NationStates Jolt Archive

The ambassador of Groot Gouda looks over his shoulder, his gaze going slowly from the broken glass to the small crater.

"Make that a whiskey on the rocks. Anyone carrying a laser pointer by any chance?"

* :shock:

The Rep of Komokom watches the meteroite destroy a respectable chunk of floor, and, and more on auto-pilot then actual thought, delves a hand into his jacket pocket and removes a laser pointer, promptly tossing it to the representative of Groot Gouda.

"Blimey, that was a nasty little bit of gravel. Me-thinks the Komokom'ian Space Marines are going to be brought back into service come next chance, Here you go old chum."

* He then comprehends the representative of Watfordshire's moves on the floor, ending right across from him, and resumes his diplomatic composure as one must, with,

"Jolly good, fancy a drink my friend?"

* (Draws out a large red hanky just in time to sneeze into it)

"Bloody server"

* (Sneezes into a large red hanky again)

"Bloody server"

The PRoGG ambassador catches the laser pointer, and in one slick move aims and fires at the crater.

In a spectacular way, no damage is done whatsoever.

"QED", says the ambassador while looking at the place where the representative of Komokom was just a second ago, and pocketing the laserpointer.

"Tell me, is there a pool table in this place? I don't feel like dancing or playing twister".

Comrade Guevara rummages around in the early pages of the thread for a few moments before emerging to assure the delegate from Groot Gouda that there is indeed a pool table in the Strangers' Bar. "Fancy a game, old chum?" He pulls a cue from a surprisingly capacious inside pocket. It's red, with an East Hackney flag fluttering from the end.

"I was just about to enquire whether you were happy to see me. But indeed it *was* a pool cue." :o , the Groot Gouda ambassador speaks, while taking the whiskey to the pool table.

The ambassador grabs a solid-looking cue, and bumps his head against the lights hanging above the pool table while arranging the balls.

"Shall I flip a coin to see who'll start? Oh, and have a drink on behalf of my nation. It appears we have just saved ourselves several billion florins." :)

dp

dp

dp

dp

"Best had, dear boy. Don't have any coins on me, seeing as we're a non-monetary economy and all."

Comrade Guevara signals to the barman for another bottle of Old Ochayeopeian while idly picking at the "This Machine Kills Fascists" sticker on his cue.

The UN ambassador looks at his whiskey, as he's sure he seeing things double. But that shouldn't get in the way of a good game of pool.

"I'll use a florin then. Which side, head or tail?"

Slightly embarrased, the ambassador removes some graffiti stains from his florin and places it on the palm of his hand.

"Ah, that's OK. Was wondering why we seemed to be hearing you in quadrophonic sound..."

He takes a deep swig of whisky, examines his still-shaking hand, holds the bottle up to the light critically and takes another long swig.

"Ah, tails, old chap." He takes another glance at his cueing hand, which has now stopped shaking.

-Comrade Guevara breaks off long enough to beat the server viciously with his pool cue-

"I'd hate to see what happens when you flip a pint," Thackeray Sung muses to nobody in particular. "What'll it be, then: lightly splashed or punch in the face?"

"Well, comrade, you've just pinpointed the reason why the traditional coin-toss has been replaced with a downing-a-pint contest right across our glorious nation. Makes sporting events far more fun when the opposing captains are pissed, too..."

Sung's flippant aside drew a sharp intake of breath from Sam Smith as he remembered an unfortunate cultural misunderstanding on his last excursion to East Hackney.

Still, he thought, there must be more embarrassing things to toss.

Sam Smith idly kicked the server. It growled back at him. He cringed and ordered another pint of stout.

How can a man so shaky even play pool, the Groot Gouda ambassador thinks when watching Guevara.

The coin is tossed.

"It appears to be tails. May the best man win, comrade. You may start."

He looks around, it seems more people are gathering around the table now. What shall he do, concentrate on winning on behalf of his glorious nation, or try to do some networking for general trade and support for resolutions?

Nah. Win. Win and Whiskey. "I'll have another one of that stuff, barman!"

Sam Smith couldn't help but overhear the delegate from Groot Gouda muttering to himself. He grinned broadly. Another market for the Olde Ochayeopoeian Single Malt Selection.

"Good luck, Gouda!" he cheered from the side, noting Guevara's scowl in response.

Comrade Guevara purposefully tossed the three-quarters full whiskey bottle over his shoulder, noting with glee the horrified look on Sam Smith's face as it shattered in the fireplace with a quiet whoomph, scattering burning whisky and shards of glass for yards around.

With a determined look, he strides back over to the bar. "Barman! A bottle of Hackneyite People's Revolutionary Rum, if you'd be so good." He lowers his voice. "And, er, there's a bottle in it for you if you tell everyone you've run out of Ochayeopeian."

"Oh, and better get someone to put out that fire..."

With a malevolent gleam sparkling in his eye and socialist rum flowing in his blood, Comrade Guevara returns to the pool table.

"Everyone!" Hannah and Stephanie declared to the entire bar. "We've just been declared Delegates for the region! To celebrate, everyone gets free Ennish shandies!"

"Might as well try that shandy, as it seems they've run out of that nice stuff. Maybe I'll still be able to aim, we wouldn't want another comet flying through the bar", the Groot Gouda ambassador says, winking at the Enn representatives.

Quietly singing "He went a shandy too far" the ambassador takes position on the side of the table to await the break of comrade Guevara. But not before quietly slipping some leaflets on the counter advertising eco-tours through Groot Gouda's many lush rainforests.

Kuper nodded towards Hannah and Stephanie. It had been a long time coming - but the freebies had started to roll in. A shandy... of his very own.

Sam Smith gazed at the crackling fire and the gleaming shards of glass that littered the wooden floor.

Three quarters of a bottle.

His bottom lip trembled.

Old Ochayeopeian. Three quarters.

His eyes filled with moisture.

Three. Old Och. Gone.

He began to cry.

'Praise be to the heavens that so few noticed our shout' Hannah thought desperately. 'Especially now that we're no longer delegates!'

The shaking now quelled by a sizeable dose of alcoholic medicine, Comrade Guevara steps up to the table and crashes in a ferocious break, scattering the balls nicely and potting one. It's red, naturally.

His second shot is somewhat less impressive, missing everything and lifting the white clean off the table. It arcs through the air beautifully, making a firm splash-landing in Sam Smith's pint.

Comrade Guevara shrugs. "Ah, sorry, my bad. I'll get better after a few more drinks. Your shot, old chap."

Shandy? I've always been partial to it.



T H E

L I F E

A N D

O P I N I O N S

O F

TRISTRAM SHANDY,
G E N T L E M A N.


Tarassei tous Anthropous ou ta Pragmata,
alla ta peri ton Pragmaton, Dogmata.

V O L. I.

THE THIRD EDITION.

L O N D O N :

Printed for R. and J. DODSLEY in Pall-Mall.
M.DCC.LX.


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

To the Right Honourable


Mr. P I T T.

S I R,

N E V E R poor Wight of a De-
dicator had less hopes from
his Dedication, than I have from
this of mine; for it is written in
a bye corner of the kingdom, and
in a retired thatch'd house, where
I live in a constant endeavour to
fence against the infirmities of ill
health, and other evils of life, by
mirth



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

D E D I C A T I O N

mirth; being firmly persuaded that
every time a man smiles, -- but
much more so, when he laughs,
that it adds something to this Frag-
ment of Life.

I humbly beg, Sir, that you
will honour this book by taking
it ---- (not under your Protection,
---- it must protect itself, but) --
into the country with you; where,
if I am ever told it has made
you smile, or can conceive it has
beguiled you of one moment's
pain ---- I shall think myself as
happy as a minister of state; ----
perhaps much happier than any
one



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

D E D I C A T I O N

one (one only excepted) that I have
ever read or heard of.


I am, great Sir,

(and what is more to your Honour)

I am, good Sir,

Your Well-wisher, and

most humble Fellow-Subject,


T H E A U T H O R.






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

T H E

L I F E and O P I N I O N S

O F

T R I S T R A M S H A N D Y, Gent.

________________________________



C H A P. I.

I WISH either my father or my mother,
or indeed both of them, as they
were in duty both equally bound to it,
had minded what they were about when
they begot me; had they duly consider'd
how much depended upon what they
were then doing; -- that not only the
production of a rational Being was con-
cern'd in it, but that possibly the happy
formation and temperature of his body,
VOL. I. A per-



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

[ 2 ]

perhaps his genius and the very cast of
his mind ; -- and, for aught they knew
to the contrary, even the fortunes of his
whole house might take their turn from
the humours and dispositions which were
then uppermost : ---- Had they duly
weighed and considered all this, and
proceeded accordingly, ---- I am verily
persuaded I should have made a quite
different figure in the world, from that,
in which the reader is likely to see me. --
Believe me, good folks, this is not so
inconsiderable a thing as many of you
may think it ; -- you have all, I dare say,
heard of the animal spirits, as how they are
transfused from father to son, &c. &c.--
and a great deal to that purpose : -- Well,
you may take my word, that nine parts
in ten of a man's sense or his nonsense,
his successes and miscarriages in this
world depend upon their motions and ac-
tivity,



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

Wiping off the ball, the ambassador ponders his shot. The balls are nicely scattered, and there are a few opportunities. But he has to take into account the extra stickyness of the white ball, and someone telling stories about a guy called shandy. Where is that shandy anyway? I'm thirsty...

Bending over in what he considers a diginified way, the ambassador aims and shoots. One red ball down.

Solids or stripes? It's the question that life always comes down to.

Stripes are looking good. Chalking his cue, mainly for the intelligent-looking effect, and waggling his eyebrows, mainly because of all the whiskey, the Groot Gouda ambassador takes position.

"That ball. That pocket." If the shot will go as well as the pointing out, there shouldn't be a problem.

The sound of a pocketed ball comes as a relief. The sight of what remains doesn't. The white ball has surrounded itself with solids.

I could aim the white ball at the Collaboration representative. Perhaps he'll stop reading from that book

A sigh. At least make it dramatic.

"I'll be happy if I hit anything vaguely stripey. Chances are bigger I'll hit his shirt.", he says, pointing at a delegate in a corner.

Trying not to damage the pool table, the ambassador shoots the white ball to where he thinks it won't do any damage. An unforeseen solid nearly gets pocketed, and thw white ball barely ends up where he planned to, but he smiles confidently.

"Well comrade, let's see what you make of this. Try to be carefull, we've had enough impacts of Near Envoy Objects for this evening" :wink:

Hrmph.

*removes self and book to a spot less vulnerable to white spheroid missiles*

Comrade Guevara scratches his head in confusion. "What's all this solids and stripes malarkey? In here, we play with red and yellow, comrade. Mainly red, naturally." He struggles manfully to hold back a patriotic tear.

*quickly repaints balls*

Comrade Guevara scratches his head in confusion. "What's all this solids and stripes malarkey? In here, we play with red and yellow, comrade. Mainly red, naturally." He struggles manfully to hold back a patriotic tear.

Well, you could play traditional billiards that way. The ones that are like bike shorts: no pockets.

D'ye have any dark jamaican rum, arrr?

From the same capacious pocket that held his pool cue, Comrade Guevara extracts a black tricorn hat emblazoned with a skull-and-hammer-and-sickle motif, which he proceeds to doff to the newcomer.

"Ahaarrrr, ye salty old sea-dog. Let me buy ye a brimming glass of our People's Revolutionary Rum - 'tis darker than a capitalizt's heart, and twice as delicious."

He snaps his fingers at the barman before turning back to the pool table to consider his next move.

A blue/red blur deftly dribbles the black ball on a circuit of the table before launching it in a spectacularly curving arc into the left middle pocket. The Feigle then proceeds to do a lap of honour, complete with handsprings and arse-slapping!!!

"Ho Guevara ma man! When did they poot in the fitba' field?"

"Och, ye wee free menace! We havnae set eyes on ye since yer Kelda was a size 14! Will ye no' tak' a huge dram wi' us? At oor expense, o' course..."

Bah, the net was open and undefended; even [I] could have done that.

On a larger field, of course...

His game of pool now thoroughly ruined by the antics of the Nac Mac Feigle, Comrade Guevara turns to the delegate from Collaboration.

"Hmm... football, you say?" He eyes up the available space. "Wonder if there's room for a pitch in here? Best shift some of the more breakable furnishings first, of course..."

"Ah yes, me an'the lads, jumpers for goalposts....", mumbles the Groot Gouda ambassador.

A small shock seems to go through him. Slowly he looks from the small blue fellow to the glass of shandy, looking doubtfull. But he drinks the stuff anyway.

"Football eh. Could be done here, if you move the pool table to the side. But remember: no linesmen, no match officials, no referees. we will not be fooled again!"

On the other hand, a quiet drink might be nice. See if I can find a poor delegate who might be interested in a minimum wage proposal...

Professor Kuper pulls down the elastic chinstrap from under his fez and removes two of his 'jumpers' and a pair of gloves the size of tennis racquets from a holdall. Removing his outer robe, several delegates note with some suprise that the middle-aged Shiree is wearing nothing but a fluorescent pink top and a pair of baggy black shorts that reach the tops of the nobbles on his knees.

"Anyone wnat to play a game of bridge?" Hannah asked the crowd, producing a pack of cards. "Stephanie and I can make up one team, anyone else want to join in?"

ah, yes, splendid, bridge, almost as civilised as chess. Why, of course my dear, i'd love to. Drink?

That one large fieldstone fireplace would make a fine goal.
What could serve for the other end?

*kicks a round ottoman into the fireplace*

See? :P

My hard day of proving OP wrong on gay marriage and spamming other threads done, I took my normal seat in the dark corner of the bar and order my usual glass of fine wine and drink myself to a bored sleep on the table I was at.

Tsk!
Sleeping on tables again.

*detaches a drapery with which to cover Vivelon's sleeping form*

Tired and weary from arguing for capitalizm and being beaten back, Yuni Hu stumbles in, mumbling incoherently about how her bosses don't appreciate her. She manages to grab a seat at the bar, orders one of everything, and ponders the meaning of her life.

*gives Yuni 128 mixed drinks*
care to scan the wine list first?

Hi there, I'm John Marat and I'm wanted by Albion Soviets for crimes against humanity. Its such a warm fuzzy feeling deep down in my inner child to be here amongst you wonderful wonderful people again.

If you have anything macrobiotic on the menu here and a glass of wheatgrass, that would be just great, thanks.

Oh and, er, you never saw me, okay?

Okay. ^__^

The glorious socialist paradise of East Hackney would be honoured to offer refuge to John Marat, whose notoriety - ah, fame - extends throughout the land. We can even offer him his own cosy cell - ah, room - well padded, obviously. And a nice comfy jacket with buckles on the sleeves.

The good comrades of East Hackney may rest assured that their kind offer to burden themselves with Mr. Marat is not neccesarry. The Soviets of Albion have excellent facilities for our beloved comrade.

*The Central Committee of the WLP fiddle with their newly grown evil moustaches and laugh in an evil manner for 8 and half minutes*

Such a shame. The free peoples of East Hackney were so looking forward to meeting that nice Mr Marat. Especially our soldiers and rock-throwing mobs.

She blearly blinks at the wine list, and then goes back to her drinks, ignoring the barender person.

She could have sworn she saw John Marat here, but that just must have been the 65 drinks she had already consumed. She suddenly decides to take up smoking.

Thackeray Sung inclines his head on his fist and moans gently.

"It's too much. Look at this place. I've had to contend with Holocaust deniers, undeniable-authority-of-God Catholics, reactionary prudes who want to ban rap music or thongs, any number of trolls, 'libertarians' who are just old-school black-hearted conservatives who like to get high - and Habeas Corpus is still not getting support?

"I'm assailed on every side by a world whose values are fundamentally flawed. Would it be too much to ask for something to restore my faith in humanity?"

"You could just have said 'same again' and spared us the Job act," observed Sam Smith, Speaker for t'Pub, as he placed a pint of mild before the Minister.

Sam took a seat next to the disgruntled Rehochipean, supped from his pint and sighed.

"It doesn't help when delegates from nations who have contributed virtually nothing to UN debate wander in and tell us that we 'suck'."

He sipped again and savoured the smooth, dry finish of the beer.

"This general, uh... malaise has even affected an enthusiastically pro-UN nation like my own. The Speakers are concerning themselves less and less with UN debate, instead focusing more on regional politics."

He frowned and was silent for about a minute.

"Maybe we need a really strong proposal, one to capture the imagination or at least provoke strong, intelligent and passionate debate."

A wry smile.

"Any suggestions?"

Hello, I am the ambassador to the UN from Ender Paradox. Just wishing to introduce myself and say hello to all members,

Nick Queen
http://www.patriot-paradox.com

"Hello barkeep, a bottle of your cheapest plonk, please..."

Walks over to the potted plant and whispers sweet nothings into it's leaves.

Comrade Guevara rouses himself from overwork-induced torpor long enough to shoot a quizzical look at the delegate from Enodia (who must be around here somewhere...)
"On a point of order, Mr Moderator - is it considered bad etiquette to dance up and down on the grave of an ex-nation singing cheery socialist songs? Not that I'm referring to anyone specific, of course...coughGBuglescough"

* With an almost blinding flash of light, The Rep of Komokom teleports directly into the Strangers Bar, and dives into his usual chair by the fire, glaring about the bar for who-ever it was who sent a finely crafted bit of matting into the savage flames.

" What a waste, absolute waste, the thing is fueled by the rejected proposals, no need to feed it any-more, it can ignite aluminium from near where I sit alone ... "

* He looks up, at the words of Comrade Guevara, and remembers his ( The Rep of Komokom ) own antics when he learned one Nimbus-sun, cough, splutter, cheese-burger with large fries, was deet'ed by the great falling frying-pans of moderation justice.

" Snigger, heh heh heh. "

* He sips at the iced-coffee "mud-shake" in a bottle ( Apparently appearing out of no-where ) he is drinking, and then states :

" If that was John Marat I saw in here, some one leave him message on a nap-kin ( So romantic, no, not like that way ! ) informing him he may have one of the protected diplomatic estates in my own country, we would gladly welcome him and his, errr, individuality. In fact, we would gladly have him in our region, such famed personalities should be a semi-precious stone in any regions crown. "

* He takes another sip, then with a smile,

" Or a thorn in their side ... "

* Another hypnotic sip,

" Ah, its great to be back, I thought that two week back log of paper work, ( Read as ISP account limit for down loading being reached ) would kill me, but one good drink and the antics, errr, stimulating actions of ones co-workers in making the world a better place, heh heh heh, make it all worth it. "

* All of a sudden, his chair seems to jump an inch into the air, making the five, yes, five, well polished red cedar legs go BUMP

"As they do. "

* He says with a smile.

Sam Smith was swaying.

"I'd like to propose shome toashts." Oh, dear, he thought, fuzzily. Better concentrate on this.

"To Enodia, our dearly beloved former moderator."

Chink of glasses, mournful sighs from a number of delegates.

"To the success of the current rezzlushun."

More chinking, a couple of frowns.

"To the St Sam Brewing Co-Operative, celebrating its centenerary today!"

Comrade Guevara's enthusiastic celebrating propelled him off his chair and into a sticky slick of spilt alcohol.

Isaac Saerens, Galdagan consul to the UN, trudged raggedly up to the bar and let his weight rest on one of the seats with far too little care; he soon found himself almost slipping to the floor.

"It would be the day for it," he muttered half to himself as he sought to catch the attention of the bartender. "Give me a Bakrata Diamond and tonic," he sighed. "Better yet, leave the bottle here."

The woman behind the bar obliged him and placed the glass and a fairly-aged bottle of the finest gin of old the Celdonian traditions before the exhausted ambassador. Saerens picked up the bottle and mused over the label briefly...

http://diden.net/~maga/images/diamond.jpg

"Enjoy," he huffed. "What else would be expected of me after an aggressive campaign of over five hundred diplomatic communiqués and a hundred more notes of thanks. I could care less if this arms trafficking resolution coasts on to victory. That's just the beginning of it. I can see the hell that is committee work barreling at me like a freight train. Well, friend," he addressed the bottle, "bottoms up." Saerens held the glass between his forefinger and thumb, then tossed its contents down his gullet. After a hard blink, he managed to sputter, "Stiff and satisfying. Glad to know some things will never change."

* The Rep of Komokom sips his drink for a moment ...

" Wait on, where did Enodia go ? "

* ( :shock: )

* The Rep of Komokom sips his drink for a moment ...

" Wait on, where did Enodia go ? "

* ( :shock: )

Sam looked at the Rep with sympathy.

"I'm afraid he retired. Not sure who the new mod is, might be Sirocco." He sighed. "The times they are a-changing."

Walking in to the bar Lydia Cornwall felt the stares and sniggers knowing exactly what her new colleagues were thinking. “Whose the newbie” or “Little girl, little country”. “Do you serve Green Telidian Tea?” she asks the barman. “Erm, I’ll just check for you Ma’am” replying with a somewhat bemused look. Lydia of course knew they did, but wanted time to digest this place her farther had told her so much about. Ordering the tea in her mind was making her mark. “I might be from a small nation, but I’m here to stay” she thought to herself.

“Been a while since I served this”, Lydia new the voice well and hearing a familiar voice somehow took the edge of the place. “Uncle Jerry! I see you still wear that same old waist coat” she replied with smile and gave him a warm hug. “Well you know what they say, if its not broken, why fix it”. Jerry stirred the tea and gave Lydia her cup, she had her father’s eyes he thought and he could instantly sense that same steely Cornwall determination.

“What brings you here then” he asked after giving her the cup. “Well you are looking at the new Telidian Ambassador to the UN. I flew in yesterday, still trying to find my way around. I spoke to another Ambassador earlier and he suggested coming here. Apparently if you want to know what really goes on, this is the place to be.”

“Well, well, well I guess I better call you Ma’am from now on instead of…” “Yes, thanks Jerry that will do” hastily stopping the sentence. This was not the place where childhood nicknames should be public knowledge. In here those titbits of personal information could be the death of you. Jerry looked at her with a wry smile knowing exactly what she was thinking. Having served diplomats for 30 years he more than anyone understood how she felt, but as her God Farther he also felt pains of paternal protection. This little girl he has seen grown up, now standing before him ready to represent her country. Is she really ready, still so young….

“I’m so sorry about Ellie, I felt awful not being at the funeral but I had..” Jerry interrupted the sentence, “shhhh you had important things to deal with, I understood. Did you really think I did not know you were selected to be Ambassador here?” Lydia felt somewhat embarrassed and felt guilty having her work interfere so much in her personal life and Jerry could see that she was hurting. He did not begrudge her, he had never been so proud as to see her standing here, in this place. “Go and have a seat, go do you your stuff” he said, affectionately squeezing her hand hoping to ease the pain and provide encouragement as a farther would have.

Comrade Guevara winks lasciviously at the newcomer.
"Evening my dear... my, you're a sight for sore eyes. One gets so weary of these rough and ready socialists with their crude manners and unwashed khakis. Can I offer you a pint of Heart of Darkness?

http://www.ucs.louisiana.edu/~lst4606/ns/East_Hackney/Heart-of-Darkness-label.jpg

*examines his rumpled khakis*
Excuse me a moment; must run home and change...

*examines his rumpled khakis*
Excuse me a moment; must run home and change... :oops:

* The Représentant raises his drink to the new representative of Telidia, then moves the short distance from his chair to the great fire place, where he lays down a

- White Frying-Pan for Justice and Service to Equality Before Law -

Medal on the mantle, in tribute of the good Moderator departed.

"Bonne chance, et bonne chasse."

* He takes an irish coffee from the bar and returns to his seat.

"Good Afternoon Comrade Guevara, I've never tried it before so, yes please. I've always been interested in trying anything new" she said with a broad smile, whilst acknowledging the Komokom representative with a nod.

*strolls back in wearing pressed grey flannels, a white cotton shirt open at the collar, and Rockports...trying to look nonchalant*

*The new Telidian Ambassador smiles as she notices the member from Collaboration re-enter with a change of clothes having seen him shyly leave earlier…*

* The Rep of Komokom pulls a package from his jacket, un-wraps it and pulls out a copy of Jennifer Government. He mutters to himself,

"Angus and Robertson finally pulled out their finger."

* He proceeds to sip his irish coffee, completely enthralled in the text.

Comrade Guevara presses a pint of Heart of Darkness into Lydia's hand, fervently hoping she didn't notice the double rum he slipped into it.

"Anything new, eh?" He raises a suggestive eyebrow while subtly sidling in front of the delegate from Collaboration and thanking his lucky stars that he chose not to wear his own sweat-stained khaki fatigues today...

Lydia accepted the pint with heartfelt thanks, took one sniff and thought “Mmm, not sure about this…” but, in the interest of making new friends politely thanked the Comrade, took a sip and immediately had to dig up every once of her resolve not to violently vomit all over the Comrade.

The stout and rum concoction was new to her delicate senses and it felt like she was drinking a good dose of drain cleaner rather than a pint of stout. Not wanting to upset the Comrade, she steadied herself for another sip, and said, “A rather interesting flavour Comrade, one I am sure I will learn to enjoy” whilst trying to smile convincingly. Having marginally recovered from the last sip Lydia decided to get down to business and asked “Comrade, if I may, could you please point out the Galdago Ambassador? I’d like to pass on my congratulations.”

With thanks to Komokom in letting me exploit his representative in the interests of moving this along

The Galdagan Consul wandered back into the bar again after another relatively long day, one that had finally seen the close of the vote on his carefully crafted proposal. Now that it reached resolution status, the real work began, but not without a drink.

"Oh barkeep," Saerens intoned, "you wouldn't happen to have any Isidis on hand, would you?"

The young man reached under the bar to pull out a brightly-colored bottle and showed it to him.

http://diden.net/~maga/images/girly.jpg

"Just got it in today, sir. Would you care for some?"

"A man couldn't hope for something with less of a bite on it. I need to keep a level head. Pour me a glass of that Ecopoeian favorite, if you don't mind."

The bartender obliged and Saerens left him a generous payment for the beverage. Sipping his drink, the Consul meandered over to a chair where he found the Representative of Komokom sitting there, rather engrossed in a text. Pulling up another chair next to the man while conspicuously eyeing the frying pan that was resting to his right, Saerens made a quiet attempt to be noticed. After a time of gazing at the printed pages a bit, he looked up with a marked pace in his movements.

"Issac, so good to see you," the representative stated.

Saerens, a bit flustered that he was greeted on such familiar terms, struggled to find a way to return the salutation until the thought, "No one knows his name, you bastard," drifted in and out of his head.

"As it is to see you," he fumbled. "How are things in Komokom of late."

"As things are expected to be," the representative replied absently while staring at the frying pan and running his fingers over it.

Saerens, a bit perturbed and uncertain how to proceed, continued. "What have you to read there?"

"A most amusing little read. Jennifer Government by name, courtesy of Mr. Max Barry."

"That's interesting, I suppose. I've never heard of it," the Galdagan replied.

"I did note with some pleasure that committee proceedings are beginning for our newly formed Committee on Illicit Arms Trafficking," the representative remarked without taking his eyes off the frying pan. His one hand ran over the length of the handle and the other had its fingers wedged in his place in the book.

"Indeed, and I was pleased to receive Komokom's immediate nomination of a representative for the committee. I'm hoping we can find seven other nations to be equally as anxious," he replied a bit too quietly.

"What is it Saerens? Don't you have any faith that there will be others interested in completing the work of the resolution?"

"Well, to be honest, I'm just not certain. This is something new for the UN; actually following through with resolutional mandates to create a UN organ is a new experience for everyone, and I'm not sure if anyone really has the interest to see the UN through to a new era of proactive responses to the resolutions we pass." Saerens took a long drink of the raspberry cream and gulped rather hard.

"That long of a day?" the representative queried.

"Oh, don't mind the drink," the Consul replied. "My grandmother has more teeth. Alcohol of the finest Ecopoeian breweries for the discerning Ecopoeian palette." He smiled a wry grin, huffed, and took another sip. He caught a glimpse of the representative of Komokom in his periphery that gave him a fiendish look.

"Yes, of course," the representative mused while flipping the frying pan over and over in his hand.

"Right, well I'll leave you to your fr—ook," Saerens replied while hurriedly getting to his feet. "Good day to you."

"And to you," he replied.

After departing him, all Saerens could think was that perhaps he should have included frying pans in the resolution's definition of small arms.

The representative, however, was all too pleased to find his methods of eliminating unwanted interruptions so effective and his book just the way he left it.

Sam Smith watched the fireside scene with misty eyes. He gestured to the various delegates in the Bar.

"Friends, know this. If we in Ecopoeia fail to contribute anything else of worth to the United Nations, we will still stand proud knowing that our alcoholic beverages are held in such high regard."

He turned, almost flamboyantly, to the bartender.

"A bottle of Old Ochayeopoeian 15-yr, if you'd be so kind. This is for everyone."

Guevara's eyes lit up greedily as his attention was briefly diverted from his unusual attempt at seduction.

DP

TP

..

<dp>

Why, thank you, I will have some Old Och please; neat, yes, that's the way...
*sips appreciatively, trying to look over the shoulder of his neighbor at the newcomer*

eeeh, grand says Sir Albert as he momentarily slips out of his drunken stupor.

ahh si thi's geet a fair few o' them thee new fangled ales ont'tap, pour us a pint barbloke, thar's grand.

ah've gone an made a noo region (ooop North), ave to tell t'other northerners now. toodle pip. mebbe ah'll bring a beer barrel or six back.

staggers off to spread t'word, as it's lonely ooop north at t'moment.

*curses East Hackney's jacket with its oversized shoulder pads*

* After what would be in reality less then 12 hrs, The Rep of Komokom finishes the book.

" Il est brillant ! That and I like Buy, he's cool ! "

* Ah, yes. Any-hoo, he goes on to read it all over again.

" Hmmm, my frying-pan needs polishing. "

* But he has to pick his book up, having dropped it, with a BUMP.

I cannot spell, hence an edit, grrr.

"Barman me fine fellow, glass of meths please.."

A shabby man drinks his meths in one noisy gulp, eyeballs rolling towards heaven he passes out. A previously unseen aide strolls to
the body and with a practiced heave pulls him from the bar.

Another night of shame for the diplomat from Elliotts.

Good night all....

Thackeray Sung rolled his eyes at the raw sleaze dripping from Comrade Guevara's rum-tanned skin, and decided some cockblockery was most definitely in order.

Sliding from his chair, he wandered past the Hackneyite with an expression of complete innocence, and in passing did something quick and barely noticeable with one hand. Whatever it was, it resulted in the Comrade sitting down heavily and squeaking 'My wrist, you bastard!' in a distinctly unmasculine tone of voice.

Having restored order to proceedings, Minister Sung made his way back to the bar, not omitting to shoot the delegate from Collaboration a meaningful glance as he did so.

Tobias McLeod sauntered into the bar, looking around to see who he recognised. After all, you can't remember all 30,000 delegates. He caught the eye of the Rehochipean delegate at the bar, and gave a small nod. He moved over over to his fellow CACE member, and sits next to him at the bar.

"So, Mr. Sung, want to drink together and bathe in our obvious socialist superiority?" Tobias grinned, and turned to the bar to see what was available. It didn't seem like much was left off the drinks menu. Any alcoholic drink that was produced in a UN nation seemed to be available after a little chat with the barman, and that was a lot. He smiled as he heard some of the more... interesting Weegie beverages were still untouched. Ach well, they weren't that popular away from home.

"I'll have a glass of your most potent Rian'laich. I'll leave the harder stuff for later, I suppose." The barman poured the small bottle into a small glass, and shoved it forward to Tobias, who then sipped, wincing slightly after a little while.

Thackeray nodded to the Weegie delegate. "That stuff has a funny way of maturing, doesn't it? I'm told it's a chemical reaction with the glass of the bottle. Not a problem many drinks can boast of."

Feeling guilty about his recent abuse of Comrade Guevara, he purchased a delicious pint of Heart of Darkness and traced patterns in the foam with one fingertip, allowing his eyes to slip out of focus.

"Tell me, what is the State's approach to religion in the Weegies? I find it fascinating, really, how great the difference there is between socialist nations in this respect."

"Oh, are you a conne... conns... oh sod it, the drink's getting to me, knowledgable about Weegie alcoholic beverages, then? There's no, sorry, not many people who know about them, not even in CACE, really. People tend to come for the sun and the surf, not for the spirits. Yes, Rian'laich does change chemically when bottled, partly due to the coconut milk that is the main ingredient, and partially due to the process that it goes through, though the co-operatives like to keep their recipes secret."

"The State's approach to religion is one of tolerance, really. Anyone is free to worship what or whomsoever they like, although the State is careful to seperate religious activities from any influential activities like education or the State itself. Oddly enough, The Weegies is, according to last year's census, a very atheistic nation; only 10% believe in some higher power, and a tiny fraction of a percent go regularly to any church of some sort. I personally think it's to do with our educational policies; the government believes in education for education's sake, and a lot of teaching is developed over rather than a teacher just shouting out facts and figures to a pupil, encouraging critical thinking and rational debate is a major part of Weegie education, and I think that kind of critical mind is less inclined toward something as irrational as religion."

"Hmm." Minister Sung sipped at his stout. "An approach fairly common within CACE, I think. We're a little more pro-religion in general, you might say, but somewhat more anti-organised religion. We don't encourage people to bring up their kids in their own religion, for instance, and while we fund the building of places of worship, we don't treat religious organisations with any special merit, and we've had infant circumcision banned for years.

"With respect to education, we try to emphasise that spirituality of some sort is deeply important, and give students understanding of a wide a range as possible - giving them the tools to choose for themselves, as it were. Of course, philosophy of religion and rational criticism plays a strong par, indeed the starting-point for all this. Essentially, our guiding principle is that religion's highest expression is in the individual, and that group faith doesn't do very much good spiritually; you can learn from the views of others, but it's ridiculous to tell anybody else what to do.

"As a result, it's a little tricky to take religious censii; we have so many flavours of mystic, and a lot of 'em are kind of cagey about it."

Another large gulp of stout. "Thing is, when you look at hard rationality, it's not all it's cracked up to be. You can't live your life by it alone and be human. At some point, you have to make some qualitative decisions - and at that stage, it's all about how finely honed your moral intuitions are."

Rum! Good brown jamaican bliss!

Avast mateys, pass the dipper...

* Having finished the book for the second time,

" Oh, Bar-tend, come here a moment, "

* The Rep of Komokom aquires what looks like a bowl with a handle on it of strong black coffee, and proceeds to add half a 700 ml bottle of Baileys to it, saving the rest for washing the coffee-Baileys splice down after,

" Can't ignore the "Real Life" imports ! "

* He says with a wink.

"He wants me to do what? Please, tell me you're joking."

For the seventeenth time in thirty days, the director was beginning to piss him off. Christian had been reluctant to sign on to the film in the first place because of his reputation for making unrealistic demands, but a few extra zeroes on the check had changed his mind. Now, he was ready to throw the fvcking thing away and just leave. He'd been willing to attempt it when the director had asked him to jam the lenses for a rough, grainy shift in focus. He'd kept an open mind during the underwater filming, even when the director had asked him to submerge a $40,000 light rig, a move that required nearly two weeks of preperation to waterproof the equipment. Under this man's reign, Christian had gone from making art to helping some nut job capture a glorified student film, and watched his hours nearly double from 60 to 110. That didn't leave too much time in the week for things like sleeping, eating, or ultimate frisbee. For an extra twenty grand, Christian had kissed his life outside the studio goodbye.

"No, there's just no way. The MX190 is an indoor rig, its not going to give him the lighting he wants. Besides, you can't build a suspension scaffold for it to rest on, the shot is too wide. There's no way you could hide the giant steel beams."

What the fvck was this man thinking? You don't tell your DP to find a way to get a sixteen ton, multi-milliion dollar lighting rig outside and tell him that you need it for a shoot that happens in four days. Christian knew the man had a film degree, these kind of things shouldn't even register as possiblities in his mind.

"Jason, I'm a DP, not Jesus. As much as I'd like to put it on my resume, I can't levitate the damn thing. What does he expect me to do, ask the producer to approve a helicopter rental and find some way to get the thing hovering in midair?"

The response he recieved made him wish that he'd never asked the question in the first place. This wasn't happening, there was no way. Christian was flattered by the fact that the director actually thought he was capable of pulling this kind of stunt off, but there were just too many complications. Even if you managed to find a way to suspend it under the helicopter, keeping it still would be next to impossible thanks to the wind. Sure, you could secure it with some kind of guide wires, but you'd still have the problem of keeping them out of the shot. What's more, the helicopter wasn't going to exist in a vacuum. The rotors were going to produce one hell of a downdraft, and that kind of wind would most certainly ruin any attempts at a shot that they decided to go through with.

"I don't know what you're supposed to tell him. Tell him that the laws of physics mean this is impossible. Tell him he's a fvcking wacko for even thinking this up in the first place. Tell him whatever you want, but make sure it includes a very obvious and clearly understandable 'no'."

Jason's protest was expected. This was outside the junior production assistant's job description, and it was technically Christian's repsonsibility to have these conversations with their director. It was better this way, though. If Christian had been forced to have this conversation in person, he would've strangled the stuck up bastard for all the bullshit he'd put him through over the last four or five months. Make no mistake, Christian loved his job, but this was out of control and beyond anything he should be expected to deal with on a film set. He could sense the way Jason wasn't looking forward to sharing the news in his answer, but he caved. They exchanged a pleasant goodbye before hanging up the phone, the kind that every citizen of Hollywood learned within a week of arriving, and then went their own ways. With a heavy sigh, he looked over to the half-full bottle of Grey Goose sitting behind the glass door of his freezer. Fvck this. He needed to relax, and nothing spelled relief like martini, and nothing spelled martini like the UN Strangers Bar.

* The Rep of Komokom has an incredible urge to order a martini for some one, but can think why, still he puts it on the list, hands to the Bar-tend and shouts,

" Drink-y for all, I hit my 1000 post-y today ! :D "

* Polishes his sparkly new Negotiator badge.

Christian might have thanked the man who ordered him his drink, if only he could identify who he was. For the time being, all he knew is that he wanted to be drunk, and a man with a sparkling badge had sent a vodka-laced escape from reality floating in his direction.

"Easy there, sparky. It takes more than a drink or two to get into these pants."

Like a vagina. And breasts. And a sparkling personality, full-time job, ability to put up with a man who worked 80 hours a week in direct defiance of proposed UN resolutions, and, from time to time, the desire to play Scrabble with a man who hadn't lost a game in twenty-seven years. No offense to the anonymous buyer's Scrabble-playing abilities, but he just wasn't Christian's type.

* The Rep of Komokom, as he is known, feels momentarily un-happy when some one first thinks he made and alchoholic pass at them, then rejected it ...

"But I don't care, I made 1000 posts, I thought I go completely crazy!"

Despite the fact that his post count was only one quarter of the man referring himself as Komokom's, Christian still managed to hold off on congratulating him. Right now his priorities were split half and half between get drunk and plan the best route for stumbling home. If things went as planned, he wouldn't have to worry about the latter part: he hoped to be so trashed that he couldn't remember where home was. He'd walked past a thousand rooms on the way to the bar, one of them had to be empty with something to sleep on.

"A thousand posts, eh? Well, I don't know what that means, but if it has you excited, by all means, lets drink. Cheers, bud."

The rest of the martini disappeared down the hatch, soon followed by the olive that had been floating in an lake of alcohol only seconds before. Mm. Lake of alcohol. Lucky olive.

The Polish Royal dignitary known to many as Sir Stanislavsky and to vodka drinking buddies as comrade Slavsky, stomps through the doorway dressed in shiny field plate reminicent of 15th century German blacksmiths. He sports a red and white tunic that drapes over his broad torso bearing the royal crest of his nation's flag. He takes off his Salet helm and marvels at what he has just wandered into. "Jaszus Christe!" he exclaims (polish for jesus christ) " Ah, a fine establishment to parch the thirst of any Winged Hussar commander!" He stalks to the bar, wrenches off his gauntlets and has a seat. "Procuror of fine fermented beverages!
Do you have any potato vodka? (the bartender nods warily) "Then bring me the bottle comrade for I have much brooding to do!"

Sir Stanislavsky begins pouring from the the bottle of vodka into a tall stein "Bartender! bring me ice please!" (bartender puts the ice into the stein) "Dobje comrade!" Comrade Slavsky knocks bag the tall stein and gulps it down witha thirsty savagry. he begins to take a look at the inhabitants of the bar and sees Mr Sung from Rehochipe having a drink and speaking to another fellow. "Ah Comrade Sung! How are you I never forget a good debate!" If memory serves me correctly " you are against the death penalty!" Well comrade, I meant to reply to your last tg but was away on international affairs" I had a good retort for you but now that I am peering at the bottom of an empty bottle I forget what the hell it was! (Slavsky lets out a huge barbaric laugh that causes several people around him to stop talking and peer at the booming man. Well I can say this I think we should agree to disagree comrade! Nastrovia!

Dear God. This just wasn't right. If there was more than one man at the bar competing not only for the bartender's attention, but also for the sweet, precious vodka in the bartender's posession, there was going to be hell to pay. Christian watched on, nervously waiting to see what bottle the bartender would bring bag. He'd already laid claim to the Grey Goose. This new fellow would have to settle for Beefeater.

Sam Smith's drunken slumber was disturbed by the soft 'bleep' of his link with the Ecopoeian news network. He stared at the news item through bleary eyes. As he read, his face slowly registered dismay.

"Uh, dunno how many of you remember Lubria, but, well, it's gone."

He cast his mind back to the early days of the Strangers' Bar and the numerous contributions from the musically gifted Lubrian ambassador. And, of course, the beautiful response to a homophobic delegate:

Idiot nation wrote: "Gays suck."

Lubria replied: "Yes, we do. Rather well in fact."

Sam felt vaguely aware that there were more piercing and intelligent comments made by the erstwhile delegate but, to his shame, couldn't remember them. He raised a glass and muttered a quiet toast for the departed.

*lifts a glass*

to past memories and present bliss...one hopes.


When we drink, we get drunk...
when drunk, we fall asleep...
while asleep we commit no sin...
by sinning not we gain heaven...
so let us drink and go to heaven!

Tobias turns to everyone in the bar and stands up, arms prostrate, swaying slightly from his fourth glass of Rian'laich.

"Friends, Delegates, I am in a verybloodigoodmood. Not only because this is a rather excellent specimen of fermented coconut milk... well, mostly fermented coconut milk, but because the UN once more is providing social justice by introducing the 40 Hour Work Week to vote for on the resholution floor, y'ken. Sho, as a gesture of goodwill to all nations represented by this magnificent body, and ash a representation of my happinesh at this bloodigoodtime, the drinks are on me! No matter how lavish, how extravagant, how anything, I will pay for it all for this night. And who knowsh, if it passhesh, this may happen again..."

Tobias sits down before he collapses.

Comrade Guevara is jolted out of the pain visited on him by the delegate from Rehochipe. He blinks, astonished.

Did I really just hear a Scotsman offering to buy a drink? Naah, can't be...

He mutters a quiet eulogy to Lubria and falls asleep with his head in an ashtray.

Well Sophista I hate to tell you but I do not drink that horribly dry British shite HA HA! No beefeater for this polock! By the way do not feel threatened, Grey Goose is made of Rye plus it's distilled, bottled and shipped from France...FRANCE!!! No dignified polish man would be caught dead consuming that swill. It's only 6 time distilled Luksusowa polish potato vodka for me! Bah! I apologize for my inherent vodka snobbery to each their own I say. I believe this bphottle offf vooodka ishth ghettinkg toomee (hic -up!) never drink on empty sstomachh!~ (hic-up!)

Your world tenthds to haave a diffetht phterspective when you phinish a fifth in threee slugs! (hic-up) Barthender give me two oders of pierogie and half pound of kielbasa tis time tooo (hic-uop) sorry..tis time to soak up this alchhol.

* Sits in his chair, consuming his beverage, raising it momentarily to the name of Lubria, now gone into that great big recycle bin in the sky ...

" Alas, such a sharp, cutting witty, will be missed ! "

* Further consumes beverage ...

" Ack, if only I could find the title to that song, I'll go crazy at this rate "

* Too late.

" ... :wink: "

Isaac Saerens, Galdagan Consul to the UN, wandered up to the bar next to his Aperin colleague and patted him gently on the back while glancing over at Guerva, nodded off in a pile of dust on the bar. "Well, Tobias," he said heartily while watching the man sway gently under the pressure of his hand, "thanks kindly for the drink." Saerans sipped gingerly off the top of his Bakrata Diamond and tonic and picked Guerva’s face up out of the ashtray by his hair. After cleaning the man's face and the bar off a bit with the napkin he received for his drink, he placed Guerva’s head gently back on the bar to rest and grabbed a seat next to the delegate from the nearby tropical paradise.

"I'm pleased to see you as enthusiastic about this resolution as I. I intend to give it my full support on the floor of the General Assembly and lobby as best I can for it. It's always a pleasure to see the great thinkers of the CACE producing such marvelous protections of human rights and workers worldwide. Cheers to our comrades from Free Soviets!" Saerens raised his glass slightly, but seeing that Tobias wasn't quite cognizant of the move due to his waning peripheral vision, he shrugged it off and downed a significant portion of the mixture. Wincing a bit, he breathed a refreshed sigh from the jolt the drink had given him. "Always a fine edge on that Rehochipean elixir. It’s a marvel to behold, really. So, given your nation's fondness for rioting, I wonder what the general reaction will be to this resolution," he managed conversationally. The consul stared at his glass and twisted it about in his fingers, pondering the question absently.

"Hmm? Oh, there's less rioting nowadaysh... now that the government is far more worker friendly. It wasn't just the workers that rioted, though. The collapse of the Federal Rep..republic of Aperin hit the fragile Weegie economy rather hard, especially as it refused to trade with the new anti-capitalisht nations that formed out of the ashes of the FRA. And anyway, this great leap forward doesn't affect us much, anyway. We have already introdushed the 40 hour work week, much to the dishmay of the remnantsh o' the conservatives." Tobias grinned somewhat.

Isaac finished off his drink. "I was just checking to see if you were still sentient in there McLeod. I wouldn't expect that your citizens would be given over to rioting about being told they didn't have to work their hind quarters off, especially when they've already been told before." The consul grinned and motioned to the barkeep for a fresh top to his empty glass. "If you don't mind, I'll pick up the tab for this one. You can use the change you save on it for some relief for the hangover I think you should be expecting. At any rate, with Galdago recently evolving in step with the Aperin continent and turning over the economy to the trusted care of Labor Minister Dantes, our citizens shouldn't be surprised by worker-friendly regulations on their time spent at the office."

With his glass just refreshed by the short, kind-faced woman behind the bar, Saerens sipped gingerly at his drink once more. "As a matter of fact, I think they would have rather expected them to present themselves independent of the UN. The rustlings in the wind say that Dantes is putting out feelers in Parliament's Economic Planning Committee for a 37.5 hour work week, but would much rather see it at 35. I'm sure that would be welcomed by the masses as well, but given this weak transitional period in our economy, I think they mostly feel we're going to have to wait on shoring up that kind of legislation. All the same, would you like my chauffer to take you somewhere? You look a bit... spent."

Comrade Guevara rouses himself in some confusion. What on earth's happening? Serious business in the UN Strangers' Bar? What's the world coming to?

He shakes his head disapprovingly and reaches for another bottle.

Sir Albert of Bahgum wakes with a jolt of shock at the appearance of seriousness in the UN bar. As a well known bastion of all things frivolous and mind altering, Bahgum and its people are known to be driven to even more drink at such prospects.
He pulls out a family sized bottle of Bahgumian Blue Brandy and fervently hopes the moment will pass. With any luck the conversation will move to camels and Mothers in Law soon.....

Comrade Guevara is all too glad to oblige. "Ey oop, Comrade Albert, haven't seen thee in here for years! How's tha mother-in-law? Send her my regards, won't you?"

Eeeh, grand to si thi owd Guevara! Well wi moved ar nation to Ooop North, but weve bin stuck theer on ar own, so ah've bin sending out them camel riders t'find a new slightly daft, but friendly home.

My mother in law...where.....what?......phew, don't do that to me? Any use fer one on tha security detail, they are feeling mightily vicious at t' moment...

* At the mention of security detail, and the images of carnage provoked, judging by memory alone, of what a vicious Mother In Law can do, The Rep of Komokom allows his ears to perk up, leans forward and calls sofltly across the bar to the good Sir Albert ,

" Two words old boy, "U.N. Forum" send'em in and clean'em out."

* It seems our good Rep of Komokom is feeling slightly vicious himself of the sudden yet slight rise in "stoopidity" one finds in these lofty halls of law, lore, and stuff.

" Darn'd toot'n, but t'moz I thank-fully go forth on a dangerous expedition, to find a sacred relic of times past ... "

* Good booze ?

" Yes, and a copy of VHS or better DVD if I can get it of The Thing "

* :roll: Drink up, you need your sleep then, :wink:

Aye lad, send em MILs in t'UN, sounds grand, but mebbe they'd like t'chance t'meddle in t'worlds affairs that much we'd never get em out again...not even for their favourite soaps!

Have a Blue bahgumian Brandy owd bean.

Bahgum

We could have an Afghan intervention; distract them all into knitting afghans.

Our grand high Mother in Law *she who must be feared* says that afghans can wriggle quite a lot whilst being knitted, but with patience and more than a little MIL care some lovely wrong shaped pullovers can be achieved...

"Barkeep my good man I require a jug of blue mushroom juice if you pls"

Staggers to a dark corner and opens a newpaper to the crossword.

The level of the jug drops as each clue is scrawled in.

"Eureka!!!"

Completed crossword. Kissed the plant, shook hands with the staff, walked out of the bar singing...
"I can see the music..."

Shut up you serious debating fools! we are here to drink and socialise otherwise be off. Nothing ruins a buzz worse than politics and religion! Nastrovia comrades! Have a drink on the royal Polish bloodback! Hah!
(smiles and finishes off his potato vodka) (UUUUURRRP!) Now I need good thick boned woman to sweat out this vodka (staggers off the stool and begins carousing)

* The Rep of Komokom, T.R. Kom, lost grip on his empty cut crystal tumbler, and it fell to the floor, hitting it with a delicate, BUMP

" Oh, my bad, bar-tend, a refill if you please ? "

Sam Smith looked about him in shock.

"Bloody hell," he exclaimed, "We've been Stickied!".

"Double posts/shots all round!"

"Sod it - make 'em trebles!"

"Christ, there's no satisfying some people. Quadruples then..."

"Wonderful news, old boy, wonderful. Barman! A bottle of your stickiest liqueur, if you'd be so good. But not that frightful Ecopoeian raspberry concoction."

-DP-

Fantastic idea.

Distinguish colleagues,

we would likte to ask the moderators or anybody who is competent to answer whether all past resolution apply to all UN members or only that which were passed after we joined the UN. We have received different comments by different members about that issue. We would be pleased to sort out this issue, because otherwise we are in a legal limbo and don´t know which UN resolutions actually apply to us.

Sincerely yours

Marc Smith, president of Kybernetia

Thackeray Sung turns to the Kybernetican.

"Once you've joined the UN, all its past resolutions become law in your country. However, the only ones that have a stats effect are the ones that passed while you were a member.

"That's why some members duck out of the UN when a resolution's about to pass, then rejoin afterwards - keeps their stats nice and clean. Doesn't make a shred of difference to the actual laws of the country, though.

"Is that any help?"

@Thackeray Sung


"Once you've joined the UN, all its past resolutions become law in your country."
That´s what we thougt. It looked to us pretty strange that you could join an organisation without accepting its present laws already in existence.
That wouldn´t be the case in the real UN as well.

"However, the only ones that have a stats effect are the ones that passed while you were a member."
"That's why some members duck out of the UN when a resolution's about to pass, then rejoin afterwards - keeps their stats nice and clean. Doesn't make a shred of difference to the actual laws of the country, though."
We understand that while laws do apply in all member states that due to game mechanics only resolutions are inforced in the member state if the state is a member when the pass. Right???

"Is that any help?" - Probably

Thanks anyway

Sincerely yours

Marc Smith, president of Kybernetia

* Sitting in his usal chair by the fire, The Rep of Komokom allows himself a smug little smile as he shuts down the Tele-Mod program on his Personal Electronic Thing and looks around the now very solid looking Stranger Bar.

" Looks like the golden glow here is not booze induced this time. "

:)

@Thackeray Sung


"Once you've joined the UN, all its past resolutions become law in your country."
That´s what we thougt. It looked to us pretty strange that you could join an organisation without accepting its present laws already in existence.
That wouldn´t be the case in the real UN as well.

"However, the only ones that have a stats effect are the ones that passed while you were a member."
"That's why some members duck out of the UN when a resolution's about to pass, then rejoin afterwards - keeps their stats nice and clean. Doesn't make a shred of difference to the actual laws of the country, though."
We understand that while laws do apply in all member states that due to game mechanics only resolutions are inforced in the member state if the state is a member when the pass. Right???

"Is that any help?" - Probably

Thanks anyway

Sincerely yours

Marc Smith, president of Kybernetia

The Representative from the States of Stephenson has deemed this information most useful and has passed that information to His Majesty's Government. Thank you for your assistance.

Anyone for a Brandy?

Desdemona walks into the bar wearing her 'gay science' shirt.

"God it's been a long time. I was thinking of starting a NSUN museum anyone want to submit an exhibit?"

Thackeray Sung smiles pleasantly at Desdemona and hands her a gin and tonic.

"You could have the Big Stick of Humanitarian Socialist Reason, used to beat necons over the head in the 40 Hour Work Week debate. But we'll probably be needing that again, so it'd probably be better to get a replica made."

"Well, we would nominate the Rep of Komokom's (by now very battered) frying pan... but likewise, he's not done with it yet. And I wouldn't want to be the one to try to prise it from his hands..."

"Thanks Thackeray. I'm not scared of him… okay maybe I should make models. Any suggestions? And… oh god I still have work to do on 'meet the reps'"

"How about a metallic green party hat with pink tassles, in honour of the circus thread (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=122857&postdays=0&postorder=asc&start=0) that led to this place being set up?"

Wesperonian James Allen Pope, UN Ambassador, enters the bar for the first time and glances around. Disgusted with the sights and sounds of cheer, he reaches into his suit pocket and turns his mp3 player to a pleasantly depressing Gustav Mahler symphony.

He takes a seat in the back, in the dark, lighting a cigarette as he contemplates the past day's happenings.

*Sir Slavsky ravenously consumes his polish cuisine and pushes the plate away from him* *uuuurrp* that was most excellent dish bartender! dobje!
*the winged hussar commander and royal diplomat of Polish Warriors carefully eyes the bar for interesting folk to converse with* * suddenly, his eyes fall on the rather lovely Desdemona who has just entered the bar and muses over her unique shirt and perhaps the contents that lie within*

The glorious leader of Bahgum, President Simon enters the bar, looking pale and tired. He orders a quadruple strength Blue Bahgumian Brandy (presidential reserve) with a coalface bitter to follow (with real coal bits). Having just had the dreaded mother in law stay a whole holiday weekend he is amazed he made it to the pub without collapsing.

'Na then, a thousand eckythumps fer whichever nation can present me with t'strongest most mindblowing brew on t'planet....mebbe that'll 'elp me forget t'nightmare i've endured......'

"Oh Simon you poor dear. It's not too strong but can I offer you a glass of our finest Absinth?"

*walks in door*
"Hello people, is this the pub?"

BEER!

Well what do delegates do around here?

Dear esteemed members of the UN, I come before you at a moment of significant tumult in world affairs. The threat of aggressive, dictatorial regimes hangs over us more and more with each passing moment, and the time for a final stand has, I believe, come!

I am currently pursuing an aggressive campaign to stomp out the horrors of dictatorship in the Republic of Incisor by establishing a strong cener-left coalition. I have opened the diplomatic channels with Incisor and I am pursuing United Nations assisstance in this time of great urgency.

Together, the liberal world can finally send a message to the dictators that they will no longer be tolerated. That our ideals are indeed the moral choice and that they will never again threaten the stability and safety of the free world.

What I said above. Also, nyone up for Cheat? :mrgreen:

Hannah and Stephanie wander in, looking a bit out of place in the new, flashy, stickified Strangers' Bar.

"Hello, everyone, miss us? We've just been traipsing around the Ennish wilderness, to suddenly be informed we've been made delegate! Bartender, Ennish shandies for everyone!"

* A timid woman with vivid green eyes and priestly robes enters and looks around the room. In a shy voice, she speaks.*

Oh. Everyone seems to be drinking alcoholic beverages. Perhaps when I become delegate, I can do something about this vile substance.

*with a warm friendly smile to anyone that catches her gaze, she turns and leaves*

The King Of Aidalaia walks slow around the bar and sits down by a table.
He wips his hand in a supreme movement and order a soda.

sinking back and relax

Hellos to ye all, I'm Paul Green, UN Ambassador fae the Capitalist Republic O' Freedom For Most and Conservatopia. Ah bin sent here tae campaign against the Abortion Rights business... eh? Beer, oan tap? Subsidised says ye? Line 'em up sir.

"Sir Slavsky did I ever tell you I was part Polish?"

Desdemona stands on a chair much like how her Nan does at parties only without the Abba.

"Okay I'm going to put together a little contest here. As many of you know I don't like religion being used as a basis for legislation but can anyone guess my religion. You have a day to submit guesses and the right one (or closest too) will win a lifetime of free drinks paid for by the Just Because You Are Religious Doesn’t Mean I Have To Be Council of Tblack. That is all."

Desdemona sits down and resumes consumption of alcohol.

A pale ale and a handful of darts. Heaven to me, mate. Oh- a shandy for my concubine too, please.

*president WitchHunter walks in the bar in a seemingly godlike motion*
"Arg, hey mate can i have meself a beer, and a nice vodka on the rocks"
*notices other people*
"Hello and good day gentlemen, how are you doing today sirs and ladies?"

"Desdemona! You're still here!" Hannah called out across the room.

"Well, I think I'll try your bet," the Ennish rep said. "Let's see... it can't be anything too mainstream... I think I'll have to go for... the Armenian Christian Church! Am I right? Am I?"

Sam Smith had received a message. He stared at it blankly for a few moments. Memories flooded through his head. Memories of linament, headbutts, prodigious alcohol consumption, brawling, harsh Scottish accents, his special award from Rory... Rory.

He drank, silently toasting the departed.

The Nac Mac Fiegle were no more.

"Hello Hannah! Yes I'm still here, I was thinking of retiring and leaving Giordano in my place but that would mean settling down as the Lady of Merwell and sleeping with only my husband. I'll give it another day just to be on the safe side."

President Simon of Bahgum makes a quick call to Mother in Law security coven number 1 and has them tail that Podani woman out of the bar, anyone who utters such dangerous nonsense about no alcohol in the UN bar needs watching, and watching by the best. Fortunately none come beter equipped for watching than MILs....

Now wheres that caolface beer....

Thackeray Sung glances at Desdemona, hoods his eyes for a moment, and then looks up again.

"Ba'hai. Failing that, I'd say Discordian except that you probably have better taste than that."

"Your all wrong. I follow the teachings of Christ except for the bit about god. I don't drink, smoke, or use drugs (except for medicinal). I pray wile baking bread and leave a bit of my food outside for my deity. Your more likely to see me in a forest then in a building of worship. Any more guesses?"

"Hooo boy... a pagan. Blessed be, or whatever it is."

Thackeray Sung offers a small internal prayer of thanks for the complete laissez-faire attitude of Daoism to absolutely everything, before sinking the remains of his gin and tonic.

"Not quite, I'm a Hedge Witch. But yeah basically, I just don't do the tree hugging, fluffy nonsense. And to correct myself I do drink but only when it looks romantic. That being said I'll have a red wine please Neville and all Thackeray's drinks are on me.

"Have you ever made a country bankrupt?"

Edit: Ohh the 666th post all mine!

Thackeray raises an eyebrow. "All my drinks, you say? I do hope you're not attempting anything untoward, mademoiselle."

"Never… well I'd have to ask Geoffrey first."

Delegates kill foreigners, oppress the less fortunate, bed for power - not love, and plot to get out of this 'lounge' before we lose what little self-respect we apparently have left, if there was any in first place.

I wont mention this to your parents, it's better that they not know.

"It's always the new ones…"

Stephanie, after hearing the outburst from the Lochlannach Finn representative, was heard to mutter "How incredibly odd". She then turned back to her game of solitaire that she had set up in a corner.

Hannah, on the other hand, was getting right into the mood of things. Or at least trying to. The Bar seemed to have quieted down since she was last in.

"Why's everyone so quiet? Who died? And where's the Rep. of Komokom gone?"

'The entire country of Komokom is having computer issues. I told him that government officials need broad band. I just can't eat noodles the same without him."

Desdemona pokes her head out of the door, a protester from her own country throws a doll at her head. She quickly comes back inside.

"Looks like the first lot are leaving. Happens every proposal. At least we still have the bar. Another Drink please Neville, it's going to be a long day."

Mar Darenka, a middle aged woman enters the bar, her red hair showing more than a fe strands of grey. She sits down by the bar itself. "You wouldn't believe the whining going on back home. I spent three hours on the line with the Head of the Church, explaining that I did all I could about the new proposal, and it wasn't my fault it was passed. I think I need a drink." She looked around, taking in the crowd. "I hope everyone is having a better day than I am."

[OOC: CDR(ret.) Henry J. Schutz, U.N. representive appointment of Tekania enters in, sits down and orders a glass of zinfandel, then sniffs]

Wow, hmmm, I forgot what the air smelled like when it wasn't cloged with political fumes. :)

"I was for it but a few groups have problems. You can't please everyone. I abstained from voting though, it may be right for my nation but I didn't think it would be in them all.

"Enough of politics, may I offer you a drink Mar Darenka, to celebrate your recent arrival."

"Right or wrong, it's incredibly crap legislation," mutters Thackeray Sung into the latest in a long and distinguished line of gin and tonics. "And now that the topic's come up it'll be hours before we can get back to flirting and rowdy drinking games."

Desdemona, who is conveniently wearing a front lacing corset, leans over towards Thackeray Sung.

"I'm sorry for bringing it up, forgive me?"

"I just hope it doesn't start becoming a stadardized practice to pass proposals written on bar napkins..... :roll: " mutters CDR Schutz

"Ahhh..... Better do something about this before it rolls on...."

CDR Schutz signals the barkeep...

"Rum.... Just bring the whole bottle....."

"Now all we need is a __________________________ "

Thackeray Sung runs one hand over his shaved pate and uses the other to fan himself vigourously with a beermat. "Forgiven, forgiven."

"Thank you. Drink?"

Hannah groaned loudly.
"I wish they'd just stop complaining. Why don't they just leave, and be quiet while doing so? Do they really think we're interested in everything they have to say about why they're leaving?
"Bartender: Something really strong. I want to forget all about this. Have any metho?"

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!



HA

'Psychology," Mar said. "There's no point in being righiously indignated if people don't notice. They hope by throwing a fit, that they will attract followers to their causes, and that the powers-that-be will have to bend to their collective will. Bartender? Could I have a glass of red wine, please?"

[OOC:CDR Schutz gulps down a shot of rum]

"If there's one thing being a sub skippers taught me about politics, if you don't know what it is, it's automatically a hostile....."

"I propose that we name the barman Neville after the brave and heroic full-time part-time barman!"

"Oh this in new people leaving before it passes…"

"No kidding," [OOC:says CDR Shutz between shots of rum] "What makes even less sense is the fact it is detrimental to other nations of their like mindedness, since the vote is catching up, it is just causing those opposed to the ENPA to lose more power on a resolution that might otherwise fail. I mean, you'ld think they'd exercize some patience and wait till an hour or two before it's off the floor, not 3 days prior.... Here, I'm the one drinking, and they're the ones acting foolish."

"You know I might leave if this one passes, but rest assured it will be quietly."

"Ahhhh, we won't, I already know it. Private enterprise will just take over the market on it, and contract it out."

[OOC: slams back another shot of rum]

"You know, sometimes I regret retiring. Out there on that sub at sea, there was freedom. Oh sure, it was a hostile enviroment... But they had to find you first. In politics you have that same hostile enviroment, but you constantly have unknowns running around trying to slit your throat, and they already know where you are...."

"Isn't that part of the fun?" Mar grinness impishly. "Sometimes it feels like it's all an incredibly complex game, with incredibly high stakes. Winner take all."

"Sometimes I think none of this is real and we've just been placed here by a person on a computer who think they are playing a game."

"God The UN is getting on top of me. Either I'm paranoid or… well never mind. I may have to leave and put Giordano in my place.

"You lot will be nice to him if I do wont you?"

"Oh, don't worry Desdemona," Stephanie reassured her. "We'll take lots of care of him.
"But please don't leave. I'm sure I can cope, but Hannah on the other hand seems to have become... fixated on things staying the same. If you leave, then she'll go too, and I'll be left here, all alone. They might even put Johanna back in charge." The Ennish shuddered.

"Thanks. I'll see how I feel tomorrow, I may just be oversensitive today. And after that it will take me a wile to write a kick ass speech and say goodbye to Komokom."

Thackeray Sung slips off his barstool.

"If you'll excuse me, my government has tendered its resignation from the UN. Hate to leave this place, but nonetheless; hope to see some of you in the ACA."

He makes his way heavily to the door.

"That settles it, I'm going. I will announce my retirement tomorrow."

"Ah, well, it was good while it lasted," Stephanie said. "Guess Hannah'll go too. I'll stay though, try to keep some semblance of order happening."

Sir Stanislavski looks around at what has happened....Good god man! he exclaims. I never thought the wonderous wench Desemona would bow out?! Have things become this bad in the U.N.?! "Give me another bottle of Vodka Polish Potato of course" I must drink to her leaving even though I have been shamlessly ignored in this bar perhaps a good conversation will come along. *begins taking healthy pulles from the bottle of Vodka*

Desdemona vacates her bar stool and Giordano takes her place.

"Neville as my first act as representative I would like to buy this round! Ladies and Gentlemen, to Desdemona!"

Des smiles and hugs everyone for the last time before she walks through the door but this time there is no banner

"Aye! To Desdemona!" Stephanie excitedly shouts.

"Hay Steph do you think anyone will notice it was my second act?"

Tomi Kuper raises his consciousness high enough from his long martini to note that the Black New World representative had, in ordering a round of drinks, in fact made their second act - before slumping back into a blurry contemplation of his submerged lemon. He found himself vaguely aware of the Rehochipean delegates' absence.

Shame.

He had been nice to sit next to.

Lydia entered the bar quite exhausted from the debates on the last few resolutions. “What is the UN coming to?” she thought to herself. “Such a shame to see so many valuable nations leave…” he train of thought continued. Walking over to the bar she asked “Uncle Jerry, I need something nice and strong from home please. You know the one I mean…”. Jerry produced a bottle half filled with light blue, slightly opaque liquid and poured Lydia a glass with a glint in his eye.

Looking at the glass Lydia decided that a quiet drink on her own just will not do on this occasion and said to the elderly barman “might as well pour one for everyone, my shout and could you get someone to hand them out please.”

After a few moments waiting for the drinks to be handed to her various colleagues Lydia tapped on a wine glass with her pen. “Ladies and Gentlemen I propose a toast. To absent friends!” she said loud enough for everyone to hear.

After drinking some of the liquid Lydia walked over to a chair near a window, placing the glass on the table nearby. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and sat down in the large comfortable leather chair, staring thoughtfully out the window.

"To absent friends! Well not my absent friends but I'm sure Des knew a few…"

* There is a thump, and the sound of a body hitting the floor over by the fire, The Rep of Komokom, T.R. Kom, gets up and dusts himself off as the little shaft of light above him blinks out.

" Bloody, bloody, bloody, friggerty ISP. Ahem, hello again every-body! "

* Taking quick stock of the events here in, and with the assistance of a small tape recorder left in a mildly decorative pot plant, he raises his glass to good old Desdemona just before the door closes behind her. Hope-fully, not for-ever.

" Ah, at least the Ennish are still active, amoung others, that is to say, the Ennish are active and others are too, not that the Ennish are active with the ... Oh know, I'm doing it again, being diplomatic ... "

* Its always nice to know, some things, never change. :wink:

" Me-thinks I best had better .. "

* He, along with the rest of the bar, finds himself in his chair with a very large baileys spiked coffee, that is to say, he was in his chair, and every-body else was still doing what they were doing, but him in his chair too, not that they were also ... Oh great, now he has got me doing it too ...

" Me-thinks you better ... "

* Just ... don't.

[OOC:CDR Schutz, Representative from the Tekanian Republic, once again enters in, grumbling quietly to himself. Suddenly he has a change of face, and in a deep, announcer type voice, calls the barkeep for a Mike's Hard Lemonade....]

"Hell, I figure if it can make that girl in the commercial head-but that guy successfully, maybe it'll help me deal with the beaurocrats around here! Hmph."

James Anderson walks in with three ladies and an aide. He looks around the bar and pilfers a drink from the tray that passed by.

"Hello all. Some massive debate we've been having over the current issue before us hasn't it."

He sits down with his entourage with the ladies sitting close by to him. He takes a sip of his drink and sighs.

Mar raised her glass of wine. "Absent friends," she echoed.

[OOC: ...and present enemies! You can't expect me to miss a RHPS callback]

"So… If the UN had to be closed off and we were all suck in the building who would we ki…eat first?"

* The Rep of Komokom looks up from his chair by the fire, ears perked up terrier style, and replies :

" Hmm, the first person to say repeal or suggest some kind of revolution in which a "less corrupt", which I assume to mean goes their way every-time, U.N. is formed in-place of the current. And that is regardless of the food situation ... "

* Sips his drink then adds with a smile ;

" Well, I would naturally go for the fatest one out of three to impinge on those conditions, not point being wasteful ... "

"Well I could think of someone… multiple someone…

Neville, white wine please and one for yourself."

A woman in a white trenchcoat walks into the bar and props herself against the counter as she slaps down what appears to be a newspaper.
"I Do not know If any of the delegates in here were awaere, but rrecentlee the government of Zirconlandia a a mostly bloodless ceevil warr. My name is Citizeness Mara Coatimundi and I am the new delegate."

'I'll drink to that!'

"I myself would enjoy a strawberry daquiri" :lol:

A bright-eyed, youngish man, saunters through the door and sidles up to the bar to order a rye and ginger. Once there, he gets the peculiar sense that he hasn't quite earned the right to drink at this establishment yet. Feeling a little out of place, but still cheerful, he shuffles over to the dartboard to see if his aim is still as bad as ever. Regrettably, he finds that it is.

* The Rep of Komokom pulls a stray, and now harm-less, dart, out from his cut crystal tumbler of Bailey's Irish Cream, and takes a sip, then scrolls down the forum listing on his Personal Electronic Thing, he mutters to himself ...

" Why is it some people seem hell set to not only ignore everything you say, just because they want to because it does not suit their little reality dysfunction episode, and to hell with any damage they may do to the community as a whole, and then, to top it off, act as though they are the good, hurt, little debate-master and try to paint you as the big bad ... "

* He goes on like this a bit more, with a few choice terms that even I would not dream of making referance too, because quite frankly, I don't see how that has to do anything with a turbo-charged washing machine and a packet of crisps, but if you say so ...

" Ahem, bloody little ... hmmm, me-thinks its time to mount the High Horse (tm) and be a regular civil smart ass. Yes, that will do quite nicely ... "

* And almost in one action, he drains the glass, taps the dart into the fire with his frying-pan, making it go up in a puff of smoke, and starts typing madly on his Personal Electronic Thing ...

" Its just not cricket, is that, just not cricket ... "

Wow, I haven't been here for months. Hey, bartender, place looks great. Let me get a whiskey double, straight up.

* With a smile, waves a cheery hello at the representative from Ukroatia.

"A pleasure, Miss Coatimundi," Mar nodded in the newcomer's direction. "I am Minster Mar Darenka, Ambassador from Daryn. I do hope that your country will rebuild itself quickly after the upheval you seem to have suffered."

President Marc Smith enters the bar and orders a beer.
"Pow, what a week", he says. "First the hard but successful fight against the "Nuclear disarmament"-resolution and then - even harder and more dangerous - the uprising of Parroting against us as regional delegate, yesterday. Today we finally brought the situation back under controll. Democracy and stability of the region has been reestablished.
However: evil-doers, terrorists and region-crashers remain a serious threat for the securtiy of the world and all regions. Parroting is one of those nations which only aim it is to take over a region.
That would be a field the UN should take action, and not in moral issues or economic and social issues which should remain the reserve of the sovereign nation state."
The president drinks the rest of the beer.
"More beer, please", the president says. "Well, now we have to relax a bit. It was a tough week, the toughest thus far for us." He drinks the beer and orders another bottle of beer.

Hey Komokom how's it going? Bartender, a drink for my friend there. What are drinking? Get him whatever, and I'll have a budlight and another whiskey.

"Neville mate am I the only one that knows your name?"

Stephanie looked up from her game of solitaire in the corner, stood up, and decided to return to the world of the other delegates.

"Hey! Anyone want to play a game of pool? I could have sworn there used to be a pool table around here..."

Finding it, and avoiding the armless zombie that had been standing there since the last pool game, she set up the triangle and waited.

"Anyone? Come on, there has to be someone who want's to play."

* Looks at pool table, looks at drink, looks at pool table ...

" Sigh ... "

* Drains the rest of his drink ...

" Okay, but I should warn you, if I bet a book of dark magic, its cause I am drunk, I've been yet to locate and purchase one for bed-time reading. That said ... "

* Picks up long stick thing ... cue ! thats it, cue ! ( oooh, an refined Ennish one at that ! ) and makes practice motions in air, just avoiding a wall light sconce, several paintings, and several representative heads ...

" Looks like it will be a good game, I've almost no idea how to play ... "

* He does, barely, but the question is how much damage coverage you have at the moment and when pool became a " death sport " ...

" :) "

Sam Smith's communicator bleeped softly. Groaning, he read the message.

"Not another one... oh, crap. Now Joccia's died."

He followed the all-too-familiar ritual and raised a toast to the departed.

* Before destroying a light fitting with a pool-stick-thing, The Rep of Komokom pulls a glass of Baileys Irish Cream out of thin air and par-takes of the toasting, to one of the truly great nations of this forum.

" ( all choked up ) "

* Then he swings about and destroys a light fitting.

The scene set before her was like out of one of those old black and white movie, where the dame walks in and the place gets all quiet. That was what she was expecting. Goddess knows why. After all, this wasnt one of those old movies, and she wasnt one of those dames. But having never stepped foot in the place before, or any bar for that matter, she had no clue what to expect... except for those old movies.

Her heels clicked against the cobblestone and asphalt as she walked towards the door. The road was slick from the rain that had passed through a couple of hours ago, and the streetlight above the place flickered and buzzed, a sure sign that it would soon be going out. Kestral reminded herself to have someone check on that tomorrow.

She slipped unobtrusively through the door where a gentleman took her outercoat. Her dress was exquisite, body-fitting with a flair in the skirt and the most divinely-colored deep purple. It sat off the shoulders with her hair pulled up into a twist, revealing her soft skin and long neck line. She looked young...far too young to be a national leader, or a hard-nosed debater for the UN. Yet she wasnt.

Taking a seat in one of the tables in the corner, Kestral waited. She did not know why she had agreed to come here. But he had begged her. For some reason, she could never say no to him when he pleaded like that. It was a good thing for her he didnt do it often.

"Go out for the night. Enjoy yourself." he had said. "I will meet you there and we can talk. We've not talked in ages."

She knew something was up. He had an agenda and whatever it was, he was refusing to tell her until tonight.

"I'll have a Crown and Seven, on the rocks." she told the waiter, when he came to her table. Her eyes never left the door.

* The Rep of Komokom would normally make a civil comment on the fine female who just walked in, but he was busy shunting the remains of an expensive once was a light fitting incident under the pool table with his big playing-pool-stick-thing.

:wink:

The clock ticked by the minutes. Kestral had been nursing her drink now for 20 minutes when he finally walked through the door. She jumped to stand and greet him, knocking her drink onto the floor. When she saw him watching, Kestral could do nothing but blush.
She went to pick up the mess when a waiter came and took care of the mess. Kes wasnt used to this. Even now, she preferred to clean up her own messes at the Presidential House. The staff would sometimes walk in to find her vaccuuming the Office. Her advisors had been trying to break her of this habit.
She placed the pieces of glass she had collected onto his tray and wiped her hands on the drink napkin that had come with her Crown before greeting him.
"Good to see you John. How have you been?"
He bowed, before kissing her hand.
"Madame President, Ive been well." he flourished. John got a thrill out of making her blush. And that is precisely what she did when her old friends greeted her so formally. John took a seat, snapping his fingers curtly and ordering a drink.
"I'll have a scotch, straight with a twist and another for the lady."
"Another crown?" the waiter asked
"Yes, thank you." Kestral responded and waited for him to leave before turning her attention back to John.
"So, hows the life of a President?" he asked, not putting on all the show.
"Good. Tiring sometimes, but good." Kes answered, then awkwardly pausing. It wasnt always like this. There was a time when Kes could carry on all sorts of conversations with John. But for some reason, she turned into a fumbling geek around him now.
"Good. Good." he said, partially dismissively. That was his way. "Anyway Kes, I needed to see you tonight. I have something I gotta talk to you about."

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear… Des warned me about her and now she's here… Neville something strong please!"

Giordano puts his head on the table and mutters something unrepeatable about anarchists who can't argue.

Lydia was on her way back to the bar when she was startled by the destruction of the light fitting. Noticing the expression on The Rep of Komokom’s face she smiled to herself and decided to give her colleague a hand. “New to Pool?” she asked while helping to clear the remains of the extinct fitting from the floor. “Let me get you a drink, it might calm your nerves” and whilst walking to bar, noticed the newcomer. Lydia recognised her from previous debates and nodded diplomatically to her, not to interfere. Lydia’s mind cast back to her first time in the bar, feeling saddened in remembering fondly, departed colleagues.

Kes sat quietly listening to him. His expression seemed so urgent. She knew what he needed to say was important. Her heart fluttered for a moment, thinking about what that could be.
John was about to speak again when the waiter arrived with their drinks.
'They certainly have a great sense of timing around here', she thought sarcastically. Kes was anxious to hear what was weighing so heavily on John's mind.
"Kes, you've been my closest friend and confidante for many years now. You know that our friendship is important to me, and that I value your opinion more than any others."
John paused again. He was searching for the right words.
"John, I do know. And whatever it is that is so important, you know that I will stand beside you... no matter what?"
Joh reached up and took her hand in his.
"Kes, you are so important in my life. I want to ask you a very important question. I have met the girl I want to marry. Will you give me your blessing?"
Kes could do nothing but sit in shock. Her face was frozen, mouth wide open.
"You are like a sister to me Kes, and the closest thing I have to family. I need to know that you approve."
"John, I dont know." she finally blurted out. The shock was beginning to wear off and the ache of realizing that he had found someone else that captured his heart was sinking in deep.
"Of course, I will want you to meet her first. But I wanted you to know why you were meeting her. Her name is Julia Anderbury. She runs a women's center in Ashton, where I was looking to open the new offices. It turns out that the building I was looking at held her center. The first time I saw her, she was protesting the sale of the building. We started talking, and I dont know... It was just cosmic."
John poured his heart out to Kes, telling her all this in one breath. She could tell that he really loved her.
'His phonecall was so out-of-the-blue. Why would I ever think it meant he was thinking of me?' Kestral admonished herself in thought.
But she had. No, they hadnt talked too much lately. With the new reigns of running a country and getting into the UN, Kestral didnt have much time for a social life these days. Everything was a big job, and the elections had yet to seat the Federal Legislature. Until they did, their Constitution forbade her from appointing anyone to office, or making anyone Ambassador. That was the agreement she had made with the people before leading the revolt and securing their freedoms.
"So will you meet her?" John asked, giving her that puppy dog look again. "Please Madame President?"

Stephanie put down her que after sinking the eight ball (while the Rep of Komokom had yet to even hit the white) and announced to the Bar:

"Bugger. The Council has internal problems, and until further notice Enn won't be part of the UN. I certainly hope to return to this Bar at a later date, but until then, one final shout. Ennish shandies for everyone!"

Kestral sighed.
"Yes John, I will meet her. Bring her by the house this weekend. There is a benefit for the police to be given there. I will have the tickets delivered to your office tomorrow."
John smiled at Kes. "Thank you so much for doing this. You know I could not make this move unless I felt you approved."
She smiled weakly at him.
John looked down at his watch.
"I have to go now. But stay and enjoy yourself here. I know you dont get many nights out of the office these days."
John dropped some cash on the table, more than enough to cover his drink before bowing and giving her a wink.
Kestral finished her drink with a slight sigh. She had really set herself up with that one.
The night still young, Kes didnt want to go home. Still, she felt out of place here. This life was all so new. She felt displaced surrounded by all these people... people who had been doing this alot longer than she had.
So she ordered another drink, and just sat there a while longer.

Sam Smith's long stay in the Strangers' Bar was coming to an end. The Cloud-Water Community of Ecopoeia was in the process of scaling down its involvement with the UN (though not withdrawing from it). Consequently, the seemingly random mass of Speakers - including Sam - who had addressed the assembly in the preceding six months were concentrating on domestic and regional affairs. The UN was to be assigned its own small department, with two elected delegates to represent Ecopoeia's views. Sam wasn't standing for election.

Looking about the bar with a misty eye, he raised his last glass, made a silent toast to friends present, absent and departed, and downed the last dregs.

Goodbye to the Rep, Coll, the Hackneyite Comrades, the Wee Rorys, Angus, Hannah & Stephanie, Desdemona and countless others too numerous to mention.

With one last forlorn glance back, Samuel Smith, Ecopoeia's Speaker for t'Pub, left the Bar.

"Neville, one day it will be only us left. Until then drinks on me!"

* The Rep of Komokom raises his glass in memory of the departed ...

" In regards, to the valiant few who walked this forum, I can say only the following, that : The relationships that form and the people we meet here are the way of the universe for apologizing for the server problems. "

* ... ( pause )

" They are a lucky few, To see a world in a page of text, and a heaven in a region... hold a nation in the click of a mouse, and eternity in a forum load... "

* ... ( pause )

" I hve always thought that one should : Try not to become a player of success, but rather, try to become a player of value. These people we remember, certainly got that under their belts in no time. "

* He holds up his glass to those present, and then drains it.

"Neville, one day it will be only us left. Until then drinks on me!"

In That Case, I'll Take An Apple Tini, Light On The Tini~~~!

Desdemona walks into the bar. Little has changed about her except her dress is a little more 'traditional' and, if is possible, her hair is longer.

"I'm back. Just not doing much work, delegate stuff. Red wine Neville. And one for everyone still left… and the new lot."

After A Hard Day Of Arguing His Point To The U.N. About Male Disassociation To Abortion, The Izrathian Represenative Of The U.N. Sits In A Quiet Corner Of The Bar, Drinking His Miller Light, And Smoking The Swisher Sweets He Bought In The Aeroport. He Enjoyed How He Was Slowly Killing Himself With These Cigars, And Yet They Were So Sweet And Gentle To Him... Like A Sort Of Inside Assassin...

He Lights Another Up.