NationStates Jolt Archive

I need a wisky!

i need a chicken really quick

Adjusting his black duster...A Sam Adams and 2 shot of Stoli barkeep and make it quick I've got man-eating leprachauns to hunt.

Hello there,

My Name is Skinny87, leader and UN Representative of the new nation, The Republic of Skinny87. Although I am new here, I hope to fit in well. As an opening gift, a round of drinks for everyone in the bar on me.

*Gestures to waiter*

(And i think I'll be needing a bar-tab as well please) :)

Thanks Skinny
*smashs pint glass against own head*
The Bar-Tab was my nations former monitary unit.

greetings all

i was recently elected UN delegate from the KFFL Federation, replacing the previous delegate, who many felt did not have a heterogeneous enough population or strong enough civil rights record to represent us

I hope to be an active delegate around here, but for now i'm just learning the lay of the land so that i don't make obvious noob mistakes.

anyway, just wanted to say hello

The People's Republic of Skinzania

*The UN Representative for The Republic of Skinny87, Kurt Lanchester, walked briskly through the doors of the bar and walked upto the bartender.* 'A glass of Whisky and Soda if you please', *he asked, and as the glass was being filled up, he looked around the bar, amazed at the number of people such a room could hold. *

He took the filled glass from the bar, and sat down in an empty arm-chair that was moulded just right for his size, and sat contentedly sipping at the drink, waiting for something to happen*

OOC- Do you have to be Delegate to be in this bar?

I'm only a representative of my country, no-one else - can i still stay in here?

I hope so, because this looks like a lot of fun.

Skinny87

ooc skinny87: no you dont have to be a delegate to be here, just have fun :)
and welcome. :D

Well Hi All This Is the First Time I have Been In The Bar.

as Were Just a New Nation to The UN just taking a bit of Time To Find our Feet.

So Time For aBite to Eat and a wee Drink :)

So if anyone wants a wee chat about anything i am the one in the corner on my own haha.

Mikal Adventos
UN Delegate ,
The Republic of Esscose

*Kurt Lanchester got out of the impossibly over-stuffed armchair he was sitting in and walked over to where Mikal Adventos was sitting*

'Good evening Mr Adventos - my name is Lanchester, representative of The Republic of Skinny87' Lanchester said, introducing himself. Looking towards the bar, he signalled to the bar-tender.

'A glass of Whisky for me and whatever this gentleman is having, and put it on my tab'

By eck, a pint for me and a bucket of ale for t'horse. And if tha see's me mother in law tell her i'm on a business lunch and not to be disturbed.

Ta Muchly.

Greetings Bahgum,

Since I'm new here, put those drinks on my tab. Nice to meet you

well By Gum Skinny, tha's grand. Drink oop lad and ave a pie.

The door pops off its hinges and pieces of the lintel are pulverised as an imposing figure in full mecharmor enters the bar.

The mechwarrior briefly tries to pick the door up and restore it to some semblance of its former position, but only succeeds in snapping it in half.

Dropping the door fragments, the mechwarrior turns and proceeds slowly to the bar, each step leaving a depression in the splintered tiles of the floor. It ignores Neville's protests, not seeming to notice as it bumps him out of the way and through the table Skinny and Bahgum are sharing.

A gravelly, robotic voide booms from the vocoder below the helmet.

"Scotch, please. And, uh, sorry about the door. Things are kind of hectic in my region right now, so I thought a bit of protection was in order."

"Excuse me," Hodgelett said to the newcomer, "You might like to try that chair over there," indicating a very well stuffed sofa which should take his weight and his size without breaking.
She lightly jumped off her stool to help the sprawled figures under the toppled table. "Well I never Bahgum! If this is anything like your adventures since you've been away you'd have some tales to tell." She exclaimed as she held out a hand to help Neville up. "What have you been up to you skallywag?"

The Caliph calls for his waterpipe, and another pot of tea. Relaxing, he sits back and watches the goings on, amused.

*Newly appointed delegate from the Kingdom of Tonketa Tranks Von Cleef strolls up to the bar*

"Barkeep, gimme a drink. Something strong. Then leave the bottle.*Gets his drink, slugs it down*. Leave the bottle. Do you have any idea how hard it is to do this job in Tonketa? Seems like the king and his senate all have their own hidden agendas, and I'm caught in the middle. You know what's worse?*Stands up on the bar, and screams* My father named me Tranks for the love of god!*Sits back down*

Lanchester smiled politely at the imposing figure towering above him and his companion, and introduced himself. 'Greetings, my name is Lanchester, ambassador for The Republic of Skinny87, nice to meet you. Please, take a, um, seat' Lanchester said.

The armoured figure began to sit down in an armchair similar to that that Lanchester and Bahgum were sitting in, but found that the chair simply collapsed under the extreme weight of the suit. Looking over towards Neville, who had by now picked himself up, the figure nodded. Neville walked away, and came back moments later pushing a large metal chair through the bar, which he placed behind the figure. The mechwarrior then sits down on the chair.

After The Look A Look For 1st were is the closest Door And B Was my wiskey Spiked, I Looked Over to my companion and after he introduced himself, i qutie Fearfully Said Hi Mikal Adventos Form The Republic of Esscose i am pleased to meet you.

after a few Rounds Lanchester smiled politely at me and we were starting to Break some bariers with our New Friend.

Lanchester sipped at his whisky and smiled at another of his companions witty remarks, whilst relaxing in the impossibly comfortable chair he was sitting in. He raised his hand and beckoned for another round of drinks for the group, and then turned to his two companions

'Is anyone up for a game of chess? I havent played for a while, but I think I could be a pretty good challenge' Lanchester enquired whilst eyeing the chess board on the floor that he had not noticed before

After A Few more drinks i agreed to take my companions offer for a good game of chess, As Lanchester Got the Board that he was eyeing up from the floor Mikal Casualy Remarked that the last game he played was as a boy, so he would be a bit rusty.

Lanchester tipped over his besieged King on the chess board and grinned sheepishly at his opponent.

'You are a worthy adversary indeed sir. Thats three games to two, I believe' Lanchester said before relaxing back in the armchair

Mikal Smiles At Lanchester and noticed his glass was empty and as a reward for teaching him the moves in which his bishop should never ever do again buys his compaion another drink.

Mikal Also Casually Asks Lanchester about possibility of our Respective Nations Forming A Trade Allaince, Lanchester tips his head And Politely Smiles, Mikal points out the he is indead trying to get him Drunk a little bit of gentle humor breaks the ice of the conversation.

(Completly drunk), I hic, need a hic, another vodka hic.............

As the mech warrior carefully pours the scotch into the slitpouch tube under his left arm, the door bursts open and a small blue man fires a laser at his head!

Before the plasteel even begins to change colors, two tentacles follow the blue man through the door, snatch him up, and drag him back outside.

His muffled screams fade quickly.

The mech warrior puts down his drink, stands up (a laborious and slightly frightening process), and thanks his companions for their company. He shuffles wobbily to the door (bumping into and half demolishing a decorative ionic pillar) and wends his way into the night.

Lanchester Smiled and nodded his head

'Yes.....I think that we could set up some kind of tradeing between our two nations, though I must warn you that this would be my nations first such agreement, and we would be unsure as to what to do. If you could provide any information, however, it would be most accepted. But anyway, it would be excellent to trade with your country'

Brushing plaster out of his hair, Neville is pleased to see things are getting back to abnormal. For a while there it looked as if the Strangers' Bar would sink into the pit of the mundane, but now ... quiet chess games, walls falling down, singing in the corner, deals being done and reputations undone ... all's well.

Except, of course, for the hard-working Hodgelett, who is clearly under stress. Neville wishes she would accept Alena's invitation; closer to Brother Timothy, so what? She'd be safe ... and appreciated.

Come to that, the bar is all too full of people who would appreciate Hodgelett. She might take refuge with the noble Bahgumian. Or that dangerously quiet Caliph. Neville sighs; the path of true love never did run smooth.

If she had been allowed to use her powers to know for sure what was on his mind, Dicey might have agreed with him. Because there's (sigh!) Sir Albert chatting away merrily with that newcomer, and here's herself stuck in yet another losing argument with Bast ("You shouldn't let just anybody tickle you under the chin!" "Alena isn't just anybody!" "Oh, it's Alena now, is it?").

Dicey tries to wrench her thoughts away from her own troubles to consider what's happening at home. But the Ardchoilleans don't need their co-President to tell them what to do. The entire nation has undoubtedly gone to bed and pulled the blankets over its head until the region-crashers go away.

Lacking a blanket, Dicey reaches for a bottle.

hey ppl!!!! listen, how do you/can you create a region? :confused: :sniper:
hehehe, well, can you shoot my :confused: with your :sniper: or :mp5: coz im :headbang: yes thats right, mad and frustrated :p
sh*te im mental :rolleyes:

OOC: what the? Whats with the multi-coloured writing and the smileys, thats so out of context. The forum has help pages for this type of thing

its fun!!!!! well? any answer? still :headbang: so can you help?

Lanchester noticed the lady by the bar looking worried and reaching for a bottle by the bar and, seeing that his companion was happily drunk on the floor, reminiscing about old times, raised his hand to catch her attention

' Would you care to join me for some wine and a conversation?' Lanchester called to the lady over the general commotion, the ominous creaking of the broken pillar, and the ramblings of his chess companion

say wha? i only speak irish english, not that shite :D

I am only a relative newbie to this forum, but in this forum you RP being your own representative to the UN and chat to other players in this context. I believe you need to post on the Help forums to get an answer to this, as I do not know the answer

emm. you mean i hav to post "say wha?" in help? :rolleyes:

I believe the Technical forum would be the best forum to post that question in


And now back to our regularly scheduled programme.............

Hearing Dicey's comment, Alena winked at Hodgelett.

"I'm sorry, Dicey. Is there a more appropriate place I should be scratching?"

Giggling, she turned back to her drink. Hodgelett appeared to be trying her best not to spew out the drink she had just taken. "Sorry, Hodgelett - couldn't resist. At least I got you to laugh. Well... you will as soon as you can swallow, anyway."

Prime Minister Wunderlich stood up from his chair, removing from his pocket a hankerchief. Dusting debris from his suit he raised his hand, "Check please."

hey ppl!!!! listen, how do you/can you create a region? :confused: :sniper:
hehehe, well, can you shoot my :confused: with your :sniper: or :mp5: coz im :headbang: yes thats right, mad and frustrated :p
sh*te im mental :rolleyes:
deej?

I currently am writing to ask how to receive endorsements my dear fellows. It seems that my fellow nations are not aware of my presence, or the fact that I am attempting to repeal the recently passed Tsunami Warning System Resolution. So, if you would please, after a game of pool, tell me how other countries can endorse me or my proposition?
Thanks,
Sincerely,
-Lenin Marx
Leader of the Webbsheviks

Lanchester noticed the lady by the bar looking worried and reaching for a bottle by the bar and, seeing that his companion was happily drunk on the floor, reminiscing about old times, raised his hand to catch her attention

' Would you care to join me for some wine and a conversation?' Lanchester called to the lady over the general commotion, the ominous creaking of the broken pillar, and the ramblings of his chess companion

"Er, Dicey, looks like you have a fan," Hodgelett said as she saw the rather enthusiastic gentleman who'd been so unlucky earlier stand up and wave his newspaper. "He's started repeating himself, why don't you see what he wants? We're here if you need rescuing. That's a big 'if'" she added, winking.

Dicey eyed the waving figure. Actually, she one-eyed the waving figure, having already reached the stage where focussing was optional. He seemed quite presentable, by the admittedly flexible standards pertaining in the Strangers' Bar.

Determinedly, she grasped the bottle of uisquebagh and headed for the newcomer, pausing only to secure a means of retreat.

"If I start taking my clothes off, send in the cavalry," she instructed Hodgelett and Alena. "That's you two, I mean. If he starts taking his clothes off, send in Bast. And if anyone else starts taking their clothes off, tell them I'm shocked and disappointed. Shocked and disappoin-TED, shocked and disappoin-TED, shocked and disappoin-TED," she continued, sashaying away to an imaginary Latin American rhythm.

"There are times I wonder if I'm really fitted for the post of Presidential Advisor to humans," sighed Bast, eyeing the departing witch.

Neville said nothing, but unobtrusively switched on the heavy-duty magic dampers under the bar.

Lanchester blushed when he realised that he had made a fool of himself, but lowered his newspaper and tried to smile charmingly at the lady approaching him.

'Good evening', he stuttered, 'I saw you by the bar and wanted to introduce myself. The name is Lanchester, representative for the Republic of Skinny87. Would you care to join me for a drink, or are you busy?' Lanchester enquired, looking over at the lady's large and ratehr imposing companions who seemed to be glaring at him, as if waiting for something to happen. 'Of course, if I have disturbed you at all, I apologise, but I seem bereft of anyone to talk to; my chess playing companion seems to be.....indisposed of' Lanchester said whilst looking at the quietly snoring heap on the floor by his chair

Alena jumped as her phone went off, buzzing and vibrating in her pocket, nearly spilling her drink. Setting the drink down, she reached for her phone, smiling at Hodgelett. Looking at the display, her smile grew wider. Finally! Gerry with some information on Walther. Holding up a finger to Hodgelett, she turned away and flipped open her phone.

Whoever the caller was, it was obviously a welcome one, for Alena seemed to be enjoying herself. Hodgelett didn't hear much of it, as she was too busy watching Dicey, waiting to see what she might do.

Amused, Alena closed her phone and turned to Hodgelett. Well, I've been recalled for a week or so. Some big regional function. Seeing how white Hodgelett's face had become, Alena reached out and touched her arm. No, nothing's wrong. I'm sorry - I wasn't thinking. Just some regional meet and greet I have to attend. It'll also let me brief our Chambers on the state of things here and spend some time at home. Glancing over at Dicey and her companion, Alena smiled. I'd stay to help in case it's needed, but I rather think he's the one I should be concerned about. Gathering up her things, she called out to Neville.

I'm off for a week or so, Neville. Send the tab to my office. I'll leave instructions for it to be settled and that they should expect one from you weekly. While I'm gone, talk to our girl Hodgelett here. When she's ready, she'll find a nice home in Lavinium.

Neville looked at Alena gratefully, as she had just given him the perfect excuse to pull his beloved off to the side and spend some time alone with her. That arrangement is fine, Alena. And I'll talk to her, don't worry.

Smiling, Alena moved next to Bast and playfully growled in his ear. The staff at Madame Gazunda's say hello. Laughing, she called out a goodbye to Dicey, winked at Bast and headed for the door.

Great idea. Im pushin for it. :)

OOC: Whilst I will be online tonight, I will be away on a trip for three days, monday to wednesday next wek, so I will have to depart; however Lanchester will stay behind to deal with urgent matters :p

"Good evening," said Dicey, politely, concentrating on each syllable. "Thank you for your invitation. I'm Dicey Reilly, Co-President of Ardchoille."

This sounded much more imposing than it should. In Ardchoille, having to serve as Co-President was a penalty, not a privilege. Dicey, lumbered with the position for various social sins, wavered between being excessively well-behaved (so they'd agree to recall her) and excessively obstreperous (so they'd have to recall her). So far, neither approach had worked.

"And over there," she continued, waving muzzily at her friends, "we have Bast, Presidential Advisor on behalf of the Ardchoille Cats. They're a sentinet ... senchi ... they're not human," she finished. "But they're damn fine singers. So, Mr Lanchester, sir, what sort of singers are they in your neck of the woods? I bet they're damn fine, too. Damn fine. Damn fine."

(OOC: Previous post not finished. Computer repairman at the door! Yay!)

Neville, recognising Dicey's plight, brings across a couple of mugs of Repetition Remedy. (Super-high caffeine content, practically instantaneous, with extra sugar to buffer shock symptoms.)

It's moments like this that show up the difference between a barkeep and a Barlord. Neville hopes Hodgelett is watching.

Lanchester looked at Dicey and replied 'Well, Skinny87 has a small music industry, mostly revolving around Classical Music. However, I have heard your friends music and must admit to being rather entranced by their singing. Absolutely top hole music.' Lanchester took a sip of the Remedy and coughed rather violently. He blushed and said 'My, thats certainly an.....interesting concoction.'

'What does a Co-President do in your country, Miss Dicey?' Lanchester enquired, as the Remedy slowly coursed through his body

"As little as she can get away with," gloomed Dicey. "The other Co-President, Ben Chifley, took off in the National Balloon the minute he was appointed. We get news of him occasionally, dropping in on isolated spots, but he never comes down long enough for anyone to get him to act Presidential. So I cop the lot.

"Actually, it's mostly ceremonial," she added. "You know, signing things, approving Ambassadors, welcoming bigwigs, attending public events. And this damned UN stint. Ardchoille more or less governs itself."

Seeing a doubtful look cross her hearer's face, she barrelled on, "No, it does, really. See, the population's a mix of humans and the Ardchoille Cats. Stuff that we think is boring, like bridges and transport and sanitation, they love doing, because they're just getting into physics and science and all that.

"And stuff that they think is boring, like telekinesis and shape-shifting and weather control, we love doing, because we're only just establishing the basis of reliable magic.

"So we, well, we just get on with it. If there's anything to argue about we have a Moot, then everyone goes off to Finnegan's Wake for a ceilidh."

It wasn't quite that simple, of course, but she didn't think a five-minute acquaintanceship was a good basis for discussing the internal politics of the Grand Coven.

Lanchester nodded at his companions comments. ' Well at least you get to have a varied job description and go places' Lanchester said wistfully 'I'm one of only two ambassadors in my whole country, but we knoew so few people that neither of us have anything to do' He shook his head slowly and took a slug from his drink. He looked in disgust at the slimy creature and ordered another drink. 'Poor old Graham; he got so frustrated he just upped and left the whole country - I believe hes back-packing around one of our neighbouring countries now'

Lanchester stopped talking and waited to see what his companion would say. She seemed level-headed and pleasant, possibly good trading partner material for his country

I need a tequilla!

how do i get to be a UN delegate?

;)

OOC: To become a delegate you must be elected by being endorsed by other nations in your regions

Hodgelett was on her third Irish coffee by now and struggling to keep awake. She glanced at Dicey and companion across the room before commenting to Neville polishing glasses behind the bar. "Well, they seem to be getting on at least."

Dicey cast a worried look at the slug. She hoped it hadn't been anyone she knew.

"If your country's that broke, do you really think you should miss the chance to get extra protein?" she asked. "If you don't fancy them raw, I'm told they're better in batter, fried in butter. Garlic, of course."

At this stage Neville, with his Barlordly insight, would usually have slid a menu in front of each potential diner and alerted a waitress to come take their orders. But Neville was too intent on Hodgelett.

"Getting along? Yes, I suppose they are," he agreed. "But what about you, Hodgelett, what about you? How are you getting along? Things in Randomea seem to have been rather ... fraught ... lately."

Lanchester blushed and apologised to Dicey 'I'm terribly sorry, I didnt mean to kill the poor creature, I was distracted. It is not so much that my country is poor, but rather that it is so small and new that it has only a small economy.'

Lanchester smiled, 'Tell me, what is your country like?'

"Mountains," said Dicey. "You never see a straight horizon in Ardchoille. There's always a mountain or two. The light is always soft, and in summer it's hardly ever dark before 10 o'clock. All over the hillsides there's little streams you could step over and not notice you'd done it. Oh, and huge rocks. You see them in the distance and they trick your eyes into thinking that they're small and close, but you keep walking and they're still miles away. Everywhere you can smell the wild thyme. And we've got cattle with long hair the same colour as mine, and crazy little hairy black-and-white dogs running low to the ground to herd the hill sheep with their black faces, and forests so thick you'd think the sun could never get through, but then there's a clearing and maybe you'll see the deer ..."

Dicey stopped her travelogue to call for another round. Discreetly, Neville made sure she got coffee.

"Apparently the ancestors thought it was Paradise when they first saw it," she said. "And then they found that the Cats had got there first."

"And then they knew it was Paradise," purred Bast, wrapping a friendly arm round Dicey's shoulders like a fur stole.

"All right, all right, I know what you're going to say." grumbled Dicey. "Gotta have a clear head for that delegation tomorrow. Mr Lanchester, it's been a pleasure ...

"Because you've been too polite to shut her up," whispered Bast.

"... and it's one I hope to repeat. Goodnight, now," said Dicey, very much on her dignity.

Lanchester smiled and bowed deeply at Dicey. 'Madam, it has indeed been a pleasure to talk to you, and ceratinly a pleasure I hope we can renew at some later time' he said, slurring his words slightly as the Remedy took effect. 'I, too, must be off', and with that, Lanchester took a step forward, decided against it and collapsed back into the chair.

Seeing this, Neville brought over a blanket and draped it over the snoring figure

Hodgelett sat a long time before realising Neville had asked her a question. "Fraught? I guess you could say that. You know what it's like. The politicians are so busy they've declared it a National holiday so they can have a break and get the necessary stuff done. Fine by me. And that chap seems to have the right idea," she added as she struggled to keep her eyelids open, "I'd better find a bed." she commented, while hunting for her car keys.

Quote: "I'd better find a bed," she commented ...

And he spake not a word.

The quietly slumbering figure of Lanchester in the armchair by the fire suddenly leaped up-right and shouted ' Objection, your Honour' and then fell back down into an even deeper sleep, if that was indeed possible.

The various patrons of the bar looked around at the disturbance, but having seen much more odd things in their time merely went back to what they were doing

just passed out from 20 vodkas.

Lanchester awoke with a start from the arnchair and looked around wildly. The club seemed oddly quiet, as if no-one had moved or spoken in quite a while.

Brother Tim's heart leapt when he saw the figure in the armchair. Had his guru, the Philosopher of the Frypan, the wisdom-wielding Rep from Komokom, returned?

But no, it was just some sleepy-eyed delegate who'd evidently spent the night there. In which case, here was an opportunity for a nice little Random Act of Kindness.

Trotting over to the bar, where Jimmy, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, was subbing for Neville, Tim ordered coffee, tea, cream and sugar, OJ, a couple of doughnuts, a bowl of Krunchit-Kwik (the breakfast for the non-breakfaster), kippers, bacon, eggs, chips ... whatever the stranger didn't dispose of, Tim would ... and trundled it all back on a trolley to the dozing delegate.

"Breakfast is served, sir!" he chirruped, as offensively cheerful as only those who've been up since 5am, meditating and exercising, can be.

Jimmy, thoughtfully brushing his beautiful auburn tail, waited to see if there'd be an explosion.

I'll have another brewskie!

Laws have been enacted to bring the Kingdom of The Byzantii into compliance with the United Nations resolution "Humanitarian Intervention".


What does this mean?

ooc: you're a UN member and a resolution has passed/been repealed. All UN states conform to UN legislation so your policies are changed to meet the terms.

You Must All Pay Un Infidels, 'the Sham' Will Not Stand For This Democratic Way Of Life

Lord Evif watched the guy get dragged away in moderate bemusement before ordering another drink.

I have a question how to you approve a propesl?

Lanchester awoke to find a large steaming plate full of food on a convenient table next to him. He looked around for the creator of such a charitable act and saw a bright-eyed youth who introduced himself as Tim. Lanchester eyed the food hungrily and thanked Tim profusely before devouring the food in front of him.

Matthew approaches the bar door. He brushes his suit, loosens his tie and enters. He scans the bar. At the far end, he notices a familar face. He then realises, it's a representative of Skinny87, fellow nation of England. Small world.

He walked towards him...

"I'm Matthew, UN representative for the The Republic of Adamsgrad."

The man did not look well. He was chewing on food as Matthew spoke.

"I believe we have met before, in England."

"I thought I would come out to the UN halls again, because my nation's activity within the UN has been fairly minimal of late, due to regional commitments in England, and all."

"Anyway, let me buy you a drink. What do you take?"

Lanchester looked up from the steaming plate that had once had a full english breakfast on it and recognised the Adamsgrad representative from several meetings. Wiping a piece of bacon from his mouth, he grinned sheepishly. 'A drink would be wonderful, thank-you. A large coffee if you please, I have a slight hang-over'.

As Matthews returned with the drinks from the ever-present Neville at the bar, Lanchester smiled and thanked him profusely before drinking the coffee in one go. Immediately he felt better. He looked up. 'So, Matthews, how are you?' he enquired

"Oh, I'm just fine and dandy."

Matthew replied. He lowered himself into a chair beside Lancaster.

"I got a busy day in front of me, a lot of UN proposals to look at, you know, the usual stuff."

"Yesterday, I voted for the Repeal on the Global Library. Nice idea, but in practise, it wasn't working. I understand other UN reps are considering proposing a new, more realistic global library project once the old resolution is repealed."

He looked over at the steaming plate beside Lanchester, his stomach rumbled. Matthew hadn't eaten.

"I say, I gotta eat something..."

Lanchester nodded in sympathy. 'I understand. Not only am I voting at the UN all day, I have to keep attending all these embassy lunches - do you know I'm conducting three embassy exchanges and two alliances this week? I hardly have time to get here.' Lanchester said.

'Anyway, enough of that. Since you bought me that coffee, let me buy you breakfast.' He raised his hand to attract Neville. 'The same again please Neviile, only this time for the gentleman nex to me.'

Matthew leaned forward from his leather chair. Neville approached him, pushing a breakfast trolly. Egg, sauages and bacon, hmmm, nothing quite like a traditional english breakfast, he thought to himself as Neville approached.

Neville placed the breakfast on the table in front of him. Matthew dismissed the waiter and sat back again.

"Embassy exchanges you say, interesting."

He rubbed his chin, stared absently into space. A thought struck him.

"We are familiar with each other, yet, at present, have no official diplomatic relationship."

"How about it, an embassy exchange between our two nations?"

Lanchester nodded. He seemed to be doing a lot of that these days. 'I think diplomatic relations are an excellent idea Mr Matthews. We had an embassy space at Number 20 Dowland Square reserved for just this oppportunity, and it can be filled right now if your nation wants to. You may bring a maximum of 50 guards and as many administrative personnel as are needed.' Lanchester said. 'I hope we can open an embassy in your nation as well.'

"It's Fryer, by the way, Matthew Fryer."

He leaned over, dug his knife and fork into some bacon, and devoured it.

"Yes, that sounds like a good idea."

"At present, we have not opened up any embassy spaces, but when we do, I'll let you know, Lancaster."

He took another mouthfull of Bacon.

"First things first, I'll pay you a visit. I'll bring administrative personnel with me."

He frowned.

"Why the need for guards though?"

Lanchester frowned. At last, something different. 'I believe all embassy's have some guards with them, for protection that sort of thing. Of course there's no requirement for them.'

"I was just concerned, about how your people might respond to guards, that is all."

"However, I guess guards at embassies are a formality."

He reached over and sipped some coffee.

"Yes, ok, I will contact my president, and arrange for him to send over some administrative staff and guards to Skinny87. After this, I myself, will jet over to your nation and meet your government, I understand you are holding a ball, especially for this purpose, correct?

"But first, I gotta finish this breakfast!"

He took a large mouthful of egg.

'Indeed my government has been holding a ball. I shall write down the address for you. As for the embassy, consider Number 20 Dowland Square now your embassy in my nation.' he said.

OOC: Here is the thread of the ball. http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=396610&page=1&pp=15

Matthew put the remainder of his breakfast in his mouth. He swallowed, and placed his knife and fork on the plate. He swigged his coffee and brushed his mouth.

"Lovely breakfast."

"I should come here more often."

He raised himself from his chair and brushed his suit down.

"I have a private Jet, on a landing site not far from here. I will contact my president and head for your nation straightaway."

"Lanchester, it's been nice seeing you again"

He raised his hand to shake...

Lanchester stood and shook hands with Matthew. 'Nice to have seen you, and I hope you have a good flight back.' he said.

"Ok, and hopefully, I'll see you some time soon again, in Skinny87. I will try and arrange for the establishment of an embassy, for your nation, in Adamsgrad."

Matthew turned away, walked towards the bar, and tipped Neville.

"Excellent service, keep it up."

The waiter thanked him. Matthew turned away from the bar and walked towards the bar door.

"Till next time Lanchester, farewell." He said, on passing Lancaster again.

He placed his hand on the doorhandle, opened the door, and exited the bar.

Neville split the tip with Brother Tim -- he'd heard Findhorn kept the lad on a fairly short leash -- and thoughtfully began checking Amazon.com for recipe books. Making Breakfast More Imaginative sounded interesting ...

He wished Dicey and Bast were here. The cast-iron stomachs on that pair would make experimentation easier. But, like everyone else, they were apparently attending this la-di-da do in Skinny 87 -- hoping to set up some lucrative national deal, he'd heard.

He wondered briefly if he should ask Brother Tim to pray for the welfare of Skinny 87.

Hodgelett, pushed open the door with her shoulder, whilst applying lipstick with one hand, and balancing a cluster of files and a compact mirror with the other. She turned around and nearly ran into the exiting new member.
"Oh, I am sorry" she apologised as he stumbled through the door.
She walked over to the bar. "Good morning Neville!" She said with a smile. "One mocha please and and two Scotch pancakes. How have you been? I think this break has done me good...a few more days officially but I'm getting the wheels oiled today." She said as she set her files on the counter to set herself down on one of the bar stools.

With over 1 billion people in my country, the ministry of Finance, the king, and the prime minister would like to know why we have 100% tax rate.

The administration, and the King, would like to know if we will be able to solve this problem and still keep a stong Military, Education, and Healthcare system.

Prince Wilhelm
Foreign Minister to the UN

Darrick tried and failed to push open the door for a full 30 seconds before he saw the hanging sign that read "Pull." Sliding inside, he hoped nobody noticed his foolish mistake. He took a seat at the end of the bar and pretended to bury himself in a file, wishing he weren't so shy. Meeting the eyes of Hodgelett, he smiled and half-waved, then immediately reverted to pretending to be busy.

"Double Espresso, please," he said to Neville as he walked by.

Hodgelett caught out of the corner of her eye the door open and a rather flustered young man enter the room. Must be new she thought as he walked to the end of the bar and sat down. He curiously seemed more interested in his files than the menu. She realised she had been staring and smiled when he looked up and saw her before turning her head back to Neville.
"I'll pay for his bill. Might as well make the new feel welcome. And I feel like being nice to someone today." She said with a smile as he picked up his notepad and pencil again and started heading towards the gentleman.

Darrick, who was actually listening intently to the goings-ons around him rather than reading his files, overheard Hodgelett's remark to Neville and smiled. Feeling somewhat welcomed, he gave Neville his order of scrambled hash browns and cheese before he gathered his files and walked over to Hodgelett.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked, nodding towards the empty barstool to her right.

<<So why not be nice to me?>> said Neville's Evil Twin. But Neville ignored the voice of the Tempter in his head, and instead concentrated on how much he admired Hodgelett's generosity and kindness to all ... <<even (teenage?) spunks who pretend to be shy, they know how that attracts the la-deez>>Shaddup, you ...

What's more, Neville told himself reproachfully, this newcomer was probably every bit as serious and hard-working as Hodgelett. Hadn't he come in carrying almost as many files as she had? His mind supplied him with a flashback of Hodgelett coming through the door.

Hang on. She'd been carrying files and .. putting on lipstick! Making herself even more beautiful! And she couldn't have known this new guy would be here, but she knew I would be. So she might -- just possibly -- have been doing it for ... MEEEEEEE!

Neville was so happy he decided there and then to give the new customer (yes, that was the right way to think of him: customer) two chokkie bikkies and an after-dinner mint with his order.

Seldom have I heard of this bar before, but now that you mention it I think it's a great idea. I bet the people that actually used to work there came home stressed out with a headache because of all the politions' complaints.
Anywho, great idea dude!

Lanchester noticed the man enter the bar, carrying a large amount of files and going to the bar. He watched him, as it seemed a better attraction than counting the number of patterns in the thick carpet. He thought about going to bar and getting a drink, but he saw the intense look of concentration of Neville looking at the new chap, and decided to do nothing. He seemed like a nice chap, but Lanchester didnt want to get involved in anything.

Instead, he went back to counting the patterns in the carpet until something better turned up in the bar. He resumed counting. Two-hundred and Seventy Eight, Two Hundred and Seventy Nine, Two Hundred and...

Hodgelett hadn't expected this turn of events.
"Er, no, take a seat. I'm Hodgelett Rath, UN representative for the Queendom of Randomea." She said, shaking his hand with a small smile, "Glad to welcome you to this wonderful establishment, I'm sure you'll feel right at home. Oh and if you can't decide what to have Neville can fix you some exotic concotion from some far-flung country that will suit you down to the ground." She hushed her voice to a conspiratorial but perfectly audible level, flashing a mischievous grin at the man in question, "He makes it his duty to learn a National drink before the natives know what it is."
She returned to her normal speaking voice, "so tell me about you and your country, Mr?"

"Gran." Darrick replied, setting his files on the counter and seating himself on the barstool. "Darrick Gran, Ambassador to the UN from the United Socialist States of Nargopia. The Grand Patriarch used to perform these duties himself, but recent circumstances have required that he focus more of his attention on domestic matters. Have you ever been to Nargopia? Most people who visit the planet say they enjoy it... it's mostly water, with several isles and archipelagos. But I guess you would've stayed in Narg City if you would have visited for business. Did you meet the Grand Patriarch? Great guy, he actually led the revolution some twenty years ago and led us into this new socialist era. But I'm sorry, I've been rambling on about me... What about you, Ms. Rath? How is Randomea faring these days?"

Pojo was beginning to feel out of place. A chicken, walking into a bar - what was this, some kind of a joke? It didn't even drink - being of the firebreathing variety, alcoholic beverages tended to disagree with it. But by that reasoning, this would serve as the perfect hiding place from the endless hounding of Pojonia's utterly insane prime minister. Hopping gracefully onto an empty stool, it gave a satisifed squawk at the soft leather and settled down into a nap, visions of Universal Library Proposals rampaging through its head. The nightmare would be short in its passing, however. "LP" would never find him here.

Lanchester looked up to see a large...was that a chicken? Rubbing his eyes to check that the Brandy had not finished taking effect on him, he looked again. Yes, there it was. A large chicken, sitting at the bar. Deciding that he needed a drink anyway, Lanchester got up, stretched and headed towards the Chicken.

He got to the bar just as the Chicken began to relax. Turning to it, he put his hand out and introduced himself.

'The names Kurt Lanchester, representative for the Republic of Skinny87. Nice to meet you, uh...' Lanchester didn't quite know how to finish that sentence.

How did one address a chicken...?

greetings, untervolk...

the party is curious if the dictatorship of flitzerland would send the socialist state of the esatern bloc a link to thier site...

spaseevah..

da svedanya...

OOC: I think you might have the wrong thread

Neville drew a breath of deep appreciation. At last, the Strangers' Bar was back to normal! An enormous chicken delegate roosting on a bar stool was just what he needed to renew that feeling that yes, he had been right to apply for this job. Where else would a Barlord's training be tested so often, so intricately?

Out of sympathy for the exhausted avian, he refrained from chatter, but set out saucers of grain and water in easy pecking distance. Unobtrusively, he checked Supplies to make sure there was enough hay available for a nest if the poor tired bird wanted to spend the night.

Now, if only Juliet, the duck delegate, would wander in, they could flock together. Not that two would constitute a flock, exactly, but birds weren't supposed to be able to count. Although not being able to tot up the numbers would be a problem for a UN delegate, surely ...

"Just accept," Neville told himself. "Life is," he added.

One day he planned to make a fortune by writing a book full of such inspirational little messages.

I'll have another vodka!

"Please, no ceremony, everyone here calls me Hodgelett. Randomea? It's doing quite well, we've been having a National holiday, and other than the question of filling in the paperwork to move regions, we've been doing just fine." Hodgelett reflected a moment, "Nargopia, I don't believe I've had any contact with that name, although it might be mentioned in this stack of files here, the holidays have left quite a backlog. I see you have some of your own.Time and tide wait for no man they say. Least of all when you have the most to do."

"That's quite true." Darrick replied. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he leaned close and asked, "Does that chicken come here often?" As he finished his question, his food and drink arrived, and he proceeded to munch on his hash browns with delight.

The Ankhmeti Soviet Delegate walked in, saw a bar, and brightened up.
"Vodka.Please.Strong Vodka."

By eck I need a pint. Barbloke, a pint of Bahgumian export, and a pie too. Aaay oooop a chicken, BBQ later chaps?

*Ambassador Sol Vulcan walks up to the bar*
Gimme the biggest thing of Sprite you have. And buffalo wings. Gimme a lot of buffalo wings.
*Sol sits down... and falls off the barstool (cause he's half-asleep.)*
Ow.
*gets back up*
Why didn't I bring my heat wrap?

"Chicken?" Hodgelett spied the new member. "No that's new. Ducks and cats on the other hand are frequent visitors. You should meet Bast, he's quite a remarkable personality, and telepathic in his own country to boot. I just wonder what the giant chicken will make of a giant talking cat..."

" ... what the giant chicken will make of a giant talking cat ..."

"Nothing," said Dicey. "At least, not for a while. He's still in Skinny 87, sorting out details of the educational exchange. We're going to teach them magic and they're going to teach our kitlings engineering. But enough of our concerns," she said airily, managing to wave dismissal of the subject and summons of Neville in the same breezy motion. "What's this I hear of your moving, my girl?"

"Moving?" gasped Neville.

"That's the gossip," Dicey confirmed. "So where to, Hodgelett me luvvy? I know Sir Albert's got a soft spot for you," she grinned, winking at the distinguished delegate from Bahgum, "but I can't see you in a cloth cap. So, have Alena and Brother Tim won you over to Lavinium? Or is it this delicious newcomer?" she continued, batting her eyelashes at the embarrassed Nargopian. "Or maybe you've thrown in your lot with the noble proletarians of Ankhmet?"

Neville tried to wait patiently for Hodgelett's answer, but kept being distracted by Dicey's manner. A maudlin Dicey was bad enough, but an excessively cheerful Dicey with a playful glint in her eye was more than he wanted to cope with right now.

"Shush, Dicey," he ventured,"you don't want to disturb the chicken."

Hodgelett, laughing, shook her head at the jovial lady. "Good day Dicey. It's a little early to say what the Queen and her parliament will decide, one of our neighbours has asked us tactfully to stay. Nevertheless her Majesty is satisfied that she knows there is somewhere to go if the need arises. Let's just say I don't need to worry about up and coming young men nor need desperate middle aged men with influence." She added winking.
"So you're getting on well with the Republic of Skinny 87? Received any messages from a certain Kurt?" She remembered the young man sitting next to her. "Oh what am I doing? Mistress Dicey from Ardchoille this is Mr Darrick Gran of Nargopian. Darrick, Dicey is a regular here - and very popular I might add. Wouldn't you agree Neville?" She said sensing him hovering nearby, seemingly busy, but if one thing working in politics taught you, it was how to detect eavesdroppers.

"Very pleased to meet you, Mistress Dicey," Darrick said politely, standing and bowing as he shook the woman's hand. He noticed Neville hovering nearby, and wondered what was going through the man's mind.

Probably just another long day behind the bar, Darrick thought.

"So, what's this I hear about an educational exchange?" he asked. "We in Nargopia are very education-oriented, and thus are always on the lookout for new and innovative ideas."

Be more casual, he told himself. Just take it easy. After all, this is supposed to be your day of relaxation before you present "the report" to Committee tomorrow.

*as Sol waits for his buffalo wings, he looks around the bar*
Sol: Hmm... Let's see... there's a giant chicken... I wonder where she's from...
*the buffalo wings arrive*
Sol: Alright! Finally!
*Pojo looks over towards Sol*
Pojo: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
*Pojo runs away from Sol*
Sol: What's eating him?
*Sol munches on his buffalo wings*

Deciding that talking to a chicken was not exactly what he needed right now, he leaned over to Nevile and asked him for a Glass of Whiskey. Neville nodded, although his eyes remained on Dicey and Hodgelett whilst he prepared the Whiskey. Lanchester thought about going over to the group and introducing himself to the newcomer and Hodgelett as he had not met either of them; however, he decided that merely hovering near them would be the best thing to do.

The UN stranger’s bar was filled with the usual sounds of its patrons drinking and chatting. Neville stood behind the counter as always, taking care of business and tending to his customers with his usual professional splendour.

Outside the bar the Imperial outpost left there by the armoured giant Walther Brandl things went on as they had since it was built. The guardsmen went on their patrols, the servitors worked tirelessly with their tenuous tasks, the techpriests worked their mysticism on the various technical equipment, swinging their censers and chanting their praise to the Omnissah.

Dawn fell upon the bar and it’s surroundings. Outside the bar the guardsmen proceeded to change the watch and the bellowing of the officers was heard as muffled grunts to the patrons inside the bar. The night watch relieved the day watch and the relived guardsmen quickly dispersed from the parade ground.

A gentle rain that had been falling for most of the day was suddenly replaced by a thunderstorm, making the dawn gloomier and darker. Ominous black clouds filled the sky and lined the horizon. Lightning struck, followed by a massive thunderclap indicating the ferociousness of the storm.

Neville lit a fire in the big fireplace situated in the corner of the bar and soon people huddled in front of the fire, exchanging stories of politics, war, honour and fun anecdotes while drinking a huge diversity of hot beverages, most of the containing alcohol of some sort.

Outside the bar, despite the downpour, the outpost was bustling with activity. Guardsmen were seen running around, manning heavy gun emplacements and other guard stations. Officers were seen in full ceremonial uniforms, screaming orders and making sure they were followed accordingly. An Imperial Commissar paced the parade ground, occasionally stopping by the highest-ranking officer to exchange a few words with him, which seemed to increase the feeling of urgency in the officer’s manners.

The techpriests of the Adeptus Mechanicus was also seen scuttling around the outpost, their red heavy robes soaked by the rain flapping in the wind. They blessed and anointed every machine as they swung their censers and read incantations to please the machine spirits.

Over the wind and the now frequent thunderclaps a sound could be heard. It did not sound entirely unlike the wind, only that this sound was deepened and more constant. The sound also seemed to move closer to the bar’s location with every minute that passed.

Suddenly the sound grew in volume and passed over the bar, drowning out the sound of the thunderstorm, leaving only a roar of massive engines.

On the parade ground outside the bar a company of guardsmen stood in full parade uniform. Their lasguns gleamed as a lightning lit the sky and their faces looked as if they were carved from stone.

The shape of a Thunderhawk gunship slowly descended between the ranks of guardsmen, covering them with water and small debris whipped up by the thrust of the ships engines. The guardsmen presented their lasguns in a salute as the gunmetal grey leviathan touched down and came to a rest.

The roar of the massive crafts engines subsided and died out with a descending whine as the ship has landed and as soon as the boarding ramp was lowered dark figures emerged from the confines of the ship.

Five massive armoured figures now stood behind the Thunderhawk, one of which was flanked by two hulking figures that looked like the top of a small tank mounted on the legs of a human being.

The Imperial officer of presumably the highest rank approached the armoured figures and saluted them. The one foremost flanked by the gun things returned the salute, exchanged a few words with the officer and then departed towards the entrance of the bar, taking with him two of the armoured figures, still flanked by the gun things.

The doors to the bar swung open, letting some of the rain in along with a strong gust of wind. The figure in the doorway had the somewhat familiar shape of an Adeptus Astartes power armour. The armoured figure stepped inside, leaving the other two space marines outside. He stood there, flanked by two monstrous beings, which looked as if they once could pass as humans. Now their faces was covered in augurs, metal, cables and armour. Massive weaponry sat in the place where their arm should have been and their bodies were reinforced with cables, pistons, metal and more armour. The patches of pallid flesh showing through open areas in their structure glistened like wet leather from the wetness of the rain, making them look more menacing.

The armoured figure made a small gesture with his hand and the two gunservitors stepped outside and the door behind them closed.

Judging by the rustling outside the door it was pretty safe to assume that the space marines and the gunservitors took a guarding stance outside the door.

The armoured figure inside the bar was not entirely armoured though. His left leg and his left arm were not covered in the gunmetal grey armour, as they were mechanical limbs. The helmet also had a different left visor slot. The right one was made to look something like the human eye, whilst the left one was circular and fitted with cables running to augurs fitted on the side of the helmet. Over his shoulder pads a deep red cloak was draped which had a golden Imperial Aquila stitched to the back of it. The bottom of the cloak was torn and frayed and it looked like the whole cloak had seen it’s good share of battle. Over the giants head a third arm protruded, only looked more robotic, had more joints and ended in a manipulator claw instead of a regular hand. The arm itself was fastened to a modified power armour backpack.

In the giants belt hung a huge chainsword and a boltpistol as large as a grown man’s torso.

The armoured figure surveyed the room for an instant, and then he reached up towards his helmet. There was an audible click and a hiss when the atmospheric seal was released. The figure propped his helmet under his arm and now the man could be recognized as Walther K.H Brandl.

Even though Walther has changed quite a bit since his last visit Neville instantly recognizes him, even though most of Walther’s face and his left eye is replaced with bionics.

“-Lord Brandl, long time no see. Beer or coffee today sir?” Neville asked Walther.

“++ I will have a beer today barlord. I have already celebrated our glorious victory over the Chaos scum, but I can not see any reason why I should not continue my celebration. ++”

Walther’s voice sounded different than it did earlier. It had a more metallic quality to it now. His respiration also sounded different, as if it were more mechanical, more rhythmic.

Walther strode over to the bar and put his helmet on the counter. His armour gleamed in the dim lighting of the bar and the ocular of his bionic eye rotated as it corrected its focus. Light from the fireplace played over Walther’s left side, making his bionic limbs look like they were cut from solid pieces of gold inlaid with runes and symbols in Platinum.

Walther took the beer in his left hand, picking it up carefully trying not to crush it in his powerful and highly ornamented new hand. Failing miserably to do so he looks sheepishly at the mess of broken glass and beer spread over the counter and his wargear. His servoarm twitched nervously a little as he said, “++ I am terribly sorry Neville, I got these installed not so long ago. Could I please have another beer and a few napkins? ++”

Neville complied with his usual swiftness and provided Walther with a new beer, some napkins and wiped the counter clear.

Walther picked his beer up with his other hand and took a swig of it and asked Neville “++ So, is there anything of interest happening around here lately? ++”

"Oh, you know, the usual," Neville answered, rocking one hand to and fro. "Comme ci, comme ca. You know how it is. Same old same old."

Running automatically through his store of mindless chit-chat, Neville tried to assess the situation. Even in the past one walked carefully around Walther; these days ... well, who knew what the big guy had been through? Hmm, that might do the trick ...

"And what about yourself, Walther?" he asked casually. "What's been happening in your neck of the woods?"

Seeing that the warrior was a friend of Neville's, Darrick slowly moved his hand away from the hilt of the retractable pulse sword he carried hidden underneath his trenchcoat.

Thank the Light, he thought. I seriously doubt I could've survived a skirmish with this giant, especially on so little sleep.

Lanchester looked up at the veritable giant that had entered the bar. At first, thinking that some kind of hold-up was taking place Lanchester had reached for the small pistol he had holstered. However, seeing the giant walk up to the bar and chat with Neville as if the two had known each other for years, Lanchester put the pistol back into its holster and ducked as the giant moved his arm and nearly decapitated him as Lanchester grabbed another drink.

The ocular on Walther’s bionic eye rotated as it focused on Neville.

“++ Not much, my chapter has successfully purged one of our forgeworlds from the blasphemous powers of Chaos. We had some losses, but not as heavy as our enemies. As you know, through the destruction of our enemies we earn our salvation. ++”

Walther’s servoarm twitched and then it picked Walther’s helmet up from the counter. It held the helmet in it’s claw then it retracted, folding itself behind Walther’s head.

Walther turned away from the bar and surveyed the room once again, noting a few new faces. Some of the new faces looked worried and Walther could not help but to notice some of the owners of the faces rustling about in pockets and inside of the jackets and trenchcoats.

Walther smiled and turned back towards Neville, the ocular on his helmet held by his servoarm rotating as it seemed to focus on the room behind Walther.

Hodgelett regained her composure after the sight of his...mechanisation, for want of a better word in her mind. She noted how small her arm leaning on the bar looked next to his mechanical one, and although he hadn't grown in stature, he seemed to impose a greater impression of bulk. Withdrawing her arm slowly and turning she smiled sweetly. "Well Walther, it's been a while. You know Alena's hardly been in since you left on your..um...mission. I trust your Holy Leader is as well as can be expected..."
She could not help but reflect on how casual she had been with him on the past...nay, how confrontational even, not realising what in reality he could do and had to stifle an urge to shudder.

Sol glanced up at the bionic giant who had just walked in, then went back to his buffalo wings. He listened, appearing uninterested, as the man began speaking of his religion... Disgusting. Sol thought An entire state religion based on death and destruction. Well, at least he's nice enough not to destroy us newcomers... especially those who've been fondling our weapons. Sol had no use for any weapon other than his mind, having been trained extensively in the form of psionics unique to Loratana and the ethics and cunning required of a master of the art of diplomacy. He was as dangerous as this mechanical man. He just didn't look it.

"So, Mr. Brandl, your religion... tell me about it. At your leisure, of course...."

OOC: The natural chemistry of the solvents in the water in Loratana alters developing human brains slightly, giving them more power and allowing for psionics. To obtain full use of these gifts the child must be concieved in Loratana, the child's mother must drink Loratanan water throughout her pregnancy, and the child must be raised in Loratana. Unfair, I know, and we don't sell our water. Also, I apologize for my semi-antisocial attitude earlier, and the crappy writing style I used then.

*shaking his head in disbelief*.....more beer here.

I'll buy you a round.

Walther turned his attention to Mr. Sol and the ocular on Walther’s bionic eye rotated as it focused on Mr. Sol.

A wry smile grew on Walther’s lips and he answered: “++ So, you want to know about my disgusting religion based on death and destruction? ++”

As Walther spoke Mr. Sol felt as if something was probing his mind, something mechanic and ancient.

“++ Well, at least I am nice enough not to destroy you newcomers... especially those who've been fondling your weapons. I find it amusing that you think that I would do such a thing, what can I possibly accomplish by such a thing? It also surprises me that someone of your magnitude thinks so highly of himself despite all that training. You never know if you find someone as… Gifted as yourself, right Mr. Sol? ++”

As Walther spoke, the mindprobe lodged in Mr. Sol’s mind grew in its presence but it only scanned the surface thoughts.

“++ What you have said about my “religion” as you call it is terribly close to heresy, but you did not know better, so I will let it slip this time. What do you want to know about my beliefs Mr. Sol? ++”

The mindprobe disappeared as quickly as it appeared and Walther raised his beer in a toast to Mr. Sol

OOC: Firstly, Sol said nothing except "I'd like to hear more about your religion". the rest was thought purely to Sol himself. No one heard it. I just thought you'd like my nation's views on Walther's religion before we get to understand him. Secondly, Sol might well be powerful enough to rip every last bit of bionic augmentation off of Walther's body, or he might not. He just doesn't look like it or act like it. Some people like to share views. Others don't. Sol didn't say it out loud because he is a DIPLOMAT first, then a fighter. Also, psionic powers aren't unique to Loratana, but the way we train them is. Telepathy is not one of the powers possessed by Sol. Empathy is, though. And Sprite and buffalo wings make him kinda giddy, especially when he's kinda tired. Also, when I write in Italics, it means it's thought. Bold is for telepathy, should my character have it. Finally, what's your nation's name? I'd like to include a reference to you in my nation's history, which I am in the process of writing. Also, Vulcan is the surname, not Sol. Sorry if I get it wrong for your character.

Back IC:

Sol shook off the probe as he finally recognized the man's biotech from tales which had been passed down through generations. Dear Lord, it's Them! But that's impossible... They're myths! Centuries before the founding of his country, Sol's people had been ravaged by a spacefaring race unknown to them. And every one of their warriors had been enhanced like this giant. Then came the discovery of the hidden vale of Loratana, and the founding of their nation. The warriors could no longer find them, and they had no interest in finding the warriors. "Mr. Brandl, could you find your way to telling me about your religion, instead of waltzing around it?" Sol said, a cautious note in his voice, "You see, I'd like to understand you before I decide anything that has to do with you...."

My fellow delegates, it has come to my attention that - possibly as a result of the unusual stress under which we have been working - many delegates have been behaving in manners which are...er...less than becoming for a representative of a sovereign government at such an august body as this.
Therefore, it is with great joy that I announce the establishment of the United Nations Strangers' Bar.

For those unfamiliar with the term, the name harks back to the days of the Westminster system in England, where MPs would receive guests there - constituents, lobbyists and so on. Over time, the Strangers' Bar evolved into a kind of private club to which the politicians could repair for food, drink and convivial company aside from the strain of legislation.
Those who have seen the series "Yes Minister" and "Yes Prime Minister" know that, in addition, many "back room deals" are also organised within the Bar as the free flow of hospitality breaks down barriers of ideology and party politics.

The Bar here is open and all UN representatives are most welcome to avail themselves of it, whether just for a drink or two or to nut out something more serious involving the politics of the United Nations. I am sure that all members will take full advantage of the facilities.

OOC: This is a rather strange beast, an open RP set in the United Nations and with a constantly-revolving cast of characters. The nearest thread I can imagine would be some of the "House" threads in General.
The theory is simple, instead of trumpeting proposals constantly, UN members can come in and sit down here in peace and quiet to discuss the ins and outs of certain issues and then trumpet proposals. Obviously it would be handy if everyone had a "character" for their UN persona, but I accept that not everyone using this forum is that much into RP so it's not compulsory by any means.
The only catch is that this is not intended to turn into an extension of the boozy parties that some threads seem to. There's a certain decorum to be maintained in a Bar like this, even if your nation is a cross between Libya, Saddam's Iraq, Haiti and Zimbabwe.
Setting-wise, I imagine a kind of a marriage between a quality English pub and a gentlemans' club (not in the brothel sense, in the "I'm just popping down to the club, old sport" sense). A few billiards tables maybe, possibly a dart board, a few private-looking alcoves, a menu catering to all tastes, beers from around the world on tap, most spirits known to man somewhere about, wood-panelled walls, leather chairs and a collection of old maps and portraits of old diplomats on the walls. break open the bubbly!! :-D

Neville was just about to break out the bubbly as requested (a much better response to tension than the one he had been considering, which was to gently murmur, "Play nice, people!") when a column of deep-red fire leapt from floor to ceiling in the place where Dicey had been standing a few seconds before.

Fairly swiftly after that the following events occurred:

1. Bast fell out of the column, landing on all four feet, with his tail three times its usual size.

2. A purple flame engulfed the red, faltered, flared, faltered again and seeped into the floor.

3. Dicey reappeared, looking both shamefaced and furious, and said, "Bloody regional delegate! They've made me bloody regional delegate!"

4. Neville grabbed a bottle of Ardchoille uisquebaugh, ripped off the seal and handed it to Bast, who managed to get a decent swig before Dicey tore it from his grip and disappeared into a darkened alcove.

Bast, grooming his fur, sat down.

"Anybody thinking of saying, 'I thought you weren't allowed to use magic outside Ardchoille,'?" he asked silkily. "Take my advice: don't."

"I take it we can assume that Dicey's a little upset?" asked Neville.

"Dicey was so upset she teleported me away from my negotiations with Skinny 87 after it had taken us days to get to the point," Bast hissed. Calming down a little -- Neville had put some Bailey's Irish Cream in his milk -- he explained, "The red fire was Dicey in full Firewitch temper tantrum because she'd just heard she'd been made regional delegate to the UN. The purple was the Moot, back in Ardchoille, pointing out that she wasn't allowed, etc, etc. The present silence is Dicey trying to figure out a way to avoid the responsibility."

Aware of a certain undercurrent in the bar, Bast gestured grandly to Walther and a newcomer (So, you can do this too?) "I'm sorry we interrupted you with our little domestic problems," he said aloud. "Please, do continue."

Neville refreshed the champagne glasses.

Sol turned to Bast. "Straight up, I'm not a projecting telepath. I'm a reciever, yes, but I'm mostly an empath and a telekinetic. I do emotions and motion, not thoughts. But, yes, my people are psychic. I'm Sol Vulcan, from Loratana."

"And I'm Bast, Feline Advisor to the co-President of Ardchoille," the Cat responded politely. "So it's a physical process with your people, Sol, not actual magic?" he enquired, as one professional to another. "I do apologise, by the way, I really shouldn't have done that. Generally we don't, outside Ardchoille, but today ... oh, what the hell. Neville, could you discreetly send over something for Dicey to eat? She'll be a bit peckish after that display. But don't serve it on the good china, and don't send any knives."

He looked around at the assembled company. "Okay, I guess that was a bit of a barbecue-stopper," he acknowledged. "Look, what about munchies all round? My shout, of course."

Darrick gladly accepted the munchies provided as he pondered the events that had just transpired. It seemed like maybe he'd need a vacation from this vacation after all was said and done.

"Root beer float, please." he said to Neville as the bartender walked past. "I should really stay away from the alcohol so close to this afternoon's conference."

I wonder why Ms. Hodgelett is so quiet? he thought to himself.

Hodgelett flipped her mobile shut.
"Sorry about that, the bigwigs always want to hear all the international gossip." She scratched behind Bast's ear absently. "Someone should take that bottle from Dicey, a tub of chocolate ice-cream is probably better for her." She thought for a moment then stood up. "In fact I'll do it myself...Neville if you're getting food bring some double choc ice-cream too and I'll give you a hand taking it over. By the way Bast...what's wrong with being delegate anyway? I enjoyed it."

OOC / Explanations and stuff:

>Firstly, Sol said nothing except "I'd like to hear more about your religion". the rest was thought purely to Sol himself. No one heard it.

I understood that and as I understand it Sol got psychic powers. Well, guess what, Walther does too as he is the Grandmaster of his chapter. It’s one of an Adeptus astartes chapters many jobs to purge the Empire of heretics and rouge psychers, therefore Walther has the power to seek out other psychers and such.

>I just thought you'd like my nation's views on Walther's religion before we get to understand him.

I got it, now Walther did too.

>Secondly, Sol might well be powerful enough to rip every last bit of bionic augmentation off of Walther's body, or he might not.

I tend to agree on the latter part of this sentence as I presume that Sol is an ordinary human with psychic powers, right?

>He just doesn't look like it or act like it. Some people like to share views. Others don't. Sol didn't say it out loud because he is a DIPLOMAT first, then a fighter.

Fair enough.

>Also, psionic powers aren't unique to Loratana, but the way we train them is. Telepathy is not one of the powers possessed by Sol. Empathy is, though.

Sure, psionic powers are not unique, but I find it highly unlikely that Mr. Vulcan’s powers is powerful enough to break the mind of a genetically enhanced human close to 700 years old. Also, this almost 700 years old man is wearing an armour which is close to 15000 years old and the armour itself is blessed not only by Walther’s primarch, it is also blessed by the God-Emperor himself along with numerous Ecclesiary priest and has wards designed to shield Walther from the powers of Chaos and various daemons and daemonspawn as well as the regular battlefield conditions an Adeptus astartes is subjected to.

>And Sprite and buffalo wings make him kinda giddy, especially when he's kinda tired.

>Also, when I write in Italics, it means it's thought.

As I understood by reading your post.

>Bold is for telepathy, should my character have it.

>Finally, what's your nation's name?

The forge world of Walther Brandl (Try clicking on my name in the forum and choose “Visit Walther Brandl’s homepage)

>I'd like to include a reference to you in my nation's history, which I am in the process of writing.

What would that reference be if I might ask? Send me a telegram or contact me via an IM of your choice.

>Also, Vulcan is the surname, not Sol. Sorry if I get it wrong for your character.

Sorry, my bad. I thought that your character was a Vulcan (from Star Trek).

IC:

Walther turned to look Mr. Vulcan straight in the eye and then he spoke with a voice much deeper and resonant than usual. This time Walther’s voice sounded as if he were several millennia older and had the authority to deny anything it’s existence by his will alone. Walther’s presence was felt not only by the air in the room, but in the mind as well.

“-My belief is of the immortal Emperor of mankind who sits upon the Golden throne on Terra whose sacrifice is life as ours is death. There is only the Emperor, and he is our shield and protector. Only those that follow the guiding light of the Emperor may save their souls. As we pray to the Emperor, His thoughts are only for us. The Emperor knows, the Emperor is watching. The Emperors will be done.”

Walther’s biological eye blazed as he spoke and on his armour glowing runes and symbols of arcane powers appeared as lightning played along his mechanical left arm and he continued:

“-I am his sword of retribution
I am his wessel of wrath
Even though I am but weak and mortal flesh,
The spirit of His divine spirit fills and strengthens me.”

The symbols and runes on Walther’s armour disappeared as he finished the canticle and the shimmering forcefield cowering his left fist disappeared with a crack, leaving a smell of ozone hanging in the air.

“++ I hope that gives you some insight Mr. Vulcan. Venerate the Immortal Emperor. ++”

Walther raised his glass in a toast to Mr. Vulcan, then he turned Bast and gestured something similar to what Bast did when he saw Walther.

OOC: Thank you for taking the time to comprehend what I wrote whilst sleep-deprived. Also, thank you for giving me further insight into Walther. Sol IS an ordinary Loratanan human, but some of his powers are, for lack of a better word, powerful. Lord knows what's in the water of the hidden vale, but it's damn potent, and since our nations have never fought, we may never find out what Sol and the rest of the Loratanans can do. Also, I don't speak, or read, whatever language your page is in (it's Swedish, isn't it? I'm half-Swedish, but I know absolutely nothing of the language). Had your page been in Spanish, maybe I could have read it... Definitely could have in English, since that's my native tongue. Thanks for telling me, though.

Back IC: Oh Lord... That's Their religion too.... Sol got up, "I thank you, Mr. Brandl, for your understanding and help. I'm afraid I must be going now." Sol walked through the door and into the cool night air. I just hope I make it out of here alive, since he's still watching. Oh man, why couldn't I have been a projector? Then I wouldn't have to find a ship to get me back home...

Walther watched the little man toddle off into the night and thought, “The flesh is weak” to himself. He let Mr. Vulcan exit the room and when the doors closed again he spoke into his armours vox-bead in high-gothic.

He then turned his attention to Neville again and asked for a cup of coffee.

“++ Looks like there can be a cause for celebration again pretty soon. I would be better off if I kept off the beer for now at least. ++”

Walther turned to the door, raised his half-full glass of beer in a salute to the departed Mr. Vulcan and said “++ Beware the alien, the mutant, the heretic. Stray not from the path of the Emperor. ++” Then he emptied his glass, turned back to the bar and put his glass on the counter.

Those who stood close enough to Walther could see the fire of battle and fury burning in his superhuman eye.

Neville wasn't all that worried about the fire of battle and fury, etc. Walther had often shown he understood the traditions of the Strangers' Bar -- ie, no lasting damage to customers permitted, all breakages must be paid for.

Indeed, the sturdiness of the present door-frames bore witness to how conscientiously Walther had met his obligations on three former occasions, when frames of, respectively, reinforced concrete, steel and vanadium had proved inadequate.

But that line about "cause for celebration pretty soon"? The thought of Walther in celebration mode was enough to give pause to any conscientious Barlord.

"Memo to self: notify builders," thought Neville.

A quiet falls upon the bar.....fear fills the room....
Sir Albert strolls in, surrounded by a full Mother in Law security detail (and the kind that look like they haven't interfered in anything for at least half a day....).

Just nipping in for a quick pint, and to announce that Bahgum intends to instruct the order of teh flat cap to resume proposal writing activities, just as soon as the two nominations are in. Sorry about the security, Bahgum has stepped up security in advance, a wise precaution.

By Eck lads.

I need another wiskey bartender!

"Well, I'm off to Armed Enforcers to give "The Report." Darrick said, finishing his root beer float. "I may stop back in if this visit takes shorter than expected. Until then, farewell!"

Sliding out of his seat, Darrick nodded at Sir Albert as he passed him, waved to Neville, and winked at Hodgelett before he stepped outside.

Eudelhphia collects a hot buttered rum from the bar, and sinking into a deep, squashy leather armchair ponders, "Seeing how these guys act when they're drunk could give me some major clues to where we could safely sell our uranium."

Eudelhphia collects a hot buttered rum from the bar, and sinking into a deep, squashy leather armchair ponders, "Seeing how these guys act when they're drunk could give me some major clues to where we could safely sell our uranium."
Pretty much anywhere

*hic*

do you know, I actually bought some nukes before I realized it was perfectly legal here to just buy the equipment to make them?

lifes been hard in this world, the UN is going to kick me out if I don't oblidge to the "UNWODC" and I don't even know what that is.

lifes been hard in this world, the UN is going to kick me out if I don't oblidge to the "UNWODC" and I don't even know what that is. :headbang:

life is like old wine, when it gets old it becomes perfect or sour.

*Hic*

Snrk.
Pojo's tiny head jerked up from where it lay sprawled. Had it been drooling? No, no, it wasn't asleep for that long. Just a couple of... hours? days? years? It could never keep proper track of time when it was down. Once, it had hibernated through an entire dynasty, though it wasn't sure which one. Act casual, it told itself, rising to its claws. Maybe no one knew you were asleep. It preened some odd feathers.

Someone very nice had put out food and water for it. What a wonderful place. It leaned closer to the tray and took a sip. The water refreshing its senses, it suddenly noticed through its right eye an odd obstruction nesting on the bar...an enormous hand? Blinking through the bleary eye, it checked again. An enormous hand... connected to an empty glass. No, look the other way. An enormous hand, connected to... a behemoth of an arm... connected to -

Whoa.

Some of the water went down the wrong pipe. Choking and spluttering, Pojo ungracefully spit up a hefty dose of steam and not a small amount of fire. The barstool lit, and with a squawk it leaped back, slipped, and toppled ungracefully to the floor.

I think the idea is outstanding! I know how it is to be a stranger in this world and this Stranger Bar sounds like it could cure this Problem....I stand behind it fully.
Thanks for your time!
C.R.M

My god. The UN. I though you were supposed to be working! Not sitting on your ass, ordering White Russians. What happened to the UN. They used to be hard working people. Good job.

Singing Karyoke, "We Are The Champions".

My god. The UN. I though you were supposed to be working! Not sitting on your ass, ordering White Russians. What happened to the UN. They used to be hard working people. Good job.
1) What work have you done so far?
2) I haven't noticed anybody ordering a White Russian. Are you trying to impress us by showing that you know the name of an alcoholic drink?
3) Most people who post here are also active in resolution debate.
4) Have you ever known a hard-working politician to turn down a chance at some good old R & R?

Neville tut-tutted to himself. He really must need a holiday. He had felt a moment's impatience with the customers! But really, you turn your back on them for a minute and the next thing you know they're bickering, setting the place on fire, etc, etc ... no, mustn't think like that. Most unprofessional. He pulled himself together and began to deal with things.

A quick phsst! with the fire-extinguisher was enough to put out the bar-stool, which had been made flame-retardant anyway (the interior decorators of the Strangers' Bar knew their stuff). And Pojo, sensible little chicken, had fluttered safely up to the rafters. Neville winked at him and hoisted a free bowl of Glugg's Fine Old Chicken-Mash up on a handy rope-and-pulley arrangement.

As for the rest -- ah, good old Cybertoria! Karaoke was always an excellent idea for bonding, smoothing over cracks, etc. Neville caught the eyes of Asshelmetta and Eudelphia and made a circling gesture which, fortunately, they seemed to understand. Soon the delegates from Hugyland and WonderLanders had been drawn into the group.

By the time the song reached its climactic taunt -- "NO time for LOSE-ers 'cos WE are the CHAMPions ... of the WORLD!" -- the bar resembled a singing football team about to pack down for a scrum. Neville wasn't sure whether the new rep from Derykland was a willing participant, exactly, but several arms seemed to be round his shoulders ... Neville prepared a special root beer float for Nargopia's conscientious delegate and, spreading coloured sprinkles, caramel sauce and shredded Jello over ice-cream, delivered it to him with a smile and a sotto voce, "You can't take everything seriously, you know -- except dessert, of course."

That done, he checked out the usual suspects. Hodgelett, bless her little cotton socks, was still plying Dicey with ice-cream. Dicey, somewhat recovered, was trying to ply Hodgelett with Ardchoille's national drink. Sir Albert seemed to be explaining an intricate moment in Test cricket to Bast, using the mothers-in-law to illustrate. All was quiet (relatively) on the Western Front, though, from the way Bast's whiskers were quivering, Pojo might soon need a little reassurance.

But, for the moment, Neville was able to relax and down his custom-poured White Russian.

"...and you wouldn't want to know where they've been." Hodgelett cast a worried eye over the bar, it had been surprisingly noisy. The area around the bar itself seemed full of smoke and Ol' Sir Albert was back...doing something odd with a glass of whiskey, two chairs one of the old cricket bats used for display and a befuddled Bast. 'well at least he's occupied'
She noted that Walther seemed to be on his own now, 'I guess he is a little daunting now...where's that young chap...what's his name? Being bad with names really doesn't help a politician..oh yes Darrick of Nargopia...where did he go?' She pondered a minute before it struck her 'Oh yes! He left and he...he winked at me! The cheeky buga!'
Turning back to Dicey she noticed the ice-cream was nearly gone already. Deciding to leave the bar to Neville's capable hands she decided the best thing to do was keep the conversation as trivial as she had been doing already until Dicey showed any signs she wanted to speak of loftier things. "You know there's this lovely ice-cream parlour on the seafront of my town, called Fusciardis, they do these sundaes, lovely. I think my favourite is 'honeybee' with real honeycomb but the 'Midnight Express' is really nice too, I used to have that when I was young and they never ided me although it had liqueur at the bottom. Of course there's the soft ice-cream ones too and you could sit outside and watch the old biddies sitting on deckchairs watching the sea go in and out...."

Nusku Capleton wanders through the doors, heads for her customary stool at the bar, and double-takes as she finds it filled by some whippersnapper diplomat from a nation with a shorter history than most of her socks. Muttering an abtruse obscenity in an untranslatable dialect, she gazes over the mass of bottles behind the bar. No Rehochipean exports are in evidence.

With an immense sigh, she orders a bottle of the East Hackneyite mainstay, Comrade Morgan's Saucy Socialist Rum (http://diden.net/~maga/images/saucy.jpg) and, recognising nobody but Sir Albert, pulls up a chair opposite the eminent from Bahgum.

"Hey. I'm just here out of a misguided sense of duty - assessing possibilities of Rehochipean reapplication to the UN and so forth, though not without an excess of hope, it must be said," she grumbles, taking a herculean gulp at her booze. "And possibly in the hope that some of those Ennish girls might turn up for a game of Twister for old time's sake. Or that some belligerent idiot'll start a brawl and I can partake in handing him his arse. You know how it goes. How's the place been since I was last here?"

Orphiana is looking for recognition by members of the UN.

Please send a telegram in order to set up diplomatic and substantial ties.

Awed by the return of one of the fabled Early Barflies, Neville respectfully retrieved her personalised tankard and filled it with the elixir of her choice.

"I fear, Ms Capleton, that none of the Ennish delegation is here at the moment," he lamented, remembering her previous diversions. "Perhaps you and Sir Albert would care for a rousing game of Monopoly? A rack of pool? Anyone for tennis? -- Damn, I've always wanted to say that, but I thought I'd do the accent better." He departed, muttering, "Any whan for tennice? Enniwon for ternis? Inniun fer ..." But the proper upper-class bray eluded him.

Meanwhile, Dicey listened appreciatively to Hodgelett's icecream idylls, wondering how long her kindly friend could keep up such a flow of inconsequence. But her own plight drove her to interrupt.

"Hodgelett, it's not the work I mind so much about being Regional Delegate," she confided, "it's the responsibility. I mean, I'm supposed to make decisions for all those people -- me, who finds it hard enough to decide which colour cloak to wear!"

Hodgelett's cautious suggestion that she was already making decisions for all of Ardchoille met with a sarcastic snort. "Yes, but that's just family!" Dicey said. "Besides, Ardchoilleans being what they are, if they don't like it, they won't do it, whatever I decide. But for the region -- look, there's actually some law-abiding nations in our region! If I get it wrong, they'll --"

A look of Ultimate Revelation lit up Dicey's unremarkable features. "Sack me!" she cried, joyously. "They'll sack me!"

Neville hurriedly cleared a space on the counter-top. He had a feeling there would be some can-can-related activity in the very near future.

"I doubt you'd get it wrong anyway...oh jeez...." Hodgelett broke off wide eyed looking over Dicey's shoulder. "Neville's brought out the Monopoly set and I'm not sure if Bast likes Monopoly but if he's caught in dear Sir Albert's company for much longer he's going to be a third whether he will or nay!"

Galna was very pleased with himself. He had just been appointed the Cyrian Space Delegate to the United Nations, a very important post. After his exemplary service in the EWT first contact, and subsequent trade talks, he had risen very quickly as a diplomat. High Chancellor Irrinan, upon joining the UN, had hand picked him, and the senate had approved his appointment in days. Now he was getting used to earth. That was a bit difficult, in a long term capacity. His throat was constantly dry from the lack of moisture, and he seemed to make a scene wherever he went.
He had just begun talks on trying to institute a policy already in action in Cyrian Space, and descided he was due for a break. He saw an advertisement for the "stranger's bar" on his nightstand, and descided to give the place a try.

Tom wandered over to the bar, spotting the monopoly game being prepared he ordered himself a double vodka and casually asked if he could play.

Extract from The Barlord's Guide to Interplanetary Ingestion:

We don't know what Cyrian Space beings ingest. In such situations, employ the three-step Neverfail Technique, ie,

1. Specify next of kin, true heirs, etc.

2. Spill any deathbed secrets.

3. Ask politely.

yes i think it is a good idea

Felix Jethoscopes, Shiree Herald to the UN - stumbles angryly into the UNSB squeals a speech very much like the one he'd made to random and somewhat taken aback journos, before stomping out again

"This International Court of Justice proposal is the most unnecessary piece of bureaucratic clique-ism I've ever had the misfortune to place Watfordshire's vote against. It intimates an that a completely unrepresentative 'old boy's club' shall be deciding IN SECRET! the fate of nations as if they were singular criminals in the dock.

It is an unprecedented piece of insidious puffery which should be voted down by any UN Delegates and memberstates who value the very liberties that the UN holds dear"

Josiah Bartlet, the Ambassador from Romanus Britannus looked at the crowd of people in the bar, sat down and ordered himself a drink. "It's nice being new sometimes."

I need more VODKA!

Mathieu Vergniaud, Ecopoeia's Deputy Speaker to the UN, sloped into the Bar, miserable. He ordered a bottle of rioja from a country he'd never heard of and made his way to a corner booth, nodding glumly at Nusku Capleton on the way. Some Shiree ambassador was holding forth on the latest resolution. He cringed and slunk into the shadowed seat.

The senior Speaker, Varia Yefremova, had just given him the worst bollocking of his career for not flagging the ICJ resolution while she was on holiday. He'd seen nothing wrong - apart from references to languages he'd never heard of - and hadn't even mentioned it to her on her return. And now it was a resolution. And... well, now he could see just how awful it was and it was probably too late. There was a chance that Ecopoeia would resign from the UN if it passed, as seemed likely.

What had he been thinking? Probably trying to get into the Telidian amassador's knickers... he thought, morosely and slugged back the remainder of his first glass. He poured another and wondered about the employment prospects in a bankrupt 'third world' nation for a failed diplomat.

Nusku glanced at her pager. It indicated that the ICJ resolution had dropped to a one and a half thousand Against margin.

Allowing herself a tight-lipped smile, she tossed the device in the general direction of the woeful Ecopoeian. "Somebody up there likes you, apparently."

Eudelphia leaned over the bar to whisper in Neville's ear, "Listen, if you need a few minutes break, three or four of us working together could maybe cover for you. We won't even mooch from the top shelf."

"It's okay, thanks. Jimmy will be here in a while," Neville smiled. He remembered briefly the time a few months ago when Hodgelett had worked the bar all by herself. She'd said something then about college jobs ... Neville's eyes went dreamy as he imagined Hodgelett in college.

Which is probably why he missed the little rumpled man in the old-fashioned, dark blue suit.

"C'mon, mate, I'm dry as a wowser's picnic!" the man said. "That's no way to treat a Head of State!"

"What'll it be, then?" replied Neville. Pulling a frosty VB in answer to the man's order, he couldn't help but grin; this was a likeable little bloke. "And what State would you be Head of?" he asked. He was guessing some aspect of the Great South Land, but it always paid to ask.

"Well, half a Head, actually," said the visitor. "I'm co-President of Ardchoille." He leaned across the bar to shake Neville's hand. "Ben Chifley."

"Neville Chamberlain," Neville responded. The man's face went red. "That's Neville NotThatOne Chamberlain," the barlord explained swiftly. "But how can you be co-President? I thought Dicey Riley was."

"Dicey Riley's not the only criminal in Ardchoille," the Chifley man said glumly. "I'd better explain it all to her, first. Where is she?"

Pointing him towards the alcove where Dicey and Hodgelett were now giggling over their empty sundae dishes, Neville thoughtfully grabbed a few more of the engraved tankards from the Shelf of Honour and started filling them. Nice to see the regulars returning, he thought; better find the Twister box. But all the while his mind dealt with household matters, he wondered what was going on.

A little man came walking into the bar, and seeing all of these important looking people, he decided to ask a question that was eating in him.

"Umm, would any of you esteemed UN members care to tell me how to join the UN? My country would just looove to!" He said all of this with a scared lookiing smile on his face.

Hodgelett raised her eyes for a moment to see someone walking towards them. She said in a hushed voice to Dicey "who's the gentleman in the blue suit? I don't know him and he's coming this way."

"Hello there," said this little man who apparantly was wearing a blue suit. He was speaking to a woman who was talking to another small man next to her.
"Would you mind telling me how to join the UN? Our small country would love to add its vote to many a resolution," he said trying to sound like he knew what he was talking about. He of course, did not have the faintest idea.

I got a keg over here!

The pile of pint glasses suddenly topples over as Sir Albert sits upright. 'By eck, that was a grand nap, ow's t'world bin w'owt me? Mines a pint....gradely lad'

"I don't know him and he's coming this way."

"It's Ben Chifley, my co-President," said Dicey. "Wonder how they got him to come down? He usually spends his time in the National Balloon. He's made a game out of it. When any bureaucrat wants anything signed, they have to catch him. But he's worked out this really obscure landing pattern so they never know where he'll be next. Ben, what are you doing here?"

"Come to see the most beautiful witch in the country, of course," said the newcomer, gallantly. "And who's this charming creature?"

"You'll have to excuse him," Dicey said, cutting in before Hodgelett could begin to bristle. "His human interaction patterns are stuck in 1940s Australia. He thinks he's being polite." She introduced the pair and, after the flirtatious exchanges that Ben seemed to consider necessary when dealing with women, managed to wrench the conversation back to the explanation for his presence.

It went on for quite a while, particularly with the side-tracking while they explained historical details to Hodgelett. "So, you and Bast handle the diplomatic side of things, and I'm stuck here doing your UN jobs until you sort it all out," Ben said finally. "Which is why I'm begging the pair of you to pull your socks up and get it all over with as fast as you can, Dicey. And no tucking into that Scrumpy they make in Findhorn, either."

Dicey's eyes were sparkling. Compared to being regional delegate, ending her nation's 500-year-old family feud with Findhorn would be a piece of cake. Even if she wasn't allowed to use magic.

Eddie walks over to the bar and orders a bottle of the Imperial Brandy from Clearwater, his favorite. After receiving his libation and a small glass, he walks over to an empty table and sits. He commences pouring, idly watching the representative from Baghum muttering to himself. While amused at the antics, he feels a dull ache in his head and takes a swallow of the brandy. The Rep of Komokom fellow's shouting has given him a headache, but the brandy will see to that.

"I guess that means you'll be away quite a while" Hodgelett said as she gave Dicey a hug and a peck on the cheek, "all the best, I'm sure you'll do brilliantly. And send my respects to Brother Timothy if you see him, I think he said he was going home for a break."

'ere, lads n lasses, ah's put one o' them there new fangled UN proposals in t'debating room. 'ave a gander n' give it a vote or two, tha's of ya 'as likes t'pub, should find it reet gradely n all. Belch....

The six foot tall, blue furred, six fingered alien had finally made it to the United Nations strangers bar. It had been hell finding the place. He went over to the bar and sat down. When the bartender expressed concern about his ability to drink human alchohol, he kindly explained.
"Don't worry. My people have studies your beverages, and we are capable of ingesting quite a bit of them before having problems. So, what do you have?"

Cyrian Space: So, what do you have?

What Barlord could resist an invitation like that?

But Neville didn't respond by reeling off a list of goodies. He eyed the Cyrian delegate, thought about the six-fingered hands and the blue fur and decided that what this alien needed more than something to drink was someone to talk to.

"You could try the Clearwater Imperial Brandy," he suggested, sure that the delegate from Texan Hotrodders would give a friendly wave.

"Or those soapsuds Sir Albert drinks ..." (which got an "Ee-oop, lad!")

" ... good ol' Cybertoria's got a keg ..." (raises glass, hooks spare chair over)

"... and Ben here's knocking back the VB."

"G'day, mate. My shout, eh?"

Ben helped the alien collect a moisture-beaded schooner and accompanied him over to where a group was beginning to gather round the keg. Neville savoured the Warm Inner Glow that follows a fine piece of professional Barlording.

"Good morning!" Hodgelett walked in perhaps a little sprightly for some. Seeing she hadn't actually drunken anything last night except melted ice-cream there wasn't even the slightest chance that she could put the 'not had a hangover yet' genes to the test.
It seemed a little strange not seeing either Dicey or Bast in some corner or more likely being the life and soul of the party. However it seemed Sir Albert had enjoyed an all-nighter and Bast's place at the monopoly board had been replaced by a blue furry thing who was reading the rules with what appeared to be bemusement on its face.
Smiling Hodgelett took a stool at the bar and ordered a fresh orange juice. "interviewing for a new secretary today, got to set a good impression" she explained laughing.

"The Clearwater Imperial Brandy sounds nice, I think I'll start with one of those." The Cyrian said. He turned to the table. "Well, I might as well introduce myself. My name is Galna, and I am the delegate from Cyrian Space, a rising republic of affiliated planets."
Galna gestured a lot while he talked, and leaned back in his chair, trying to relax and have a good time.

WORD BROTHERS AND SISTERS :D

It is time for a new proposal to be put before the U.N. so all you delegates get off your butt and get one in.

:fluffle: Hi there was just padding by when i heard the jukebox playing a classic Lean Rimes tune,the one from Coyote Ugly,thought i would pop in ,sip a beer and watch the waitresses dancing on the bar! Could i have been smoking to much of our national weed? My lack of clothing did not go unnoticed,maybe our new proposal concerning the wearing of clothes should only be considored around Loujillville,the rest of the nations are not so open minded.. It was a nice visit........
lou the viking

"Now, now, this is where they relax," Neville soothed. "They'll all be into it, hurling abuse at each other, come 10am. Or possibly 11am. No later than noon, anyway. Here, why don't you relax a bit yourself? This is our morning wake-up special."

He slid an excessively healthy unsweetened orange-juice and an excessively unhealthy hot buttered crumpet towards the delegate. He had found that the contradictions implicit in such a combination were enough to shut most diplomats up for a good five minutes.

Meanwhile, there was Hodgelett to be worried about. What if she got some smooth and elegant male secretary? Someone who would soon know all her most personal concerns? Would there be any room then in her heart for a faithful Barlord?

Neville never missed a chance to trouble trouble before trouble troubled him.

Well, i have been thinking and in the intrests of national safety i think we should disband all united nations members! Controversial ! But wait... (am i drunk)............. are we the targett of global terrorism???

Ambassador Martin Roberts, the new UN reprehensive from Manhattan Prime, walked in the door feeling a bit out of place. The Imperial Colony of Manhattan Prime had only been admitted to the UN today, and he had just arrived.

The usually suave, debonair career diplomat now felt slightly lost, quite unlike his normal self. Back home he was known as a skilled and experienced diplomat, surrounded by an aura of calm confidence. But here? This was all new to him, here he was out of his depth.

Hoping his uncertainty didn’t show through too much, Martin walked up to the bar.

“So, what’s the speciality of the house here?”

Hodgelett emerged after interviewing her first candidate, hearing the new gentleman's question she interrupted. "The speciality?" She laughed. "Name whatever you like. Each rep here will tell you their own country's finest." She winked at Neville across the bar. "I'm sure our eminent barlord will fix you with something befitting your style. Newspapers are over there, and all the best gossip can be found around the fireplace."
"And I'll have a mocha when you're done." she added.

The main entryway opened and a tall thin figure in a tweed suite walked into the building crossing the room with swiftness until reaching the bar. Some might recognize him, most wouldn't, but he was Prime Minister Wunderlich of the All Powerful Monarchy of England and Ireland, though he certainly wished he could be anyone else at the moment. He turned to the bartender,"Neville, I need a drink." Neville reached under the bar a pulled out a small glass and a bottle of whiskey, he poured a drink and was about to put the bottle back when Wunderlich interjected,"Leave the bottle." The Prime Minister looked like he hadn't slept in days, and this was because he hadn't. After several shots he placed his head on the bar and sat in silence. "Why me?" he thought, he knew this would get him nowhere but he kept at it hoping to prove himself wrong. After nearly an hour of him doing nothing but lying his head on the bar he realized he had been correct and this had done nothing for him. He pulled out a small laptop and began to type.

Neville was having an off day. He had just made a Manhattan for the delegate from Manhattan Prime, a response which, he knew, fell far below his exacting standards of witty drink-making.

Now this Prime Minister fellow, abandoning the perfectly reasonable project of drinking himself into oblivion, was apparently working, right before the outraged, if somewhat bleary, eyes of Neville's valued regulars.

"Excuse, me, sir," Neville said stiffly. "I do trust that the activity in which you are engaged has no redeeming social value whatsoever? If you were, for example, taking part in a massive multi-player online game, or using the purloined e-mail address of the Leader of the Opposition to sign him up to porn sites, that would, of course, be quite acceptable. We would even close our eyes if you were indulging in clandestine exchanges of vital information with the agents of a rival super-power. But, sir, you appear to be pursuing legitimate activities related to your political position. And if that is the case, then I am afraid I must ask you to leave!"

Hodgelett could feel the undercurrent of tension humming through the Bar even though she had been contemplating her no-nonsense coffee mug quite obliviously to any observer. Raising her eyes from the froth-covered teaspoon - why not coffeespoon? - she noticed Neville apparently having words, from his expression, with a customer! Never had she even contemplated that such an event could happen as she'd assumed his usual bonhomie was a permanent state of affairs. Even while these several lines of thought ran through her mind the question of her new secretary still nagged as she had three other candidates to see before the day was out.
There it was! Neville actually raised his voice! Hodgelett focused her musings on the scene at the bar, it appeared the gentleman in question was using his laptop, which, while infrequent, was not a crime, nor was accompanying it with a bottle of whisky. Her curiosity aroused, one of the things that constantly got her in trouble, she picked up her mug and files and drifted closer to snatch what she could from the conversation.

Prime Minister Wunderlich looked at Neville awestruck, he had been to the bar several times but never had he saw Neville really talk to a customer. After recovering from Neville's onslaught Wunderlich spoke in a thick British accent, "In my defense, good sir, if it makes you feel better I am engaging in something quite illegal, and doing this was much better than sulking and drinking, well better than sulking anyway." He closed his laptop quickly and placed it within the briefcase he carried with him, before shuting it he pulled out a small box. Upon shuting his briefcase he opened the box and withdrew a long, thin cigar. He lit it a began to puff away merrily, "But," he said, "if you insist upon me doing something else," he paused to take along pull on the cigar, "than I am sure you can tell me exactly what would suit me best." He closed his eyes relishing the smoke. After several seconds he spoke up, "So what do you suggest my good man?"

"I suggest that you accept my apologies," Neville replied, chastened. "I feared that you were working, possibly even on a proposal. That would have been a terrible gaffe. But I should have realised that a true British gentleman would never be so gauche as to (shudder!) work in the Strangers' Bar, and pray that you will accept this as evidence of my remorse."

So saying, he reverently drew from the mirrored display behind him a jewel-coloured bottle of Ardchoille Old 'n' Funky, 1899. Gently he poured it, not without regret, into a pair of crystal glasses -- not your long-stemmed showoff glasses, but good solid rock crystal whisky glasses. Closing his eyes briefly in appreciation -- or possibly in thanks to some ancient god; religion was a matter on which Neville maintained a polite reticence -- he set a glass before himself and the second before the offended PM.

"Hodgelett, perhaps you'd care to join us?" he asked timidly. Liquor of this quality was a transcendent experience. If only she would partake, he would at least have a memory to treasure.

Wunderlich grinned in anticipation, he was no stranger to the highly renowned Ardchoille Old 'n' Funky, and not a bad year to top it off. He relished quiet moments like this, he was beginning to enjoy himself, the problems that plagued him moments earlier now seemed distant and unimportant. He politely waited to see if Hodgelett would join them.

A little embarassed to be caught eavesdropping Hodgelett blushed. "I'd love to, but I should really get back to my interviews..." she trailed off catching the expression on Neville's face. She couldn't disappoint him after such an embarrassment, could she? It wasn't as if it mattered who she employed really. "but they can wait. They'd better get used to it sooner or later." She waited as he poured and took the proffered glass. "Cheers."

Cheers!

"Cheers!" Neville agreed, smiling muzzily. He'd forgotten just how fast this stuff hit on an empty stomach. The solution, obviously, was to fill same. His mind wandered to cold chicken, to devilled eggs, to honey-cured ham, fresh-baked bread, strawberries and cream ... and it was such a lovely day, and he hadn't had time off in ages, and here he was with all these lovely people ...

The Strangers' Bar picnic beside the Lac de Geneve was a great success. The sight of the newly returned Brother Timothy, robe kirtled high, repelling boarders from his paddle-boat was not one to be forgotten quickly. A game of Twister (accompanied by somebody's IMac; who knows how they do these things) gained extra spice from the nearness of the water. Sundry non-human delegates merged with various forms of greenery. With the assistance of the magic nations, many others relaxed by trying their hands at underwater frisbee. In short, it was as innocent and pastoral a day as any confirmed city-dweller could wish.

"Unsuspecting of their fate, the little victims played on," gloated a voice from a nearby cave.

He walked into the bar like a koala bear who had been smoking crack. "Give me a whiskey," he said to the bartender. Turning to address the bar, Ambassador Big Friendly Fat Guy (BFFG, to those in the know) introduced himself. "Hey, guys, I'm the Ambassador from Fatus Maximus. My nation was just admitted about five minutes ago." Taking a sip of his whiskey, he rambled on. "I hate to antagonize anyone, but we may soon attack the United Nations. We can not allow an organization who's strangers' bars play Lean Rimes music to exist," he said dryly, before ordering a vegetarian omelette- with ham. :cool:

He leaned a little further forward on the bar, shoulders hunched up just enough to ward enough anyone seeking to 'make conversation' but no so much that he'd flare up his old back pain again. Plus, he didn't want to crease the suit - it wasn't his. A guy admiring a fake plant had warned him that although formal gear wasn't required per se, it was pretty much expected. And he didn't want to look more of an ejit than he already felt, so he hurried back to grab the nearest thing he could find. Only now he realized it was Turner's, not his. The collar bit into his neck.

"Hey, what do you have to do to get served here?" he snapped suddenly, and immediately bit his lip as he caught the guy behind the bar's icy glare. Shouldn't have said that...

"One moment sir." The barkeep fnished pouring a double scotch for some blonde girl from a country Jack couldn't even pronounce. When he'd arrived, he'd expected it all to be pink champagne and low-cut cocktail dresses. Instead, whisky was evidently the drink of choice of the diplomatic services, although a general consensus on Scotch/bourbons/Irish hadn't appeared to emerge. He took another look at the blonde girl. He hadn't been all wrong.

"Yes, sir?" the man asked with clear distaste. Jack coughed nervously.

"Yeah, sorry. Er...you don't have any Bhejfhjwfewuuab do you? It's..." he ocughed again. "It's a...a..."

The barkeep - he thought he'd heard someone call him Neil or Evan or something - continued to stare. And on and on his eyes bored in.

"No."

"Ok." Jack croaked. "Well, a vodka. Double, actually. Whatever sort you suggest."

"Of course."

As his drink was poured, Jack looked around again, and withdrew a roughly rolled cigarette from a yellow packet. He felt such a fool. He didn't belong here. The Baron said he had a 'political edge' but in truth he didn't - he was just naturally suspicious. And natural suspicion hadn't done him badly - he wasn't going to turn down the post of UN Ambassador for Golgothastan, with a healthy payrise and escape from the pig-strewn mud of his little hovel of a country. He just felt somewhat intimidated.

He gulped his drink down hungrily, and tapped for another. Hundreds of people - some from countries capable of space travel, some barely even recognisable as human. And here he was, a tractor salesman from Golgothastan. Well, that was what his resume said. He sighed, and stepped out off the edge to make conversation.

The ambassador from Fatus Maximus approached him. "I couldn't help but overhear your internal monologue. My name's BFFG. Pleased to meet you," he said, shaking the astonished Golgothastan ambassador's hand heartily.

Jack smiled thinly. If this guy tried to tell another joke...he was glad he'd left it...cool it, Jack, he reminded himself. He squeezed out of the crushing grip with some of his fingers still intact.

"Hi. Jack Weisgaarden. Ambassador for Golgothastan. I'm...yeah, that's it."

The fat man struggled for a moment.

"It's pronounced 'Vicegartun'. Let's leave it Jack, ok?" He wasn't sure whether he liked this guy or not. But at least he'd found someone to talk to, and he wasn't left on the sidelines like the last kid to be picked at a fewwaffsefcweflhball game. "Shall we find a seat?"

"Sure, why not?" replied BFFG. "Tell you what, I'll buy you a drink. Sorry about crushing your hand- in my country, everyone's fingers are plumper then bratwurst," he said, with a grin. Walking over to an empty table, he sat down and motioned for his companion to join him. "Is another vodka ok?"

The BFFG was indeed friendly (he was also big and fat, but Jack had never been one for prejudices). As he waddled back with drinks, Jack reached for another cigarette. He smiled - somewhere he could still his wife's voice nagging him to stop. He coughed lightly. His ex-wife.

"So...I guess you're as new as I am, but...what do we do here? Only, my...well, I suppose I, have a proposal I'm meant to be working on." Leaning forward, and deciding that even if he shouldn't trust this guy, he was going to, he whispered, "My government's very keen to get noticed. The State Department is a little...full of itself. Anyway, they think a good way to be recognised would be to table a proposal. And, because we're always getting shafted by other country's oppressive trade laws, they thought something on the liberalisation of drugs trafficking laws might at least stir up some potentially favourable debate. Do you mind if I smoke? Anyway, how do...I mean, how do I find people to help me with the proposal? Would you care to have a look at it?"

Neville smiled fondly on the newcomers as they shaped their little plot. Funny, he couldn't remember why he'd got so upset over that nice Pommie, Wunderlich, working in the Bar. Work was quite permissible in the Bar, though bribery, corruption and general chicanery were the preferred options. He'd been unnecessarily sharp with that poor man in the ill-fitting formal wear, too.

"This is Not Like Me," said Neville to himself. "Is it stress? No, I love my job. Is it male menopause? No, I'm only 106. Is it love? No, love doesn't make you behave badly." (Neville didn't watch enough TV.) "Is it a Malign Influence beaming Mental Disruptor Rays at the Bar for an Evil Purpose which will be revealed in Later Episodes? Hmmmm ... must hold on to that thought ..."

But suddenly there appeared before his inner eye a vision of Hodgelett's beatific expression as she sipped the Ardchoille Old 'n' Funky. Then came a picture of Wunderlich happily smoking his cigar; of big blue furry Galna waltzing with Juliet, the duck delegate, and looking like something out of Sesame Street; of the effect of the Telidian delegate's Special on unprepared drinkers ... happy, happy thoughts. Neville's smile returned and he went back to polishing glasses.

Wunderlich finished his glass of Ardchoille Old 'n' Funky and caught a glimpse of something along the lines of saddness or despair in the eyes of the bartender, the same look Wunderlich must have had in his eyes when he first walked in. The look vanished quickly though as Neville shook himself out of it and a wide grin crept across his face. Wunderlich stood up from the bar, still puffing away merrily on his cigar, and began to walk over to the fireplace. Upon reaching the fireplace he realized that he had rather preferred the bar. He returned and sat in the bar stool he had left moments earlier. Pouring himself another glass of the whiskey he had order earlier he began to drink, "Pity," he thought," it's not as good after a glass of Ardchoille Old 'n' Funky." His attention was caught by a small group at a seperate table, which was occupied by, among others, a large, beefy man, and a another man dressed in ill-fitting formal clothing and a manner as of a man that didn't fit in very well with his surroundings.

The building began to shake as a deep rumbling was heard outside, as the sound got closer it seemed as if the building was going to buckle. Then a bright blue light shown in a small part of the room for about two seconds when the rumbling finally disappeared. In the center of the room where the light had been stood a one meter tall, grey skinned, roswell alien headed being. He walked to the bar, his body was thin and frail and he walked most gracefully. He stood next to the English, Wunderlich who looked not only unbewildered but alos as if this was the most normal thing in the world. The alien turned towards him and looked at him with an air a familiarity.

Jack stopped waving. No one else cared. An alien - a fucking alien - had just, well, appeared. And no one cared. He finished his vodka - the BFFG was long gone, but he'd stayed a while to talk to a few more people - and decided it really was time to leave. Things were even more weird than he'd imagined. I mean, most of the people here didn't even own their own pigs. He nodded curtly to the barman, who seemed to have warmed up a bit once he had started haemorrhaging money, and left to return to his quarters and report in.

"Hello Thor." Wunderlich said before taking another drink form his whiskey. He looked around, several people where astonished that the alien had just appeared some people weren't, not because they knew what Thor was or why he was here, but because things like this happened alot at the bar and no one really bothered getting excited anymore. Thor just stood beside him silently. Wunderlich called to Neville, "Neville, can you get my friend here a whiskey." As Neville reached under the bar for a glass Wunderlich added," I don't believe you've ever met my friend have you Neville, he never comes here, always to busy." he continued, "Well Thor this is Neville the world renowned barkeep, Neville this is Thor, he is the Supreme Commander of the Asgard High Council of the Grand Empire of the Asgard Planets." Wunderlich added in a whisper, "He's an alien."

Thor pulled himself to the top of the bar stool and took a sip of his whiskey, placing it back down he turned to Neville, "It is nice to meet you." Turning then to Wunderlich he spoke earnestly, "Wunderlich, the situation has worsened, they will be here in three days."

Wunderlich's eyes widened. The thought that had plagued him when he entered the bar had returned.

"Oh God." he thought. He looked at Thor, "So what happened to the Protected Planets Treaty?"

"Your mother, that's what!" shouted BFFG drunkenly from the back of the bar. No one paid him any attention. Their focus was rooted on Wunderlich and the Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet.

Thor answered quietly," They have rendered it void." Before Wunderlich could ask why Thor continued, "When we helped the Americans with the X-303, you know, developing the hyperspace engines." Wunderlich nodded his head, he knew all about the Prometheus program the United States had carried out. Thor went on, "Well, the treaty states that protected planets cannot be allowed to advance to the point that they'd become a threat to them, well they say that the Prometheus violates the treaty, it has been rendered null and void. I am sorry."

Wunderlich was sorrowed deeply now, they had to do something, and fast. "Three days", he thought,"They were screwed." He turned back to Thor, "How many do we have ready to fight?"

"Not many I'm afraid." he answered. "There are very few nations with the technological abilities to wage this war." Thor took another sip of the whiskey. "We have three Asgard motherships that are battle worthy, and with the replicators we can't spare any. The Goa-uld know this now, for years we had them convinced that we could defeat them, but not now, they know our army has been depleted, after all these years, they have called our bluff." Thor finished his whiskey and motioned for a new one. "That's not the worse either, they are sending have seven whole fleets, and Earth is first. We cannot give any assistance, and your world's nations cannot hold out long, a year maybe two, unless you know who can be convinced to intervene. You know Lloyd."

Prime Minister Wunderlich finally gave up,"Thor you are damned depressing. It'll clear itself up, interplanetary disasters always do, lets just try to have a good time." With that he raised his whiskey in the air, "Drinks all around!"

Hear, hear! :)

Thor rolled his eyes,"He always does this, he thought,"whenever there's a problem he just wants to have fun." Thor looked at Wunderlich," Fine, I guess your right, it'll solve itself." With that he took a large gulp of his whiskey and walked over to the fireplace, thinking placcidly to himself.

Hmm..., thought Big Friendly Fat Guy, the ambassador from Fatus Maximus. So far I've met the Norse god of thunder, a former tractor salesman from Golgothastan, and a bartender who's never heard of Bhejfhjwfewuuab. "Either I'm way too drunk, or not drunk enough," he remarked to the universe in general.

Hey bartender, pour a round of Wild Turkey, to all the delegates! Im buying!

Prime Minister Wunderlich felt much better now that he was properly drunk. He began to walk around the bar, making small talk, until he came across a large friendly looking man whom he understood to be the ambassador for Fatus Maximus. "Hello," Wunderlich said in a thick British accent, " nice to meet you, i'm Sir Wunderlich, Prime Minister of the All Powerful Monarchy of England and Ireland."

"Irish, eh?" replied the drunken Fatus Maxian. "I love them Irish. They've done something no other country in the world has done," he slurred. "Combine religion with alcohol. You see, they drink, and then they feel guilty. So they have to go to church- where they drink again! It's a perfect circle." His eyes crossed for a moment, then they became bright again. "Bartender! Send a bottle of that Old Janx Spirits thisaway for me and my friend, here."

Walking through the bar door he takes a look around at all of the leaders here. "Yeah, this looks like the right place to get a stiff drink." He walks over to an empty table in the back corner whereupon he sits down and motions for the bartender. "I'll have a glass of bourbon if possible." Still remaining seated he looks around at all of the conversations that are occuring around the room.

As the bartender sets the glass down he states, "just leave the bottle here please." Taking a sip of his bourbon he leans back to enjoy the taste and the conversations that are occuring around the room. Suddenly he remembers that he has missed something and he immediatly looks around the room still drinking his bourbon. A shadow looms up to his left and he states, "Good to see you Ted." A deep voice replies, "And you as well Matix." Motioning for the man to sit down they begin a hushed and hurried conversation. After a few minuets the other man shakes his head, stands up and immediatly leaves the bar whereupon Matix gets up and leaves the bar, not more than a few seconds behind the other man.

Neville was trying hard to worry. He knew he had something to worry about. The imminent destruction of the known universe, wasn't it? No, the fact that a fleet of (mental static) was on its way to (static) the Earth ...

Oh, what the hell, the guys would sort it out for themselves. And meanwhile good ol' Cybertoria was shouting the bar again. Good ol' Cybertoria. Never drew any attention to himself (apart from shouting the bar, of course, which was rather attention-getting, but there ...) Good ol' Cybertoria. Yeah, they'd been through a lot together ... What? shrieked a part of Neville's brain. What have Cybertoria and I ever been through together? But the thought faded away. Yeah, where was I? Oh, yeah, Cybertoria. An absolute rock. Someone you could always rely on. A true-blue buddy through all life's ups and downs.

"Cybertoria, have I ever tol' you I love you?" demanded Neville.

Hodgelett came in tired after finally hiring a secretary, the only one not to sniff the air and give her a funny look. Still it took several cups of coffee for her to get all the questions asked and the answers written out in something that looked closed somewhat respectable enough to be submitted to Head Office. Deciding that was enough work for today she dragged her new secretary to where he'd find himself a lot.
She walked up to the bar in time to see Neville smiling to himself, in fact look very happy, then suddenly exclaim his affection for Cybertoria.
"Neville? Hey Nev, you ok?" Looking in his glassy eyes she realised that he hadn't drunk any coffee...
"Er, T'Clic, wait here. Neville I think you need a sit down and a nice coffee, where's..oh what's his name?...Bernard?'s number? I think you should have the rest of the day off, been working too hard." To her new secretary's surprise she wound her way around the bar, took the teatowel out of Neville's hand and literally pushed him to a chair, before searching for the cover barman's phone number.

Stephanie Fulton entered the bar she thought she had seen the last of. Much the same, new faces, old faces. And one that always stayed the same.

"Neville! It's Stephanie! I'm back in the UN game, long time no see! Everyone, Have an Ennish Shandy on me!"

"Hodgelett, I'm not drunk!" said Neville, his voice low but desperate. "Something's forcing me to be -- happy. Happy! HAPPY!" As he spoke the word, his voice swirled higher and higher. Suddenly, to Hodgelett's astonishment, he leapt the bar.

"Oh, Stephanie, I'm so happy to see you back! So happy!" he shrieked, laughing and crying at the same time and hugging the returning delegate until she rocked on her high heels.

"I really am, Steph. Let me get your tankard down," he added for a brief moment in his normal voice, staring intently into her eyes. Then vaulted back across the bar, hugged Hodgelett even more thoroughly -- "You're such a good, good friend! I'm so lucky!" -- swept her into a theatrical embrace and seemed intent on taking the matter further until Hodgelett, reaching out blindly, managed to push the Ennish tankard into his hand.

"So, then! Ennish Shandies all round!" he said, cheerfully but normally, rapidly filling the order. "This should be quite a surprise for some of our newer delegates! Help, Hodgelett! Help, Steph! I think it's electronic!"

Lord Byron, first lord of the Hibernian Admiralty, was sitting alone in a darkened section of the bar, which suited his mood. His glass of undiluted liquer spoke volumes, his fifth. The bar was getting busy now and there was some kinda commotion where he could see people greeting and smiling but he couldnt permit a smile. the drink wasnt working, not yet any way. why wouldnt they let him stop them? he had the forces! he had an element of surprise as no one expects a UN Task force to actually do anything! he threw back the contents of the glass in one movement. the liquer burned his throat. a solitary tear rolled down his cheek. the anguished look on the victims faces, the look of horror, why? why?
He beconed to the waitress for a refill.

Wunderlich raised his hand signaling the bartender to not bring the Old Janx Spirit. Insted he withdrew from his coat pocket a silver flask. He poured two shots with a clear liquid and pushed one to the ambassador for Fatus Maximus. Wunderlich grinned, "Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster my friend."

Thor surveyed the room, watching all the poor miserable saps that didn't have a clue as to what would happen in the next few days. "The hell with it.", he thought. He gulped the last of his drink down. He pressed a small button on a watch like device on his wrist. Seconds later a deep rumbling could be heard and the building began to shake. "Goodbye." Thor thought. With that he was engulfed with blue light and disappeared, the noise died away, he was gone.

Stephanie was somewhat surprised by the reaction her return had caused. Neville seemed to have become a manic-depressive, while there was now an ambasador who vanished in a flash of light. Plus there seemed to be a waitress - definitely not there the last time she'd been around. Yssandra hadn't mentioned anything of the like, either.
Still, she knew the ropes of the Strangers' Bar. Withdrawing her trustworthy pack of cards, she sat at her usual table in the corner (strangely in exactly the same condition she had left it in) and called out,

"Anyone for poker?"

At this point and on his 10th glass of merriment, Lord Byron suddenly heard some one say "anyone for poker?" Just after a blue light momentarily lit up his darkened corner. He raised his head to see a nubile woman holding a pack of cards. He stood up and brushed the snack pieces off his full naval dress uniform and taking his drink with him he walked to the woman’s table, surprised at the need for company he suddenly felt. It was like he had switched on an auto pilot and almost without realising it he was at the table introducing himself with a certain sobriety,
"Good Even Madam I am Lord Esheram Byron, First lord of the Admiralty of the Realm of Hibernia and i am interested in your game. May i sit down?"

Hodgelett sat down stupidly on a bar stall in the doorway of the kitchen. She stared at Neville who seemed to be in some sort of trance and definitely wasn't his usual self. And the way he...he'd never recrossed that line since...no. She started to get angry, this wasn't him.
She ran into the kitchen and took down a clean pot. Carefully she went back to the doorway and waited until he was engrossed in watching the bar and all the customers' attentions were elsewhere.
'Finally' she thought. Dashing out she hit him over the head and watched him fall to the floor, and crouched down to check, desperately hoping she hadn't killed him. 'the others will be coming to check what the noise was' she thought. Carefully she dragged him into the kitchen and locked the door before putting him in the recovery position. She cursed softly to herself, watching him with hawklike eyes.

The fat man grinned at Wunderlich. Then a somber look came over his face, and he raised his glass. "To Eccentrica Galumbits, triple breasted whore of Eroticon Six," he sad solemnly, toasting the British Ambassador. Downing the drink, he let out a deep sigh of contentment. Grinning again, he said, "The accumulative brain damage is already so bad it can't possibly get worse." Looking around the bar, he saw the Ambassadors from Enn and the Venerable Libertarians sitting down together. "A game of poker would be nice. What do you say?" he asked Wunderlich.

Wunderlich grinned, "Poker, eh. Why not. Just make sure I don't bet any internal organs, or at least none of the important ones." He stood up and rubbed his hands in anticipation of the game.

Walking over to the table where Stephanie and Byron- excuse me, Lord Byron were seated, BFFG introduced himself. "Hello, I'm Big Friendly Fat Guy, the UN Ambassador from Fatus Maximus. Me and my friend here were wondering if we could join your game," he said, gesturing to Wunderlich.

Byron Replied he had no objection if Stephanie didnt, besides the company was welcome after the horror of his last mission. He bid them to sit and he called for the waitress and ordered a round of drinks.
"What's your pleasure?" he asked.

Poker. The game that always lived on, regardless of who was in power.

"Well," Stephanie began, "I think I might go for a Bahgumnian Blue Brandy for now. The first drink I ever received in this bar, always loved it. But later on, I'll shout you an Ennish shandy. One of our main exports."

"A nice whiskey is fine by me," replied BFFG, sitting down at the table. "Mmm... poker..."

Eyes still closed, Neville muttered, "Thank you, Carruthers, I needed that." Then, returning to full consciousness, he sat up and smiled at Hodgelett. "That was perfect, Hodgelett: right near the pituitary, and with a clean pot, too. It's shaken everything into alignment. Now, don't be alarmed, I'll just be a minute."

Standing up, he put both hands on the bar as if he were playing an invisible piano. "I ... am ... a ... Barlord," he said; and with that thought, summoned his powers. "For do I not know the Sixteen Forbidden Cocktails of the An-K'r'ahboth?" he intoned. "Have I not cross-ed the Stream of Pitlochry, whereof the only possible dilution for whisky is drawn? And have I not drunken of the demon Absinthe, and mix-ed it with the devil Rum?"

From all the darkened alcoves of the Strangers' Bar growled a low, menacing chant: "Rum, by gum, rum, by gum, rum, by gum ..."

Drawing on the massed will of the drinkers, Neville's thought soared out into space, not even noticing the destruction by sensory overload of the evil being who had been beaming Mysterious Crystal Rays at him from a nearby cave for the past few days (see UN Picnic post). On, on, it soared, at last meeting the approaching seven fleets of the Goa-uld (see Asgard's posts).

The Goa-uld fleets turned, as one ship. Turned, and never came back.

"But, Captain, why?" demanded the armada's second-in-command (as 2-i-cs are obliged to do).

The Captain turned to him, his -- (face) -- lit from within, as one who has seen a beatific vision.

"Oh, what I have learned!" he breathed. "That race ... that inconsequential little race ... can make intoxicants from tinned pineapple juice! From bread and potato peelings! From mouldy sultanas! Never, in the entire Universe, has there been another species so totally devoted to becoming smashed, spifflicated, pissed, legless, blind ... It would be a crime to wipe them from the Book of Life; a crime that I, for one, will not commit!"

So saying, he returned to his homeworld to suffer the hideous fate of those who give way to their nobler impulses.

Meanwhile, back in the Strangers' Bar, Neville and Hodgelett enjoyed a well-earned Bahgumian Blue Brandy, which was everything Stephanie had promised. And the customers drank on, happy that the world had once again been made safe for puppies, kitties, little lambies with pink bows around their pure-white necks, intoxicated Prime Ministers and poker-players one and all, even the ones who can't remember their partner's bids.

Neville was trying hard to worry. He knew he had something to worry about. The imminent destruction of the known universe, wasn't it? No, the fact that a fleet of (mental static) was on its way to (static) the Earth ...

Oh, what the hell, the guys would sort it out for themselves. And meanwhile good ol' Cybertoria was shouting the bar again. Good ol' Cybertoria. Never drew any attention to himself (apart from shouting the bar, of course, which was rather attention-getting, but there ...) Good ol' Cybertoria. Yeah, they'd been through a lot together ... What? shrieked a part of Neville's brain. What have Cybertoria and I ever been through together? But the thought faded away. Yeah, where was I? Oh, yeah, Cybertoria. An absolute rock. Someone you could always rely on. A true-blue buddy through all life's ups and downs.

"Cybertoria, have I ever tol' you I love you?" demanded Neville.

I don't swing that way.

WOW!


Takes a moment to take in Ardchoille's last post.



So the drinks arrived at the Table. Lord Byron tipped the waitress and looked aroud at his esteemed company. Byron was the only one amongst not elected to be there but appointed rather. He had just hours ago been delivering a report to the heads of the UNO regarding his last Horrific and personally demeaning mission. He raised his glass to his company and proposed a toast, " to the United Nations! If it falls may it fall on its ass, for its become soft and padded from sitting on the fence!"

he downed his beverage in one and beconed the Waitress to return with a refill, and then turned to his new companions and asked "so then 5 card stud?"

* a man in a large trench coat walks in and walks into the middle of the bar*

Nations! Hear me. I come with a plea for justice. The un as of late has become a corupt governing body. I need you to help me spread the power of the un please telegram me if you will answer my call. Please i come here on a bended knee. I am not powerful enough to do this alone. As soon as you telegram me i will fill you in on the details. This dictatorship is becoming very angry with recent resolutions so i need volunteers.... Bar keep give me the strongest drink you have and a double shot.*sits down to the bar and waits for his drink*

Hodgelett was just a little shaken. It was all too much for one day. Then she remembered she'd left T'Clic in the bar alone. She put down her glass and hurried over to where he was sitting, rather pink cheeked. "Er, sorry 'bout that. Now where were we?"
He looked at his notepad. "We entered the bar, walked up to the counter itself and you disappeared for ages...after being attacked by a very happy man. A poker game started in the meantime and everyone got a free round of drinks...which is very good" he added, sipping from his glass. "You returned and apologised," speaking as he wrote the last bit down.
"T'Clic, here you don't write everything down...things get a little too sensitive sometimes. You use your ears, your eyes, and you're memory. And remember, trust none of them."

thanks bar keep.* the man took both shots and downed them both. The taste was bitter but he could take it considering what was going on all around him. 'Give me another but this time a want a full glass' said the trenchcoated dictator. Sorry man that much alcohol isnt legal anywhere.' Well im sure we can change that'.*the dictator slips a 20 into the barkeep's pocket* 'I have a high tolerance for alcohol' he said and winked. And so the barkeep went to fetch a new bottle. 'That the way everything should work'. he smiled.

Lord Byron Eyed his full house with a certain satisfaction. he had managed to maintain his poker face even with the trenchcoated man screaming in the middle of the floor. It takes all types he considered, and looked to stephanie who had just smiled and raised the bet, his eyes now looked to the now nervious looking BFFG. was he Bluffing or was he seriously feeling the heat? The next round of betting would tell. The Feeling of happeness returned to lord byron as the steely nerve returned to this veteran sea dog. The horrors of his last mission were now firmly thrown to the back of his thoughts. He let a wry smile escaped and returning to his poker face hoped no one had spied it.

What do all the little numbers mean?, thought BFFG. Oh well. With a smile he laid his cards on the table- a two, a pair of sixes, a king and a queen. "King me!" he shouted.

I singing Karyoke, anybody wana join me?

Helpfully, Neville mixed the first shot of Clayton's (The Drink You Have When You're Not Having A Drink) with some truly delicious home-made ginger-beer that his landlady had given him. He presented it to the delegate from Iron Pig on a tray with a white paper doiley (or d'oyley, if you're a pedant) and the change from the $20 tucked discreetly behind a single white daisy. He was rather pleased with that. Little, individual touches were what kept the customers coming back.

Now he was free to join Cybertoria's singalong. He'd felt a little shy at first, what with, um, the recent incident, but Cy had been admirably discreet.

"So, what do we sing?" Neville asked eagerly. "Do you know Star-Trekkin' Across the Universe? Or Little Boxes -- you know, 'made of ticky-tacky'? Or I do a great version of Milord, by Edith Piaf ..."

Fortunately for the rest of the bar, Cybertoria had already found a song to sing-o, and was loudly doing so.

Lord Byron, Mopping up his winnings from the last hand, was now straining to the Wailing and wished there could be a power cut. It was at this time he Remembered the now sculking man in the trenchcoat. Iron Pig! He remembered the Many communiques that were intercepted whilst in international waters off the coastline of Belem. He clearly remembered this mans face. And the last time he had seen his smirking thin mouth was before the genocidal rampage that still haunted him.
This man was one of those trying to Buy HIV Positive Citizens of Belem.
Byron stood up, Excusing himself from the table and walked to the bar. Before he knew what he was doing he had turned the trench coated man to face him and drawn back his right arm before releasing it with all the weight his body could put behind it.
The Trenchcoated man Fell with a thud to the floor, a tray with change on it clattered to the floor as the trenchcoated man did with a groan. and there was silence. the wailing singing had stopped but the background music to star trekkin continued.
Byron strolled back to his chair, brushing off his full naval dress uniform as he walked. He sat down again and looking to the card players said," shall we continue?"

Stephanie watched the other members of the bar avidly.
She remembered the trench-coated man's type - ready to orate at a moment's notice, but never talking about a relevant topic.

Neville seemed to have undergone some kind of bizarre change while she had been away. Gone was the unflappable, taciturn barkeep, replaced with a highly strung and highly vocal bartender.

Still, at least poker remained the same. BFFG was an easy win - seemed to have never played poker before in his life. Lord Byorn was a different matter - much more careful.

Still, she wished that there were a few of her old friends still around. Yes, Hannah and Desdemona had gone on to Bigger and Better Things, but what had happened to Lydia, Comrade Guevara, the Rep of Komokom, Walther Brandl, the monk from Findhorn, the ambassador of Ardchoille who had had such a startling reaction to the Ennish Shandy, or any of her other colleagues from when she started out?

BFFG held his cards close to his face, which was scrunched up in concentration. "I'll see your fifty Hibernic Dollars and raise you two Jelly Donuts," he said.

"... and you'd be highly strung, too, if you'd seen the things that have been happening," Neville confided later, when things had quietened down and Stephanie seemed to have finished fleecing the co-operative little lambs. "Would you believe, one night this guy just grew wings and flew straight up to the ceiling -- played merry hell with the stained glass dome. And of course we've had our share of unusual visitors; Juliet the duck delegate has been well and truly upstaged. Let's see, talking plants ... spies ... there were some people who seemed to mistake us for an establishment of the Madame Zamunda variety, but it was all a misunderstanding ... we've had to have the doors repaired three times, but Walther swears the current ones will stand up against anything he might do ... Dicey brought along some torch singers once, and Sir Albert did a magnificent can-can with them ... We're looking after Brother Tim's goat Pansy ..."

Neville noticed Stephanie's eyes gleam with interest as he named old friends. He updated her as best he could. "You'll have noticed that Komokom's hung up his frying pan --" (noticing Steph darting a glance at an unfaded outline on the wall) "-- metaphorically, of course. I think he's taken it with him, actually. He announced one night that, much as he loved us, he just didn't have time to keep popping in here. True, too; have you seen him in the UN? Proposing here, debating there, he never has time to breathe, let alone drink. Lydia's back home; there's something going on in her region, and she's got a new job." Neville paused.

"Actually, that's where Dicey and Bast are, too, sort of. Well, as I hear it they're holed up in the best pub in Telidia while Brother Tim is trying to juggle the diplomatic niceties of it all. Apparently Ardchoille is the Lost Colony that the Findhornians have been praying about for the past four centuries. You remember that nice lass from Zamundaland? She's gone back there, too. All the Lavinium nations seem to think it's a pie worth having a finger in."