicey, casting minatory looks at everyone present, led the sobbing girl away. Well, at least she didn't call me Uncle Neville ... he brightened at a sudden thought: Cdr Chiang would have to admit that Sammy had been pretty thoroughly distracted, even if Sammy'd done the distracting himself. She'd surely see that the situation had been entirely due to Neville's subtle manoeuvres.

He dared another wink.

Prince Rhodri wandered back into the bar. He'd been enticed out by the explosion of sport, concussed by a passing frisbee, and given strict instructions by his physician not to drink again for at least twenty four hours. Since the prohibition had lasted about twenty four minutes, he felt entirely justified in returning at this juncture.

He certainly wasn't about to stay in the Gobbannaen delegation's office right now. His permanant undersecretary had been watching the PINA interview of Dicey and the Sheik -- though Rhodri strongly suspected the TV had been tuned to a rugby match shortly before he walked in -- and something had set her off. She'd been wandering around ever since muttering something about spirit levels and trying to corner the delegation's religious advisors. Rhodri had learned at an early age that involving druids and priests in anything only made life more complicated, so he had beaten a hasty retreat.

Besides, he'd promised to share a drink with Sheik Nadnerb, so it was part of his diplomatic duty to be in the bar.

"Neville," he called out, noticing that the bar-lord seemed to have developed a facial tic, "a pint of Byblos (http://www.miltonbrewery.co.uk/beers/byblos.html) if you please, and a whiskey for Sheik Nadnerb when he gets here."

Looking around, Rhodri couldn't help but notice Sammy stuck in the middle of the Minyosan delegation, looking thoroughly miserable and holographically dead. Clearly the Kennyite had been cornered somehow; equally clearly, as a man Rhodri owed a drink to, he would have to be rescued.

Rhodri considered the tactical situation, and ordered a second pint. His porter might be less alcoholically potent than Sammy's preferred brew, but he hoped the strong flavour would make up for that. At the very least, they could distract the Minyosans with how different from a bitter it tasted.

Taking both pints in hand, Rhodri set out down the bar.

The Dominion entered the bar quietly. Head held high with an arrogant air and eyes coolly disinterested and condescending at the same time, he asserted the air of one who rarely strayed from his stance. Straight-backed, he stalked over to a comfy chair and seated himself from where his eyes roved across the room.

The imperturbable voice of the Dominion sounded in his earpiece. "Have you located the Prince?"

Without shifting, the Dominion's eyes detected the Prince and followed his movements with dull interest.

The young Nuncia, taking a break from the mountain of paperwork her address to the General Assembly had generated, walked into the bar and headed over to her grandmother. The old shrine maiden was doing a brisk business shepherding a long line of Kawaiians who were bowing and genuflecting to the Shrine of the Manifestation, their musical chanting a continuous drone that seemed to blend seamlessly into the background chatter. The Nuncia handed her a rolled up sheet and said, "Oba-sama, could you find time to put this up somewhere?"

A few minutes the sign was unrolled next to the religious trinket booth near the shrine. It showed a picture of some dishevelled Kawaiians with a pleading look, and the caption, ADOPT A KAWAII VILLAGE TODAY! (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=523311) was written beneath it in big friendly letters.

Christelle blushed, then smiled, surprised... but flattered.

"That's very kind of you. Yes, it's... rather confidential. And I wouldn't want to turn my problems into your problems." She gave him another grateful smile. "But I really do appreciate it."

"Of course, I completely understand. If you ever want to chat..." Cornelius sipped at his coffee meditatively, and flicked his eyes casually down to his watch, and they suddenly widened.

"If you'll excuse me just a moment, Christelle, I need to make a quick phone call. It's my daughter's birthday, and my ex-wife will rip my teeth out if I forget." Cornelius grinned in response to an evoked memory.

"When I first was appointed as a Professor, my little Rhiannon used to come to the University after she'd finished school, and sit in the front row of class while I was lecturing."

He looked at Christelle appraisingly.

"Rhi wouldn't be that much younger than you, you know. And she's a year closer as of today. I'll be back in a tic."

Cornelius stood up, stretched, and pulled his mobile out of his pocket as he swung his jacket over his shoulders and wandered towards the door.

Christelle smiled.
"Of course. Your child's birthday is always important, no matter how old they are."

Her thoughts drifted fondly to her sons, Colin (all grown up now) and Michael - still a kid, with all the bright enthusiasm that came with his age. She took a sip of her tea, enjoying its warmth, and glanced towards the door.

Cornelius shut his phone, and wandered back into the Bar. He had a broad grin on his face - chatting with his daughter always brought out the best in him.

He nodded a quick hello to Neville, and settled himself back on his chair. He smiled at Christelle.

"I have spoken to my Rhi. She sounds like she is having the best fun of her life. She's recently accepted a position in the Department of Languages and Foreign Cultures at UNA, following in my academic footsteps."

Cornelius grinned proudly at the thought of his daughter lecturing in the same halls as he used to, and sipped meditatively at his port.

"Do you have any children?"

"Yes, I have two sons," Christelle told him, and smiled as she thought of them. "Colin's 29 now, and Michael's 8. They both seem to be growing so fast... Languages and foreign cultures, you said?" She leaned forward a little, her interest sparked. "Foreign cultures was my field of study at university. That's quite a while ago now, but I've kept an interest in the topic ever since." She gave another smile. "You must be very proud of Rhiannon."

The doors to the strangers bar swung open, the well oiled hinges made not a sound due to the UN Building Managements due dilligence and Lord Esheram Byron strolled in. It was many months ago he left the halls of the UN and the shores of his beloved Venerable libertarians to attend to the expansion of the empire in other worlds and in other dimensions.
As he looked around at the unchanged surroundings he was instantly struck with a feeling of nostalgia and of great happiness to be home. He viewed the current patrons of the bar. So many good times were had within the walls of the Strangers bar and Lord Byrons thoughts were flooded with the memories of his old friends and the times they had.
Byron stolled to the bar and looked for a barman. Neville was no where to be seen leading Byron to wonder if he had finally retired or was he just in the back attending to the often faulty Acme thingamajig. He looked around hoping to spy the beautiful barmaid, Violet Bracket. Again, she was also strangely missing?

While he waited to be waited on the nostalgic images continued to flood in his mind. Stephanie of Enn would sit there in that corner motionless for days only to awake as and smile. The seat now strangely empty. The reps from Compadria who practically lived at the bar extending Otter Blessings, were no where to be seen.

Byron wondered if any of his old UN chums were still in the building and he took out his communicator, dialling the first number in the list.

"This number cannot be connected, please check your directory listing", replied the snarky tone of the providers voice over girl in a recorded message.

Lord Byron sighed and put away the communicator. Perhaps if he awaits Neville or Violets return he would get the update on what had passed in the many months that he had been off world.

Sucking his knuckles, Neville wandered out of the storeroom.

"Hey, By -- BYRON! HEY! You're back, man! Hey!" Fast-forwarding through a classic double-take, Neville extended his wet hand for a handshake, then, changing his mind, jumped the bar and enveloped the wanderer in a bearhug. Heartily he pounded the Hibernian's shoulders, incidentally wiping his hand dry on the visitor's expensive clothes.

"Yeah, well," he said, answering an odd look from his noble handtowel. "My knuckles were a bit sore, y'see. It's those Cookeslanders. One of 'em kept shoving this card (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12521034&postcount=428) at me. I asked him, y'know, half a dozen times, did he really mean it? And he kept on saying yes. So I hit him." Neville shrugged. "They're an odd lot. But the customer is always right. Anyway, the gnomes are looking after him, so what can I do for you, Byron?"

Not that he needed to ask. Even as he unwound himself from the greetings, Neville was rescuing a sliver mug from the row above the mirror and filling it up with the best.

"The dining room's going great, thanks to you. Your gift set it off, but it's paying its own way now," Neville assured him. "Let's see ... oh, I'll leave it to Violet to bring you up to date on all the UN gossip, she'll be in in a minute. Tell me what's happening in your part of the world, mate."

And particularly tell me you're not gonna break Violet's heart again, even if it was for reasons of state, Neville added to himself; then withdrew the remark. It was one thing to be a rabid anti-monarchist, which Neville was. But being a friend of Byron's had underlined to him how little real choice people sometimes had, even when they were drunken Irish ballad-singing princes whom Fate had kicked upstairs onto a throne.

Byron smiled delighted to see the reassuring face of Neville. The feeling of being home was a cosy glow in his stomach and he liked it. He propped himself up on the bar stool and ordered a G39 adding " I presume you still stock it?".

He picked up the menu for the dining room and pondered the list of fine foods. "My my, tell me did you get a Chef? there are some culinary delicasies here I would not expect of a Bar/diner? It looks good."

His apetite wheted for a fine dinner after his long journey through the inter-dimmentional portal had given him an appetite and his stomach was audibly rumbling.

He had left many months ago to form a colony in a whole new world and stamp a new dawn for the Venerable Libertarians. The colony grew quickly under his direction and he quickly met and gained the loyalty of the Locals. Byron had always been a skilled negotiator and his common touch for a royal always endeared him to the people he met. His colony took on a life of its own with the indiginous people on side. However, the new world had been colonised by many different cultures and nations. Alliances quickly formed and Byrons colony joined one that followed protected the rights of the people who prospered under the Purple Star Banner.

All was indeed well until the Imperium decided to expand. It was the reason he was home. The people had begged him to leave after the attacks begun. He had refused and fought with them against a larger but better developed and organised force. Byron was finally given no other choice but to return home for his own safety and did so only with the promise that he would return one day and the Banner of the Venerable Libertarians would once again fly over the colony he had worked so hard to build. Those loyal to the empire promised to fight on.

The problem now was that the portal was now closed as it had fallen under the control of the Invaders and now he was cut off from sending reinforcements. So distraught Byrons first thoughts were to drown his sorrows and thus here he was home once more in the Strangers bar.

He thought of Violet. His abrupt departure so many months ago, so much had happened, So much had changed, would she still talk to him?

Suddenly the door burst open. Lady Sophia grey stood there looking on in amasement, "you are back!?"
"Hi Sophie", Byron answered glibly. "Whats new from our UN Office?" he added trying to cut the seemingly endless silence.

An aid to the VL UN Delegation had spied Byron as he walked from the Portal to the Bar and reported that he had seen Byrons doppelganger, The Staff being un aware and unprepared for Byrons sudden and unannounced return.
Sophie Grey had so much to ask as she had recieved so little information once the war began and the Imperium forces had cut communications.

They had so much to talk about, on personal and government matters but she decided to leave it be for the moment... She hugged him, a slow loving hug and she sat down, "A venusian champaign please Neville, Lets toast Byrons home coming".

Byron looked at Neville and smiled. "I presume my credit is still good around here?" he joked and ordered drinks for all who would join them.

Edward sat at the bar, looking rather bored. He wanted another taste of his drink, but couldn't seem to work up the motivation to grab it and knock it back in his usual fashion. He was very busy at his jobs in the Federation, and had little energy left for UN matters, even the ones involving socializing and alcohol.

He noticed Byron enter, but couldn't be bothered to greet the fellow despite wondering what the hell had kept him away for so long.

Sen. Sulla looked up from his conversation with his secretary Velma, and saw Lord Byron at the bar. He smiled and gave a friendly wave.

Byron seen the Senator waving and grinning inanely at him. He approached the senator and gave him a warm handshake. "Sulla old boy nice to see you again" he smiled. Wont you and your delegation join me in a drink marking my return to the UN?" Byron beckoned to Neville to refill the senators glass and was delighted to see a comrade of old.

Edward Black walks into the Stranger's Bar for the first time. "Get me a beer, bartender. A large one preferably, with some alcohol in it."

The Blue Eyed Man saw a new face walk into the Stranger's Bar, whom apparently was well known. He heard many enthusiastic shouts of "Byron!" "Hey Byron!" from the other delegates. He leaned over and asked, "Who is that guy?".

Edward Black walks into the Stranger's Bar for the first time. "Get me a beer, bartender. A large one preferably, with some alcohol in it."

then Edward Black walked over and sat down a few seats over. Hullo, i don't believe we've met before. he said amicably.

"Hello. Aren't you the one who offered to sell me peanuts and sunflowers (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12591235&postcount=87)?"

" Dazza, all you've gotta do is revive the dishes from the Dolphin debate! It's not so hard, dammit, man! Just take out dolphin, substitute whale!"

Neville glared frustratedly at the chef who, thanks to Byron's earlier generosity, ruled unquestioned over the fine dining part of the Strangers' Bar service.

"Nev, mate, you don't understand!," the maestro protested. "Cooking is an art! The whole context is entirely different! Australian fusion cuisine is an experimental mode -- you can't expect me to just grab a hunk of oily gunk and treat it the same way as a completely different hunk of oily gunk!"

"Well, slap it on the barbie, then! Isn't that what your whole bloody culture's about? Dazza, you can't just stand there barefaced and tell me your artistic temperament's gonna stand in the way of the Bar's profits! Look, you remember how the dining-room takings shot up when we themed the menu to that dolphin row? Now ..."

"It was one of Dazza's triumphs, wasn't it?" interrupted Violet, pushing between the Barlord and the chef to turn off the intercom that had been broadcasting the dispute to the whole Bar. "Especially the buffet, so delegates could pop in and grab a snack between speeches. Look, why don't we try a bit of even-handedness this time? We could run two separate menus for the pro- and anti-whalers."

"Soy and tofu!" snorted Neville. "Cauliflower and carrots! Fat lot of good that'll do for our five-star rating! Besides, what if he hands the pro- menu to an anti- delegate?"

"Now, now, you have to trust Chef," Violet soothed, tugging Neville in the direction of the front counter. "He's the expert in the kitchen, you're the expert in the Bar, right? And we're going to need experts, believe me. Senator Sulla's wandered in. And our revhead Texan buddy. Plus a whole bunch of Venerable Libertarians. I'm run off my feet. C'mon, Neville, move it!"

then Edward Black walked over and sat down a few seats over. Hullo, i don't believe we've met before. he said amicably.

"Hello. Aren't you the one who offered to sell me peanuts and sunflowers (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12591235&postcount=87)?"

*Felix Dzerzhinsky enters the Strangers Bar, inexplicably dressed in a Nudie Suit (http://scoop.diamondgalleries.com/news_images/6582_17608_1.jpg) and a large cowboy hat (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12088426&postcount=4009). He is followed by a pair of Destructor Bunnies carrying two large boxes.*

YEE-HAWski! Comrade pardners, there is no need to have a dispute over a matter as trivial as peanuts. Here, I offer you a gift of Fine Yeldan Cowboy Hats™ to take your minds off the stressful happenings in the general assembly.

*takes the boxes from the Destructor Bunnies, removes from them two Fine Yeldan Cowboy Hats™ and hands them to Edward Black and The Blue Eyed Man*

You already feel better, yes?

*Felix Dzerzhinsky enters the Strangers Bar, inexplicably dressed in a Nudie Suit (http://scoop.diamondgalleries.com/news_images/6582_17608_1.jpg) and a large cowboy hat (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12088426&postcount=4009). He is followed by a pair of Destructor Bunnies carrying two large boxes.*

YEE-HAWski! Comrade pardners, there is no need to have a dispute over a matter as trivial as peanuts. Here, I offer you a gift of Fine Yeldan Cowboy Hats™ to take your minds off the stressful happenings in the general assembly.

*takes the boxes from the Destructor Bunnies, removes from them two Fine Yeldan Cowboy Hats™ and hands them to Edward Black and The Blue Eyed Man*

You already feel better, yes?

Definatly! Who doesn't want a Yeldan Cowboy Hat?


"Hello. Aren't you the one who offered to sell me peanuts and sunflowers (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12591235&postcount=87)?"

"Yep, that was me." he said, and added "Are you new to the UN?"

"To an extent. I've always kept an eye on it, but until I became New Anonia's UN Representative, I never actually came here."

"To an extent. I've always kept an eye on it, but until I became New Anonia's UN Representative, I never actually came here."

"Same, but one day i saw the map of the UN Building and decided to come in. The Bar's good, there's never a dull moment in here."

Byron, had spent the day running between the Strangers bar and the General Assembly, Lady Grey in tow hauling the reports and papers from both sides of the debate. Byron always suspected that the General Assembly had its fair share of whacko's but todays antics had proven with out doubt that the the general assembly now had more nuts than King Squirrels cave.

However he was pleased to see the voting seemed to favour the repeal so far although it was close. Since having the UNCoESB ratified, Byron had endevoured to have the Whale and Dolphin hunt bans lifted. The Dolphin one required just two runs but the whaling one was another kettle of marine mammals. He looked at the picture in the brocures that extolled the virtues of both sides of the debate and just could not see why so many people held Whales so close to their hearts. Yes they were magnificent creatures worthy of being protected in the same why the VL'ian Flibber Mammoth was, but the complete ban was rediculously unnecessary in his opinion.

Byron finally approached the bar with a thirst and asked Neville for a bottle of Green Spot Whiskey and leave the bottle. He gulped down the first shot and grimmaced as the pot stilled beverage burned warmed his throat and a feeling of light headedness hit home.

He took the bottle and the glasses and finding an empty corner he sat and contemplated the future for the Empire.

Yeldan Foreign Minister Quynn Olver strides into the Strangers' Bar. He'd been away from the UN since Yelda's recent withdrawl from the organization and had only just returned to monitor the vote on the repeal of resolution #70.

He glances around the darkened establishment and spies Lord Esheram Byron.

"Well I'll be. It's Byron", he mutters. And his thoughts are carried back to the beginnings of Yelda's involvement in the UN when the Yeldan delegation was befriended by the Venerable Libertarians. All the work that his nation's delegation had accomplished in these halls might not even have happened had it not been for the encouragement they received from Byron and his staff in those early days.

"Byron, my old friend. It's so good to see you again. Let's lift some glasses and talk of old times."

Byron, who was at this point rather tipsy with whiskey and delightedness on the passing of the Banning Whaling repeal, left all decorum behind as he gave his old friend a bear hug. "Quinny old boy how the hell are you mate?", he gushed unashamedly and called for more glasses so the old friends could reminisce and become reacquainted.

Wolfgang carefully peeked into the bar. "Damn, I'm early," he whispered to himself. The "this" himself, that is. Sitting in there at the bar was himself. He waited a few minutes until he heard his - that is, the other his - PET ping at him, and the other him got up and ran from the room. Careful not to let him see himself, he walked in. Glad to see not a damn thing going on in my absence. Wait... I haven't been absent, I guess. He sat down at the first Wolfgang's spot and nonchalantly continued drinking the other his' drink, trying to soothe his headache such adventures caused.

Edward turned to Wolfgang. "Is it just me, or did you just run out of the room, run back in, and sit down and continue drinking as if nothing had happened?"

"Uh..." Wolfgang had been counting on everyone not paying attention or not giving a damn. This person seemed new to the Bar, though. "Er... Um... I had a phone call I thought was important, but it was the wrong number..." His voice betrayed a bit of a question mark on the end, as though he wasn't expecting that to fly. Hopefully the fellow hadn't noticed that he had gone to the right and come from the left of the doorway.

"Alrighty then," said Edward, still clearly confused.

"Uh... don't let my temporal shenanigans alarm you... Here." He motioned for Neville to serve the man a drink. Something strong enough to knock him out, preferably, he silently pleaded. "Neville, this man clearly isn't drunk enough. Could you fix that?"

The Wolf Guardians;12626199']"Uh... don't let my temporal shenanigans alarm you... Here." He motioned for Neville to serve the man a drink. Something strong enough to knock him out, preferably, he silently pleaded. "Neville, this man clearly isn't drunk enough. Could you fix that?"

Sen Sulla volenteers some advice from his table,
"If I may, old boy, I'd suggest the Wild Turkey Rare Breed(TM). Its 108.2 proof, and smooth going down. It can sneak up on a person and make them blotto fast."

Minister Gao sidles into the Strangers' Bar, his every move betraying apprehension. Not for him the gregarious hustle and bustle of post-debate drinking; quietly retiring to the office for a bowl of tea was more his style. Today, however, he wis in a fine mood, moved to celebrate the accession of the Ardchoillean delegation to the UN's secretariat.

[* ooc: <massive disclaimer!> or whatever RP spin we put on mods in the UN </massive disclaimer!>]

He looks about and, with a frown, sees no sign of Ms O'Reilly or her compatriots. Unsure of himself, he perches at the bar.

"Revered barkeep, would you be so kind as to furnish me with a bowl of..."

He stops, and giggles nervously. This really is a very bad idea, Qiang...

"...a glass of quality rice wine, if you please? I will defer to your expertise on the matter, good sir."

He raises the glass and tips it to an imaginary companion. Your very good health, madam.

---

Some twenty minutes later, other patrons begin to notice that the previously quiet figure at the bar is now swaying with increasing violence. Those near enough to hear his slurred murmurings note with alarm some rather apocalyptic language and wonder nervously what exactly is intended by "righteous purification"...

Dr. Jules Hodz walked into the Bar. He had never left, but such was the norm. He took a seat next to Sen. Sulla.

Addressing Sulla, he said, "Sen. Sulla, give me a half pint of whatever alcohol you were talking about. I really need it."

And this was true. The good doctor's shirt, normally neatly ironed to perfection, was surprisingly wrinkled. His hair, normally clean and tidy, was in a mess that made him look something between a guy with an afro and a hippie. Or something. Whatever.

Dr. Hodz placed a lowball glass on the table. He motioned to a waiter for ice.

Sticking his head around the door the newly "elected" leader of the dominion of TWOSuperstars nervously made his way into the crowded but sumptious surrounds of the Strangers bar. Nodding at few of the other newly seated politicians Sen. Pearson crept to the bar and ordered a quick nip of scotch to steady his nerves and a pint of lager to keep him going.

"God, please don't let anyone talk to me!" he thought, downing the whiskey a necking the top from his lager. "I'm not a bloody politician, why oh why did I let my brother talk me into joining the UN"

finding an empty seat and a fairly unused copy of the local paper the leader os TWOSuperstars plonked himself down and began to scan the room, hoping a friendly face would make itself known....

Samantha Benson sidled up to the bar, stepping over the body of the now slumbering delegate from Dashanzi. She enquired if he was going to be sick, but was informed that that was simply 'alarm...alarmist...alarm...hmm...pettifoggowoggo...no'. Taking a drink, she looked across to the new fellow from TWOSuperstars.

"Hi. Sorry if I was a little frosty in the debate; it's been of those weeks. I'm Samantha Benson - Sam, please - from Quintessence of Dust. Pleasure to meet you."

Andrew looked up from his paper to the warm, smiling features of Ms.Benson. Relieved that his amazingly bad speech had coloured his card with all the dignitaries the Senator from TWOSuperstars folded his newspaper and joined the lady at the bar.

"Thank you Sam, it's Andy by the way. Well to my firends I'm Andy anways and....erm......well it's certainly been warm recently.... except for that cold spell...That is" stammered Andy.

"I'm messing this up as well, aren't I? At least I agree with the policy, right!"

Wolfgang, on the other side of the new delegate, beamed, remembering being a newcomer himself. "Don't worry. If you disagree with us next time, I'll just shoot you and it'll all be good." He flashed a fanged grin at the jittery fellow.