NationStates Jolt Archive

The Piazza San Bernardi is truly a sight to behold this day, elegantly appointed in the rich black and red colors of the Dominion, representations of falcons in tasteful abundance. The hanging baskets and gardens and planters had been even more carefully attended in the previous months, and the locals often commented on how they had never seen them so beautiful nor so pleasantly fragrant. Every building had been cleaned, and where needed, lovingly restored, always with an eye towards maintaining the original intent of the architech.

Ample seating is set out for the guests between the Library and Doges Palace, with large panels of light material stretched on lines high overhead providing shade against the mid-afternoon sun. Comfortable chairs are placed in rows of six, spaced with ample elbow and leg room, to prevent anyone from having to resort to ungraceful clambering over one another, and to allow the easy passage of the Dominion servers carrying trays of liquid refreshment to the guests, it being considered terribly rude to have anyone thirst during their wait.

The event itself was being broadcast on several channels throughout the nation (and beyond, where carried), and relayed to the outlying territories. What news teams are there have been restricted to an area a respectful distance away from the guests they have been ordered not to pester, and forced to content themselves with quiet commentary and observation. Any previous requests by governments to respect their representative's privacy is carefully handled with a five-minute delay in broadcast - ample time to blur any necessary images.

As the afternoon bells finish their chime, there appears at the smaller third-floor balcony, a herald, dressed in traditional livery reminiscent of the Dominion High Renaissance age. The balcony itself is flanked by two figures holding spears, the intricate carvings flowing up from there to fill in the rest of the height past the fourth story, the diving falcon at the top rising a good three meters above the rest of the ancient architecture. Looking out over the crowd, the herald announces, in a voice that carries without the aid of microphones, "My Lords and Ladies, Honored Guests - may I present Nathicana D'Aquisto, Dread Lady of the Dominion."

From the open doors leading to the dark, cool interior of the Palazzo Ducale, steps the Lady herself, flanked by two guards, also in traditional dress, one bearing a surprisingly simple crown, the other, a sword still in its scabbard. Behind her trail two others, one bearing a folded mantle and the second holding a golden staff of office. At her arrival, all the native Dominion representatives and guests rise to their feet. It is not required of the others, nor is it asked - she is, after all, only the leader of these people, and to demand such from guests would be considered in poor taste. It is quietly left to the individuals to decide, each according to their customs, with no judgements passed.

She wears a beautiful silk Renaissance-style gown of deep crimson, small puff and slash designs along the bodice and upper sleeves, trimmed in black velvet and showing the light cream underdress. Pearls accent the ensemble, sewn in intricate patterns of the bodice and sleeves, smaller details picked out in gold thread. Her hair is swept up in an elaborate twist, the tiny hairpins used to hold it in place each tipped with pearls to match her dress, carefully selected locks framing her face in soft curls. The only other jewelry she wears is the simple diamond on her ring finger, a pair of pearl drop earings, and a strand of pearls around her neck. Nathicana steps to the balcony railing and pauses a moment, steeling herself.

"My fellow countrymen, friends, allies, and honorable guests," she says in a clear voice, carried at pleasant levels across the Piazza via the tastefully concealed sound system. As she raises her hand in a gesture of recognition, the locals relax and sit back down. "I thank you for your presence this day as we enter a new age in the history of the Dominion." Her expression hardens somewhat as she continues.

"The right of Sovereignty I have inherited from those who have fought and sacrificed to pave the way before me, then taken and held by strength of arm and force of will. I have earned it with the blood, sweat and tears shed on this nation's behalf, and I shall bequeath this right in full to my descendants and successors. Neither I myself, nor they shall in the future fail to wield them, in accordance with the provisions of the Laws of the Dominion hereby granted, and this day, clarified and ammended by my hand."

She turns to her left and draws from the simple scabbard borne on a velvet pillow a sword, holding it forth horizontally, slightly above her head, and displaying it to the crowd. It is a damascus blade, with a black leather-wrapped grip, a onyx cabouchons mounted in the pommel and crossguard which holds a gold inlay design sporting falcons . The words "Imperium, Cupiditas et Dominatus " have been etched along the center of the blade closest to her hand - the motto of the Dominion. Power, Ambition, and Domination.

"Thus do I take up this Sword, forged in the old traditions, and laden with the symbols of the Dominion, and swear to henceforward restore the things that are gone to decay, maintain the things that are restored, punish and reform what is amiss, and confirm what is in good order."

Lowering her hand, she brings up her left, lightly resting the blade along her palm. In full view, she tilts it, and slides the sword along her hand, then raises her fist, clenching it tightly as she keeps the sword out and steady before her. The blood from the shallow cut trickles slowly from between her fingers, dripping quietly to the stone at her feet.

"I, Nathicana D'Aquisto, by oath and by blood tie myself to our ancient homeland, and in doing so solemnly swear to hold, guard, and govern by all proper means the Peoples and Lands of the Dominion, whether our native soil, our Colonies and other Territories, properties, and holdings to any of them belonging or pertaining, according to our laws and customs." She surveys the gathered guests, and ministers, and other native citizens present as she speaks, her voice strong, her resolve clear. "I will to my power cause the Law, in such Mercy as may be allowed, to be executed in all my judgements concerning the Citizens of the Dominion and her Territories."

"I shall to the utmost of my power preserve unto the various Corporations, Organizations, and Clergy of the Empire, and to those persons and properties committed to their charge, all such rights and privileges, as by law do or shall appertain to any of them, for as long as they continue to uphold the Sovereign Law of the Dominion." Her eyes touch on the various members of the local clergy, and those others known to her that represent their faiths here today as she puts in formal words the arrangement that had for some time unofficially existed. "I promise to be the shield and protector of the Dominion and her people, swearing to uphold and recover those rights of the realm and possessions of the Empire and her peoples if ever they be unlawfully usurped."

Here, Nathicana pauses, and as she turns, the guard bearing the crown sinks to his knees, holding up the velvet pillow it rests on at a level easy for her to reach. She gingerly takes up the crown in her left hand, still stinging from the earlier cut, and displays it to the crowd.

"As I take up this crown by the rights heretofore established, I declare the official reign of House D'Aquisto begun, taking on the title of Imperatrice of the new Dominion Empire, and vowing that the things which I have here promised, I will perform and keep, to the best of my ability. So do I swear before all those who stand witness this day." She carefully sets the crown atop her head, the two guards at the back stepping forward to hand her the scepter and drape the mantle across her shoulders, sealing the ceremony. She holds the scepter in her left hand at an angle across her chest, the sword she lightly rests point down, right hand resting on the pommel.

"Let it be known I will respect the old ways and offer to consider clemency to those who request it on this day of celebration. These oaths and traditions will be passed down from generation to generation, ruler to ruler, for long as this Empire shall stand. So say I, Nathicana D'Aquisto, Dread Lady and first Empress of the Dominion." She wonders idly just who would take advantage of it, how many would dare to ask after so many years of denial ... and how many non-Dominion folk would understand the significance and take the decidedly rare opportunity. Her serious demeanor relaxes now, as she flashes the crowd one of her more charming smiles.

"Please, honored guests, I thank you for your attendance. The time is yours to do as you will, and we hope that you will take full advantage of and enjoy our humble hospitality. The festivities will begin officially at sundown. Until then, I bid you farewell. Should any of you require a personal audience in the interim, my Chancellor, Cesare Calabrese will arrange it."

With a graceful curtsey to the crowd, in which she manages to look gracious while not demeaning her current station, she takes her leave, retreating back to the Palazzo.





See here (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=354676) for the ooc/reference thread. Please keep all ooc comments, questions, and discussion there.

Lord Alkanphel appeared early on the Piazza, flanked on either side by Imperator Marshals Khaled Sudani, the Southron, and Dash Hattori, the Easterling. Neither of the men had thus far been to the Dominion, and the sights and proceedings therein were an awe-inspiring and horribly interesting to the both of them. Both wore impeccable, almost blindingly white dress uniforms, their chests adorned with various medals and combat accolades. A black trim adorned their cuffs and collars, and behind them flowed the white and black cloaks that were the Marshals' trademarks.

The Maia, however, was intimately familiar with the layout of the place, despite the Marshals' relative ignorance. Nonetheless, he'd not yet seen anything quite like this from the Dominion, and interested glances were cast here and there before the ceremony started, meticulously noting and catalouging every conceivable detail while his compatriots revelled in the splendor. The guards in particular he scrutinized closely, reminded vaguely of the splendor of the Númenoreans of old. The comparison eased his demeanor somewhat, though his countenance remained icy and stern. He was not in a very good mood, apparently. His Aura was curiously absent, which was remarkable considering it always accompanied him when attending events such as these. Anyone who noticed this deficiency just might find it perturbing.

Displays such as these were very rare in the Five Kingdoms, generally reserved to various war ceremonies and assorted civil celebrations. Sudani in particular was impressed by his surroundings, as the Haradrim had even less of a use for such decorations than just about anyone else in the Five Kingdoms, being mostly nomadic and generally more reserved and slightly xenophobic in their culture. This impression was mixed of course with a slight distase, for these cultural norms had of course instilled in him a certain sense in utilitarianism and relative simplicity. Such as it was, Haradrim kings were usually named as such on the battlefield or in the gladiator pit.

Hattori felt much the same, though he was more genuinely impressed with his environs and seemed to be in a jovial mood. It was always nice when business took them out of the country, due to his mind-numbing familiarity with the environment and the customs of his homeland. The halls of the Iron Mountains were regal in their own right, but only nominally comparable to what he saw here. Clasping his hands behind his back, he follows Alkanphel and Sudani to their seats, placing themselves as close to the presentation as other guests and good taste allowed. The Marshals sit next to each other, with Alkanphel to their right.

Sudani jabs the Easterling in the ribs with his elbow, maintaining a sidelong glance to the balcony before them. "Quite a display innit?"

Hattori looks to the Haradrim and nods in agreement. "Quite. I've never seen anything quite like it. Reminds me vaguely of our war ceremonies. I'm still sort of taking it all in."

Alkanphel casts a disinterested glance to the two men, saying nothing. As the herald steps out, he sets his jaw and returns his gaze to the balcony, gesturing for the two Marshals to follow suit. As Nathicana walks out the three men stand with the natives, remaining out of their seats every bit as long as everyone else. The three men remain completely silent throughout the proceedings, watching Nathicana with no small amount of interest. Alkanphel can't help but lift a brow as she draws the sword, somewhat surprised by the manner in which she delivers her oaths. Sudani and Hattori, on the other hand, expect nothing less, it being a common ritual in their respective homelands.

The Marshals punctuate their attentiveness by offering various nods of approval here and there throughout her speech, exchanging a few interested glances very occasionally. Alkanphel, by stark contrast, does not bother himself by such displays, but fixes his gaze on Nathicana from start to finish, his expression scrutinizing, unchanging. The ring on her finger does not escape his notice, and a slight tightening around the eyes is the only visible change in his expression as it's brought to his attention.

At the end of the speech, the three men stand and offer their applause.

Capital City of Vigvar,
Federal Sisgardian Fiefdoms,
Sisgardia.

The civilian hoverdyne, a rather spacious limousine in fact, led by two police officers on their hoverbikes, moved swiftly through the streets. The road began at the Federal Ministry of Foreign Affairs, where two of the most trusted officers were chosen to be the diplomatic delegation to the Dominion. Indeed, the Taraskovyans never had a liking for overly large delegations and tried to limit themselves to as few representatives as possible. After all, what mattered was the quality of the diplomatic contact, not the quantity.

And so, having been briefed by the highest ranked diplomats of the Federation, the two men boarded their transportation and were taken off to the Vigvar International Airspace Port. There, a civil aircraft awaited for them.

The two men took position inside of the spacious saloon of the craft, which was actually a civilian modification of the military Grach dropship. The first officer was a 55 years old General Colonel of the Airforce, Vladimir Milolubov. A native Russian that entered the Bogatyr Air Force Academy, became a fighter pilot and then climbed through the ranks. He was rather tall, 189cm, was well built, quite wide in shoulders, always straight. He was very calm, composed, but he was also very generous and kind. During his active service, the pilots under his command often looked at him as on an elder brother, although he was rarely older than them.
He had dark brown eyes, brown hair, moustache and beard that hid the lower half of his face and was wearing his snow white parade Air Force uniform, white as the clouds above the ground.

The second officer was young. Very young. Indeed, he was just a 25 years old native Taraskath. Well, pure Taraskath were becoming rare throughout the last several centuries, as they were assimilated into the human portion of the population. Irony of fate or evil joke of nature, but the native Taraskath were a minority in their own homeland. Even the former Ruling Dynasty was the product of a mix. The young man had human traits, although he looked thinner than an average human. He had a medium length black hair that did not reach the shoulders, but covered the neck. Lieutenant Ithun Khat was in the past an officer in the 74th Airborne Division, that very same unit that was abandoned during the Aphyr conflict and had to fend for itself, opposing numerically superior ‘infested’ forces. When the conflict finished and the infestation was purged by fire and sword, Ithun was found in a cave somewhere in the North Spine. He and his men retreated to one of he peaks and held it as long as they could. Ithun was the only survivor and not only of his unit, but of the entire 74th Airborne. He seemed to have dealt quite well with shock and did not go mad (as was predicted by several doctors that have since been stripped off their licenses). Due to his graduation from the Vigvar Officer Academy as expert in international relations, he was integrated into the Secretariat for Foreign Relations of the Ruling Council. Ithun was 186cm tall, had deep blue eyes that constantly surveyed the surroundings and sometimes lit up with a cold fire in them. His parade uniform was of deep black, a colour shared by the Airborne, the Space Fleet and the former TDI, each one for various reasons. Ithun was a rather ‘joyful’ sort, he never missed a chance to make a joke, although sometimes his humour appeared as strange to the common of mortals. He had another rather ‘interesting’ feature, considering his duty, he never missed the chance to ‘know better’ any girl that crossed his path and that was more or less beautiful by Ithun’s standards.

And so, while Vladimir sat in his chair and poured himself some whiskey, Ithun opened an envelope containing their passes to the Dominion – two plastic dominion ID cards, as well as a short notice on their meaning. The Federal Ministry of Foreign Affairs arranged for the cards beforehand. The young man read attentively through the notice and then stared blankly at his ID card. Vladimir became intrigued.

- What is it?
- Well, Sir… They say here that these tiny coloured dots on the card indicate a potential threat posed by the barer based on the relations between the Dominion and the country of provenance of the bearer… See for yourself.

Ithun handed Vladimir one of the cards, that was actually the General’s own ID card. The man looked at the dots and shrugged. He hoped that they, as diplomatic representatives, would not have any difficulties with the local authorities as long as they themselves conducted within the limits of diplomatic protocols. Ithun, however, was very intrigued.

- Relax, my dear Ithun. I do not think we really have to worry much…
- Well, Sir, if the coloured dots on the card indicate a potential threat posed by the holder of the document… then what are the skulls and crossbones all over mine supposed to mean?

Vladimir’s whisky got stuck in his throat and he coughed several times to clear the aforementioned vital part of the General's body.

- What the hell are you saying? What skulls and crossbones? Let me see…

He grabbed Ithun’s card only to see… coloured dots. The General sighed deeply and looked up at Ithun, who looked back at Vladimir with innocence in his eyes and a wry smile on his lips. The General handed the Lieutenant’s card back.

- You will never change… At any rate, have you seen into the gift?
- Yes, Sir. I have chosen the best there is. Do you want to see?
- Of course.

Ithun reached for a rather large rectangular chest made of oak that was lying on one of the chairs nearby. It was the right size for one to carry it around (this mere fact was indicated by the presence of handles at the sides), actually, but the size was rather consequent. On the top of it was the emblem of the Taraskovyan state that has not changed for thousands of years – a black wolf howling on the full moon.

Ithun opened the box, Vladimir glanced into it and nodded, smiling.

- Yes, the gift seems to be perfect.

***

Devras International Airport,
The Dominion.

The aircraft landed swiftly on the landing pad that it was indicated to. Being VTOL and everything, it did not take a lot of space to ‘park’. The two men came down. First came Ithun, he looked around at the installations, at the welcoming committee and then Vladimir came down, followed by a man in adjutant uniform that was holding on to the aforementioned chest. The two officers had their ceremonial daggers bonded to the scabbards. And that was the moment when the first troubles became apparent. The local security wanted to see the insides of the wooden container, while the two officers opposed a magnificent diplomatic resistance. Finally, after some debate, the gift was allowed to pass after a scan to check for explosives. None were found. The two officers and the adjutant got into a transportation provided by the hosts and were delivered safely to the place where the festivities were about to start…

***

Piazza San Bernardi,
Devras.

- Smette di guardare tutte le ragazze. Non è qui per fare il seduttore!
- Si, Segniore.
- Potrà fare che vuole durante la fiesta, ma adesso deve essere serio.

Ithun only shrugged and Vladimir sighed. The two officers took their seats, more towards the back. The Taraskovyans have always been a rather discreet people. They hated to impose themselves to others and did not tolerate somebody imposing themselves to the Taraskovyans. Usually, the reaction from the aforementioned Taraskovyan side to such 'behaviour' was quite ‘negative’, if not ‘openly aggressive and hostile’. And so, the two officers took their seats, the adjutant with the gift sitting in the row behind them.

They listened attentively to the speech of the Dread Lady and Empress. Ithun even concentrated his gaze on the one guilty and main reason of all the festivities. Once the speech ended, they stood up to applause. Of course, yet again in Taraskovyan style – a cool and composed applause. After all, that was the first time a Taraskovyan delegation came to the Dominion, going all cordial from the start would not be a great idea.

Jill Rus entered the plaza only a few minutes before the Dread Lady's appearance, but that gave her plenty of time to admire her surroundings. She glanced casually around, noting who had arrived thus far and how elegantly the plaza had been prepared for the event. Respect for culture and heritage is quite evident and most impressive, she thought. Despite the appearance that she was merely enjoying the decorations, Jill was carefully scrutinizing everything - and everyone - around her. A near-instantaneous data feed relayed everything she observed to the Guanyan Robotic Intelligence Network’s central node. She paid particular attention to Lord Alkanphel, tagging him as a Class Two threat, and his escorts as Class Fives.

Nathicana’s spectacular appearance interrupted her observations. Jill turned her head toward the palace. The Emperor would not want to miss any of this, and he might be watching even now. She is hard. Good. She will need that now, perhaps even more than before. A very dangerous woman, this Nathicana D’Aquisto. That much, she has already shown. But is that enough? Jill watched expressionlessly as Nathicana took her blood oath. Yes, she decided, I fear for her, but I fear more for those foolish enough to threaten her or her country.

Jill applauded as the newly crowned Empress of the Dominion left the plaza. Then she turned once more to the study of her fellow guests. I hope I will get a chance to speak with her before this ends. The Emperor will be most unhappy should I fail to deliver his message and his gift.

4TSSF
TYWS-DD+ Warhawk
Earth Theater

Klunk! Klunk! Klunk
First Lieutenant Wallace stood outside the thick metal door waiting impatiently.

Klunk! Klunk! Klunk

A muffled voiced yelled from the otherside of the door. "Hold the bloody hell on."

The voice continued a scathing rant, which Lt. Wallace decided to ignore.
After another minute, the door flew open, an indignant Spaceman First Class standing at the door in his off duty uniform.
"What the bloody... Lieutenant...Morning sir."

Wallace stared grimly at the spaceman, "Morning Jenkins...How much shore leave have you earned?"

Jenkins raised an eyebrow at the lieutenant's query. "Same as you sir, we ain't had a chance to use any."

Wallace's grim look slowly turned to a grin. "Excellent, grab the rest of the gang, we're going for a trip."

"Yessir"

Devras
International Airport
The gang, a portion of the gunnery crew that Wallace was in charge of, disembarked from the shuttle, each dressed in the finest civilian clothes that could be found aboard the Warhawk...which wasn't much.

After much hassle, the group grabs a taxi into town.

Devras
Piazza San Bernardi
None had been to Devras before and they found the area to be interesting, already half the troop had gone to check out the local drinking establishments.
The rest found seats in the piazza near some well dressed gentlemen, and watched the proceedings intently.
"Damn, she's one fine lady...ow"
Wallace continued looking forward, removing his elbow from Jenkin's side.
"Quiet Jenkins, she's one of your superiors."

Colonel Franz Rassilon, somewhat acclaimed hero of the One Ring incident, Officer of the Emperor, and commander of the Emperor’s personal guard, was probably the only one of the C’tan delegation who had a dress uniform that rivalled that of the Five Kingdoms Marshals in terms of its flamboyance and excessive ostentation. White was the order of the day here too, white and the dull gold of his unit, the last of the Confederate Military still in active service. He sported a sword, unlike most of those infrequently used in the Empire this was purely mundane, with neither the technological sophistication of the C’tan swords nor the arcane art of elven swords. A single jet stone in the hilt and long script in the high necrontyr tongue discerned the silvered weapon from any other.

Next to him sat a tall woman with auburn hair, about shoulder length, who eschewed such tasteless things for a more simple business suit. Also an “honorary” officer of the Emperor, Samara Neja, Vicereigne of Mars felt slightly at home here, moreso than she did on the other planet at last. Her usual dress had however been augmented for the occasion by a slender gold chain around her neck from which hung an expensive sapphire jewel worked into a holder of purest silver. She looked around the room with interest, really rather impressed with the way the entire set-up seemed more real than the Emperor’s accommodations on Duat, and even more so than her own on Mars.

The penultimate member of the delegation was a middle-aged man with greying hair and piercing blue eyes. He was the head of the most powerful single organisation in the Empire, with the exception of the armed forces, the Internal Security Agency. He had some measure of respect for Nathicana. What he’d heard indicated that she was the kind of person he would like. Grasping and power hungry, much like himself. Were it not for the fact that it completely impossible, he would have probably have made a bid for power long before now. Were it not for the fact that it completely impossible, he would have probably have succeeded too. For now however he was quite busy watching the coronation – especially the rather interesting blood ritual. His own dress was quite like the outfit the Emperor had been wearing several days ago when he had arrived in Devras.

The Emperor himself was the only one to stand, showing off as he did his more ostentatious outfit, clearly something intended for the party later, his silver and white outfit, was reminiscent of clerical vestments in its design, but exceeding most of them in overall complexity and intricacy. Of course, when the speech was over, he was also the first of the four to applaud the dictatress’ oratory.

Sitting comfortably, with his legs stretched out slightly with his elbows in his lap and his hands in a triangle in front of his face sat a youth of no more than 16. In a light red suit with cufflinks and a small lapel, each of which displayed a white dove holding an Olive branch. Hykar II blinked, his blue eyes shone in the fairly soft light, and his brown hair was combed neatly. Sitting next to him was a complete contrast. A tall figure, upright and with his arms crossed sat his security officer and Uncle Aslmadeus Sturm wore the uniform that was seen so commonly across the Greater Empire, a long dark pure black trench coat that seemed to suck the light from around it, a smart, peaked cap that, once again bore the dove lapel, however, his was made of Gold, showing his rank.

"Please, honored guests, I thank you for your attendance. The time is yours to do as you will, and we hope that you will take full advantage of and enjoy our humble hospitality. The festivities will begin officially at sundown. Until then, I bid you farewell. Should any of you require a personal audience in the interim, my Chancellor, Cesare Calabrese will arrange it."

They watched the, rather short, Queen withdraw from view. Hykar II rose slowly to his feet and smoothed the creases from his suit; he turned to his slightly taller Uncle.
“You know, for such a large country, I was expecting a taller ruler”
Asamadeus shook his head.
“Such words about such a lady is not wise my King.”
Hykar Laughed and turned towards the exit, Aslmadeus followed, exactly three steps behind, his black leather clad gloves behind his back.
They passed by the orchestra, playing some form of classical music, and out into the Piazza itself.

“I think we should whittle away this fine evening at a café…”
“Whatever you say my King.”
“For goodness sake Aslmadeus, cut the formal crap!”
“Fine, fine...”
The walked rather briskly across the piazza, then slowed their pace as they went up the row of café’s, restaurants, and shops, each of which showed off their wares in one way or another.
Eventually they came across one café, near the end of the row of buildings, quite far from the Doges Palace, the building looked no smaller than it did from where they were, than it was when they left it.
Hykar settled in one of the chairs and orders a coffee, Aslmadeus ordered the same.
Hykar took a sip and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Certainly is a beautiful city…bet it looks wonderful at night, I mean… look at it now! Fantastic… truly fantastic.”

Watching the proceedings played out before him, Lord Stratton sat among the guests, eyes focused on the crowning of the first Empress of the Dominion; a smile playing about his lips. He recalled the last coronation he had witnessed, only a few years ago and a little closer to home, that of his own cousin, Gehenna. She too had promised to lead the nation to great things, pulling it out of the shadows left by her father, so the heartfelt words of Empress Nathicana touched him.

He sat silently, not sharing a word with his companion during the whole ceremony, even when she whispered questions to him. Nothing she could need to know was important enough to drag his attention from the sight before him. The birth of a new era was something never to be missed. Once the speech was finished and people began to move from their seats, only then did he acknowledge and answer her questions, but by then she had began to ramble on about other things.

Angelina Ormond had been assigned as Lord Stratton’s aid for longer than she cared to remember, and although she was used to his odd ways, it did not mean that she was particular happy with the way he treated her. But now was not the time or the place to display her displeasure, so with her smile firmly fixed in place, she turned to Val.

“A truly stunning event, I am glad that I was able to witness it.” The young woman’s words were sincere.

Nodding his head slowly, as he watched the movement of the crowds, he returned her smile. “It is indeed a moment in history. It’s not everyday you see the rebirth of a nation.” He turned his gaze to the spot where Nathicana and her entourage had disappeared to. “I hope we get a chance to offer our congratulations and those of the Empress Gehenna to our esteemed host.”

Following his gaze, Angelina nodded. “I have a feeling that Empress Nathicana is going to be very sort after today.”

Without another word they began to mingle with the crowds, heading in the same direction as the mass.

* * * * *

From the moment the plane landed, Todd Folsom and Melody Carrico were in party mood. They had heard of the coronation in the Dominion and had planned to be here to be a part in this piece of history, but to them the partying was more important than the event itself, though both would raise a glass in toast to the new Empress and wish her luck in her new role.

Exiting the airport and making their way to their hotel, they watched the sights of the city rolling past, both nothing that this was going to be a very interesting and fun filled few days. A city party was something that neither would give up the opportunity of missing.

Arriving at their rooms, and unpacking as quickly as they could, Melody practically pulled Todd’s arm out of its socket in her rush to get them back out onto the streets. Turning to her companion, she smiled. “Where to first?”

Shrugging, Todd let his eyes wander around them. “Why don’t we just see where our feet take us?”

Nodding her head enthusiastically, Melody giggled happily. “This is going to be a good day.” She pulled her companion towards her in a hug, before releasing him just as quickly. “Let’s have fun.” Then with a brief look about them, she headed off, Todd’s hand firmly held in hers.

Landgrave Wittelbach stood and clapped politely at the exit of the new Empress.

She just crowned herself, I wonder if anyone else quite realized the significance of that gesture. Or compared it to history. Oh well, long live Her Imperial Majesty.

The tall, thin man, with a full set of gray hair on his head and his moustache and goatee, seemed to be trying to judge the entire ceremony. Not that much pomp, just an Oath and a self-Crowning. I wonder if that declaration of amnesty really means anything. He was smiling and clapping as he slightly relaxed. Of course the Landgrave counted a few Emperors and Empresses amongst his forebears. That tended to make his view of the recent elevation of the House D'Aquisto to that of an Imperial House seemed a bit new and shiny. Of course his own brother in law was only a grand Duke. Well, his family had outlasted so many upstart royal houses in its 900 odd year history, another one was not going to ruffle his feathers in the least.
Well she didn't declare to be a communist, let us thank the Lord for such small mercies.

The Landgrave's attention turned now to the young man at his right. Who was clapping with such a fake air of detachment it boarded on comical. The young man was wearing his full uniform, as ordered by the Landgrave. He wasn't sure how the youth pulled it off, but the Landgrave decided that the blond hair, blue eyes, and the perfectly movie star looks seemed to add something with the uniform. Even if it held only the two pips of a Lieutenant and a few measly ribbons (all relating to horse ridding it appeared.)

The Landgrave had stopped clapping, as most of the surrounding guest had also. Lord Windmere kept on clapping then realized everyone else had stopped and blushed a bit.

"I am going to go see if I can find any other Klatchian Delegations here. You go see about when the appropriate time to deliver his Grace's gift and greeting from the Federation are supposed to be done."

The Landgrave's aide nodded and pushed forward to find an assistant of the Chancellor to ask about when gifts to the new Empress and well wishes from admirers would be received.

The Landgrave turned and walked towards the café's. He was glad for wearing this particular blue silk suit as it did allow for more freedom of movement. He stooped to pick-up his walking cane and then began to search the crowd for any familiar faces.

Princess Agwene arrived some time before the coronation, moving to an out of the way area with her small entourage. The raven-haired young sidhe was decked out in her finest verdent gown, slit elegantly to reveal gold and white underskirts. The collar was high with an elegant golden falcon sewn on one side of her neck and a gryffon of matching color on the other. Her hair was worn up in an elaborate up-do, drawing attention to her elegantly tapered ears and her face shown with the noble grace of her kind. She sat, silently at first, folding her alabaster hands in her lap. "I am told the Dominion is a powerful nation."

Her young satyr advisor, Cheops, stood at attention, clasping his hands behind his back. "Yes, Your Highness. I have looked over those reports myself. It is unfortunate that we have had no prior relations with them."

Agwene nodded only lightly. "Perhaps it is. Though I am not sure I am fit for the task. I do not believe my elder sister should have had her nuptials cut short for state business, however, one of my aunts..." Agwene quieted as Nathicana appears, rising simply to her feet. It was Resurgent Custom that royalty stood for royalty. The two satyrs and 12 humans who made up her entourage kneeled before the forgeign lady. Agwene, of course, did not remain standing so long as the lady's own subjects, sitting once more after a proper three count. For the rest of the speech, she sat at perfect attention. It is unlikely the occassional whispered word from her advisors went unheard, but it did go unacknowledged. Agwene rose at the end to give polite applause.

As the lady left the balcony, Datima, the young satyress on her first assignment as Agwene's councilor spoke quickly, seeking her lady's favor. "Your Highness, you should request an audience to introduce yourself."

Agwene held a hand up to the goat-woman, shaking her head. "Not yet. Her Majesty has a great deal to handle now and doubtless wishes audiences with more practical business to discuss. She is aware of our presence and I doubt the affair will pass without introductions but...not now. We should enjoy the festivities."

The delegation from Aerion was dressed in black tie formal ware. Ambassador Mathero Laren was chosen as Royal Emissary to the coronation, officially representing His Majesty as was often his assignment as one of Aerion's Ambassadors at Large. He was perhaps in his thirties, with slick back blacked hair, and had sophisticated debonair manner. He wore an elegant custom tailored black tuxedo, and a dress watch. At his side was Ms. Jadon Kalso, CEO of Barathe BioCorp. An middle aged blond haired woman with a stoic look, she wore a simple black dress for the evening offset by an very elaborate diamond necklace. Her cold blue eyes watched the ceremony, her face betraying little emotion. As the ceremony was completed, both delegates clapped appropriately.

The Ambassador cleared his throat as the ceremony ended, glancing over to Jadon, who appeared to be subtly smiling. He knew she was probably smiling because it was indeed another woman in authority, a powerful female figure such as Jadon was. Jadon was vastly more wealthy than he, and by this he felt slightly intimidated by her. He did have the prestige of being an Royal Ambassador at Large, though how far this prestige went depending on the circumstances, and place.

He pulled out a cigar from his pocket, and lit it up with his chrome lighter. He then looked over at Jadon to speak to her, "Time to mingle."

Jadon gave as subtle nod, and moved up to the Ambassador's arm as appropriate so that they may mingle together..for the moment.

One of the last people to arrive for the ceremony would be best described as quite the standout- resplendant in nothing short of a very formal old fashioned ball gown, fine jewelery (though not so much as to breach the boundary from tasteful to bling-bling), her long red hair done up in a high bun and similiarly bejeweled, her bangs carefully framing her unblemished face, emerald green eyes sparkling with quiet delight through a simple mask as she takes a seat - next to Lord Alkanphel and his two escorts.

Throughout the ceremony, she stands and sits as appropriate, carefully rearranging her skirts and applauding where polite. Once the crowd is dismissed, she swiftly turns her attention to the Maia, offering a polite curtsy. "If we are to mingle, dear sir, it would be best to start with those nearest. I am Patricia Christofer-Aina Keeari the Third... but most everyone calls me by the far more mundane 'Pat'. Would you do me the honor of giving this lady your name?"

Piazza San Bernardi, Devras, DLN

The delegation from the Federation of Sentient Peoples was both large and small. The official delegation consisted of just six people, but the unofficial delegation, a group of students from the diplomatic training school, consisted of nearly two hundred young people.

Of all these, only four crossed the bridge into the piazza. Only one splash of color marked their clothing, the khaki tunic of the single soldier in the party, the high necked mess dress uniform shining in the sunlight. He was only a lieutenant, but he was the senior deployed member of the Presidential Guard, who only left the country when the Imperial President did. His cape swirled out behind him as he walked at the rear of the party, lifting up to reveal two of his registered weapons, the long dress sword on his sash, behind which rested a number of knives, and the pistol low on his thigh. The last weapon was a small pistol hidden in his sleeve.

Next lowest in rank Cortana, Director of Intelligence Division. Her purple hair gleamed in the sunlight, as did her eyes, flashing a deep violet. Her outfit was normal for those who knew her, though perhaps more flamboyant, as was in keeping with the setting. A skintight, black, nano-leather jumpsuit gleamed in the sunshine, running from her well shaped neck, down her toned body to inside her heeled, gleaming boots, clicking on the flagstones. Back up her legs, strapped low on either thigh, were twin pistols. A jeweled dagger hung along her belt, and at least four knives were secreted about her person somewhere, according to her registered weapons list.

Linked arm in arm were the remaining two members of the delegation, the Imperial President of the Federation, D’ron Christopher Smith, and Lady Lesley Ann Collins Smith, his wife. D’ron wore solid black, the sweeping cape of the most formal of all Federation outfits, traditional blacks, blowing lightly out behind him. The tiny bits of gold thread and brocade gleamed where they should, perfectly aligned, emphasizing his tall, muscular form, yet remaining loose enough to allow complete freedom of movement. He only carried two visible weapons, Kánomegil, the sword of state, and a pistol low on his right thigh. If one asked Dominion security, and possessed the proper clearances, they could find out he had a knife in the top of each of his boots.

Lesley was the least heavily armed, but probably the best dressed. Her totally human form lacked the perfection of Cortana’s avatar body, but the sweeping black dress, stopping just clear of the ground. Inside, strapped to her thigh, was her own pistol, and while she was easily the worst shot of the four present, she was still decent. The low plunge of the neckline revealed an impressive necklace of black pearls with a black diamond laying centered on her creamy white skin. A thin black belt supported a jeweled dagger on her right hip, though it was covered by the thin black mesh of her wrap. As she turned to glance at D’ron before the ceremony began, her emerald eyes sparkled with love, and the sun glinted like fire from her red hair.

“Do you think Honor was upset you wouldn’t let her come?”

D’ron chuckled. “I know she was. We went ‘round about it before we left. That little spat back at the airport was nothing.”

Lesley grinned. “Ah, well.”

Throughout the ceremony, the three civilians sat and rose with the rest of the crowd, and clapped appropriately, while the Guardsmen looked on, standing nearby, on a very high alert.

No disguise would be suitable to mask the identity of Tsume Dragonis, and if nothing else, the black and purple reploid dragon looks amusingly silly with a small facemask over his eyes. He watches the ceremony from near the back of the room so as to keep his decidedly bulky frame out of the way.

Certainly an ecclectic gathering of dignitaries here. He notes to himself. Hopefully nothing will go wrong on Lady Nathicana's big day.

The drake surveys the area, looking for familiar faces to mingle with.

Devras
Piazza San Bernardi

Supping a dry white wine, Ambassador Tyson relaxed in his seat wearing an odd alteration of black tie formal wear, awaiting the for main event to start. The Iuthian Diplomatic Corps hadn't supplied him with an aide in this case, so he was the only official Iuthian presence in the Dominion for the Coronation as the IDC felt that they should show some interest in the affairs of a potential new ally. The IDC also felt that Adam should see the nation from the inside and get a "feel" for the dominion; their inteligence was poor second hand accounts which were hardly reilable. However, the fact he was alone in this nation didn't bother him so much; he relished the oportunity to freely roam the city and do his job without the scutiny of others.

So far he had seen only a fraction of the old city, though from what he had seen he could feel the history seeping from the very buildings themselves. They had been well kept, yet the style was old fashioned and mildly inefficient in a sense... but could see that these people were proud of their culture and customs; not unlike Iuthia in some respects. Still, there was much for him to see.

Looking around, Adam tried to place names to faces and often failed. Some of them were obvicous; such as Lord Alkanphel, though Adam had never seen the man in the flesh before... only in pictures. Many of the other people attending were beyond his memory, perhaps he had seen them in various intelligence reports he had been shown... but information was sketchy; it is a shame that Iuthia never really did go for the idea of spying.

Taking another sip from his almost empty glass, Adam noticed the herald arrive who would then go on to announce the beggining of the event. Following the others; Ambassador Tyler stood up for the Dread Lady of the Dominion and then sat back down with the others once the moment had pasted. Others may have noticed his formal wear was altered for a slight uniform look about it; an Iuthian habit of the military slipping into all aspects of it's society

Listening to her words carefully, Adam attempted to pick up the undertones of her voice, only to find that given his distance in relation to her he could not reliably make such an assessment. However the speach itself was most uplifting, she displayed strength and resolve in her words, only to further prove the point with the ritualistic cutting of her own hand. He had to hand it to the woman; she didn't flinch one bit.

When the ceremony ended, the ambassador clapped sincerly. It had been quite an insight indeed. Later he would have to present her with the gift that had been prepared for her. Adam couldn't help wonder about the suitability of such an item, though given her strong stance she may very well appreciate it. He would have to organised a meeting later. Meanwhile, Adam mingled with the other guests.

Agwene stands for a long moment among the crowd of dignitaries. The ethereal beauty of her sidhe visage standing out among the humans who make up most of her entourage and the surrounding area. A part of her regrets not having brought a formal escort but she remembers why she made such a decision. Princess Agwene was here to meet dignitaries from other lands, not to spend her time in the company of someone from her own. The Princess smoothed her skirts needlessly, smiling demurely. She was sure she was the youngest here but she was rather determined to make a good impression. Deep blue eyes moved from lord to lord, mind drifting off into space and time, losing her self in thought.

Cheops moved his eyes over the crowd. In his mind, he noted the presence of each important world figure. A faint smile touched his lips and he occassionally whispered discretely into Agwene's ear. The princess nodded to her advisor's words.

Maile Carey, a stunning (by human standards) brunnette in a tight, formal black gown slips forward, curtseying deeply to Agwene. "Your Highness, I should go ready your costume for tonight's events, with your leave..." At Agwene's faint nod, the human woman moves off through the crowd. A bit overwhelmed by the crowd, Maile sways enticingly, smiling vapidly at the passing crowds as she works her way back to the hotel. She'd always dreamed of one day being a part of all this herself. Serving the Princess was the closest she ever thought she could come but...a girl could always dream.

Perhaps they stand out a little bit, perhaps not--the crowd is varied, after all. They hardly classify as beautiful, even to themselves, as the concept beyond sleekness of function is mildly alien to them. To others, their hard carapaces and immediately identifiable frames may put one in an ethereal state if they are of weak constitution, and may be stunning, albeit not in the traditional sense of the word when applied to appearance. Still, even if one is surprised by their presence or put off by their appearance, after a bit of thought one cannot say they're out of place.

After all, every picnic needs ants.

AdminCoordinator 67521 chatters softly in her native maxillae, lacking a proper tongue, or any tongue at all. Her antennae wave gently, seeming to frenetically conduct the staccato cacophony of her click-clacking mandibles, interspersed with chuckling buzzes of maxillae. Well, this is interesting.

A Red taps its antennae slowly together, it's bright red spiky carapace contrasting well with the smooth blue plates of the overcoordinator. Indeed, cousin OverCoordinator... did she just claim the title of breeder for this entire swarm-hive?

The AdminCoordinator buzzes her maxillae, shivering a little bit. Oh, no. Did you not learn that most endoskeletals simply cannot support the birthrate required to have a proper queen-drone organizational structure?

Reproduction is neither of our areas of expertise, cousin. The Red taps her mandibles together. Still... seething masses and surrounded by threats...

Those threats are our protection, cousin. Another soft buzz of maxillae. Do not tell me that bringing along Red security for additional carapaces was not of the best judgement...

The red insectoid cringes a little, releasing pheromones of annoyance that faintly smell remarkably similar to roast beef. I will behave, cousin OverCoordinator.

The Blue circles her antennae in agreement, then looks over the crowd in the Piazza with her large complex-compound eyes. Where have you gotten off to, cousin TechCoordinator?

I am several hundred meters to the north with the LandCoordinator. These humans have a great variety of... things.

So I can see, cousin. How is the LandCoordinator?

Taking in the scents, cousin OverCoordinator. Several blocks away, a smooth-carapaced yet still quite bulky Red buzzes her antennae. And truly enjoying the stares. Raaaawr, I am a monster come to get you, fleshy organs-on-the-outside endoskeletals!

Behave, LandCoordinator.

One of the last people to arrive for the ceremony would be best described as quite the standout- resplendant in nothing short of a very formal old fashioned ball gown, fine jewelery (though not so much as to breach the boundary from tasteful to bling-bling), her long red hair done up in a high bun and similiarly bejeweled, her bangs carefully framing her unblemished face, emerald green eyes sparkling with quiet delight through a simple mask as she takes a seat - next to Lord Alkanphel and his two escorts.

Throughout the ceremony, she stands and sits as appropriate, carefully rearranging her skirts and applauding where polite. Once the crowd is dismissed, she swiftly turns her attention to the Maia, offering a polite curtsy. "If we are to mingle, dear sir, it would be best to start with those nearest. I am Patricia Christofer-Aina Keeari the Third... but most everyone calls me by the far more mundane 'Pat'. Would you do me the honor of giving this lady your name?"

The two Marshals lean forward slightly, their heads poking into view from Alkanphel's left side. They appear mildly intrigued, looking to Alkanphel a moment later with a snicker. They begin conversing in hushed tones, choosing the Haradrim tounge, if only on virtue of Sudani making the first comment.

Alkanphel pays them no heed, and appears genuinely surprised for a moment. His icy demeanor fades instantly as he regards the woman, bowing his head slightly as he offers a gloved hand. "But of course," he begins with a slight grin, the surprise now gone from his expression. "I am Warlord Alkanphel of the Five Kingdoms. The men behind me are my subordinates, Imperial Marshals Khaled Sudani and Dash Hattori." He gives a quick glance over his shoulder as the two men give a cursory wave towards Alkanphel's companion. "Dash is the taller one," he adds with a snicker, leaving process of elimination to identify the remainder.

He hikes his head to his left, indicating they move. "Perhaps we should move into a more open area, no?" He offers his arm. "Little sense in standing around here."

Noting the representatives from S-14, Agwene glances over to Cheops. "I was not aware other nations contained significant populations of pooka."

Cheops shakes his head a little. "Your Highness, that is an entirely alien race. I am afraid I have little information to offer you on their..." He cuts off as Agwene starts towards the ant-like people and falls into step behind his liege, as do the others in the company.

A ninja leans easily on a colonnade, his black shinobi shozoko covering all except steel-grey roundeyes. What small bit of his face is visible shows it to be quite lifeworn, but that's common for men of his age--what seems less common is the steel behind it, the same steel in his eyes. Lazily scanning the crowd, something out of place catches his attention and he taps his comrade with the side of his bamboo gauntlet.

Said comrade stands about two and a half meters tall while slouching comfortably against the other side of the column. It is either going about essentially naked or else is wearing a suit of shaggy grey fur, dull-eyed lupine head with slightly off-kilter pointed ears topping it all off. Past the somewhat bushy white-tipped grey tail, the only other accoutrements are ropes and bandoliers of plastic human skulls, carefully washed and drybrushed to look like aged and battered bone. Inside the mouth of the wolfish mostrocity--lacking a bottom jaw, by the way--is a black mass, shapeless like an oversized scarf covering something except for a slit of orange, white, and black around two yellow eyes. "What is it?"

The ninja points at two insects the size of the relatively mundane humans surrounding them, their bright solid colors standing out a little. "We got bugs, Fuzzybutt."

The wolfy-thing growls. "I told you never to call me that in public, seven-eight."

The ninja distorts his chin-scarf with a wry grin behind the black fabric. "Well, would you rather I blow your cover? It is sorta hard to cloak you people, after all."

"If you do, I will have to tell why I call you seven-eight."

A soft grumble from the Japanese assassin. "You play dirty."

Cheops shakes his head a little. "Your Highness, that is an entirely alien race. I am afraid I have little information to offer you on their..." He cuts off as Agwene starts towards the ant-like people and falls into step behind his liege, as do the others in the company.
The red 'additional carapace' holds up one manipulator claw, antennae waving slowly. We have inbound, from that way. She carefully points in the direction of Agwene with a single antennae.

The OverCoordinator buzzes her maxillae. Those are people who wish to meet us, cousin. This is what we are here for. Turning her head to 'look' towards the two humanoids--stereoscopic vision is a given with these eyes, but being bred for diplomacy also gives the Blue the knowledge that humans don't like talking to the side of the head--she lifts one of her two arms and waves, manipulator claws extended, in a copy of the traditional gesture as she scuttles smoothly on her four legs to intercept.

Upon closer inspection, the Blue's smooth carapace has highlights of green along the joints, much like the lighter colors around a crab's joints, and she is practically covered with flowing yellow lines painted directly onto her body. She, like the rest of the panNorm, wears a web harness covered with various items; one of these is a metallic cube with a speaker grille on one face that she puts between her mandibles, circluar speaker facing out and immediately speaking in a pleasant, almost natural voice with sine-wave tones far too pure to be anything other than synthesized. "Greetings. I am AdminCoordinator 67521 of the Blue Mother of Us All, representing the panNorm here. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

Agwene smiles charmingly at 67521. The sidhe maiden has a natural elegance about her that few humans could match and, given the somewhat ethereal nature of her lithe frame and her elegantly pointed ears, she is often mistaken for an elf but those unfamiliar with her paper. The first two advisors at her side are clearly satyrs, one male and one female. Fiftenn human attendants, allowed to dress in finery for the occassion, trail in their wake. "I am Princess Agwene ni Gwydion of the Resurgent Dream. I am here to speak for my mother, Her Imperial Majesty, the High Queen Corrina." She looks over the strange beings with curiosity. While she has a certain timeless quality, the girl could not be more than 16, though she speaks as though her status representing her nation was perfectly normal for a girl her age, born to her station.

The two Marshals lean forward slightly, their heads poking into view from Alkanphel's left side. They appear mildly intrigued, looking to Alkanphel a moment later with a snicker. They begin conversing in hushed tones, choosing the Haradrim tounge, if only on virtue of Sudani making the first comment.

Alkanphel pays them no heed, and appears genuinely surprised for a moment. His icy demeanor fades instantly as he regards the woman, bowing his head slightly as he offers a gloved hand. "But of course," he begins with a slight grin, the surprise now gone from his expression. "I am Warlord Alkanphel of the Five Kingdoms. The men behind me are my subordinates, Imperial Marshals Khaled Sudani and Dash Hattori." He gives a quick glance over his shoulder as the two men give a cursory wave towards Alkanphel's companion. "Dash is the taller one," he adds with a snicker, leaving process of elimination to identify the remainder.

He hikes his head to his left, indicating they move. "Perhaps we should move into a more open area, no?" He offers his arm. "Little sense in standing around here."

'Pat' gingerly takes the warlord's arm with a smile. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my dear Warlord. I'm sadly unfamiliar with the local area, so I'm horribly lost tonight. Am I correct to assume you're more well versed in the local sights?" She glances about. "I seem to have been abandoned by my escort, the uncultured twat."

Maile Carey smiled to herself. She knew she really should go straight back to the hotel and prepare her lady's costume but the crowd was hard for her to rest. She was surrounded by fascinating beings from other races, mighty lords and glorious ladies, kinds and queens standing as thickly as any marketplace back home. She wouldn't presume to address any of them, of course, but if she happened to attract one's attention...that was a nice thought. Maile felt herself exceptionally beautiful tonight. Always an attractive woman, the occassion had called for her to lose her normal plain if respectable dress and wear finery normally only seen on nobles. She rather liked her chances of bumping into a prominent foreign dignitary. Of course, the poor girl was a little too pre-occuppied with such possibilities to properly pay attention to where she was going.

Maile's eyes move to Tyson, lingering briefly with a soft smile. Turning her head back to where she was headed, she finds herself near a dignitary both more prominent than she had thought to approach and more feared than she would have wished. She finds herself standing directly in front of Alkanphel. Deciding the best idea might be to simply remain unnoticed, if it's still possible, the servant girl curtseys deeply, quietly, before trying to back unnoticed into the crowd.

Jill’s eyes narrowed as she surveyed some of the later arrivals. When she saw the insectoid guests, her eyebrows rose. Hive mind, most likely. Atmospheric analysis suggests pheromonal communication of some sort as well, however. Supplementary or primary status indeterminate. She blinked as she noticed another peculiar guest. A drake. How very intriguing. Little or no contact made with the species. Contact priority? A short, clipped sentence sounded in her head. Second Tier, Jill.

Jill silently acknowledged the order. She glanced with some distaste at the flowing pearl-white dress she wore. It might look stunning, but it was most inconvenient for ease of movement. At least the large emerald set into the pendant she wore around her neck served some purpose.

Suddenly she detected something peculiar in the air. Jill looked around quickly. Very odd. There’s a definite lupine scent here, but I don’t see any furred organisms, much less werewolves or the like. Perhaps I’m merely missing them in the crowd. She catalogued the detail and decided to ignore it for the moment.

Jill moved slowly through the crowd, making eye contact with several people and offering acknowledging nods to others. Even in a crowd like this one she was bound to attract some attention. Not because of her physical attractiveness (which by human standards was considerable) but because despite appearing to be a human of Spanish descent, her eyes glowed bright green rather than following the normal coloration standards for humans.

Eventually she reached her goal. Curtsying to Landgrave Wittelbach, she smiled. “Landgrave. We’ve met before, though I would be surprised and in fact most disappointed if you recognized me. Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am the lady Jill Rus of the Guanyan Empire.”

"I am Princess Agwene ni Gwydion of the Resurgent Dream. I am here to speak for my mother, Her Imperial Majesty, the High Queen Corrina."Unfortunately, a lot of the princess' qualities are lost or very badly translated to the panNorm. She is... fleshy, with her organs on the wrong side of her skeleton. While many generations ago that was abhorrent, now it is merely distasteful and something to cautiously neither stare at nor obviously avoid, much like someone with an amputated arm or hand.

Looks like an elf.

But she does not smell like one, cousin. The blue OverCoordinator bows, rotating along the hip joints of her rear two legs at her thorax, making it a far different yet identifiable gesture. "Honored, Princess Agwene ni Gwydion of the Resurgent Dream. Please forward the wishes of good health and success on behalf of the panNorm respites of Alpha and Beta Hives about Eärendil to your mother. What brings you to this occasion of import?"

Agwene smiles politely, a little nervously. "It is a diplomatic duty that was, until recently, performed by my elder sister. I find the pleasure has fallen to myself, since her recent marriage. And yourself..." She pauses, not sure of the insectoids gender or rank. Finally, she decides that she might be best advised to simply use its own term. "....Admincoordinator?"

Cheops studies the ant people carefully, with a slightly raised bushy eyebrow. Her exchanges a glance with his female counterpart, though the satyress seems a bit lost. As she goes back to looking around the crowd, Cheops studies the interaction between his lady and the insectoids. Behind them, the mortal retainers fidget a little.

Noticing her entourage calling attention to itself, Agwene speaks smoothly. "Ah, excuse me. These are my advisors, Cheops and Datima..." pointing each out in turn "...and my maids in waiting, who do not require to be introduced or addressed in this company."

"It is a diplomatic duty that was, until recently, performed by my elder sister. I find the pleasure has fallen to myself, since her recent marriage. And yourself... Admincoordinator?

"Ah, excuse me. These are my advisors, Cheops and Datima..." pointing each out in turn "...and my maids in waiting, who do not require to be introduced or addressed in this company."
"As is this Red here." The AdminCoordinator indicates the spiky, blocky Red with one clawed manipulator 'hand,' looking like some sort of misjointed skeletal hand with much thicker bones than the human norm. Something suddenly smells very faintly of well-salted roast beef, somewhere. "My opposite numbers in the other branches of the panNorm hierarchy are elsewhere, although they send their greetings as well. We are here to become more... acquainted with friends of friends, and hopefully to expand our knowledge of others. It is by such means that additional allies and comrades can be found, no?"

The Marquise Aleinna Cúthalion was with no doubt a controversial person. Probably with the most gifted mind in the entire Empire of the survivors of Doriath, she was quite capable of develop any skill and have an outstanding performance in most fields. A remarkable military tactician, a capable politician and courtier, a reknowned scientist, and even a talented artist, she was regarded as one of the best minds the Empire had to offer, showing amazing attributes since the early years of her childhood. Yet her peers, the rest of the aelosian High Nobles, always thought of her as a weird and strange character, mostly due to her preference of foreign cultures.

However, as any geniuses born amongst the Sindarin, she was considered just eccentric, her extended and long studies about foreign races and cultures a whim of her thirst for knowledge. Many times an ambassador to foreign lands, she was quite familiar with the customs and ways of life of the many different nations that had contact with the Empire during the Time of the Opening. But it was the human race, by its variety and its rich and different facets, with no doubt her favourite.

Her slim, short figure, gave an appearance of fragility and physical weakness, reinforced by the fine and delicate features that formed her visage. However, her curious and penetrating clear, light blue eyes were as attractive as any gem ever made by the hands of any sindarin, and were a clear sign of the hidden power of her talented mind. Quite conscious of this fact, she adopted the human custom of using glasses over her eyes, covering them to avoid onlookers to decipher her deep, intense stare. She always avoided the use of flamboyant, brightly coloured and impressive clothes as most of the aelosian female nobles, prefering standard, yet elegant and sober human styled outfits, long skirts to the knees, and dark grey, white and black blouses and blazers. She lacked the beauty of the courtiers, their unmatched postures and poses, and also lacked the strenght, agility and capability of the warrior women of the empire, but she was gifted with something as rare and as valuable as those qualities. She had a beautiful mind.

The opinion that she looked human, and that as a matter of fact she many times thought and acted like a human, despite her clear and pure elven heritage, was a common one in the Empire. And finally they decided that she went mad after she volunteered to greet the Dark Lord of the Fallen Maias Alkanphel in his visit to the Craftworld that housed the aelosian elves. And when she decided to spend her scarce free time on a vacational, touristic visit to the Dominion of the Dread Lady Nathicana, many people just sighed, and thought how could be an elf so fond of the ways of the nightfearers.

After the long, tiring trip, because after all, when you leave in a moon sized artificial planetoid in the middle of the outer space, all trips are long and tiring, she finally managed to get to the Piazza after a little rest at the airport, with no doubt her elven heritage raising more than a suspicion out of the street, although some people treated her with naturality, for sure due to having deals with elves before. Her sober, black leather shoes, slipped over the careful crafted and old looking sidewalk of the Piazza, and she smiled to see that thanks to the imperfections in the stone, the floor looked perfect, mostly thanks that every stone in the nice crafted path was quite different, as those who placed the stones there were.

Her companion approached her from the left, and her intuition quickly told her that Alain was already here to take care if anything happened, always approaching by her right side. Alain was a distant cousin of the Marquise, a man dedicated to warfare and combat since he was born, and due to that particular preference usually despised by the more mental and smart noble.

However, the appearance of Alain alone was enough to draw people away from Aleinna as they walked. He was as tall as the tallest human around, contrasting heavily with the short and apparent significant woman he swore to protect before leaving for this visit, his well honed and attletic body remarked by the presence of the reactive personal protective armor of wraithbone that engulfed his entire figure, only covered by the tight pants and trenchcoat that he used to hide and conceal the bright and gleaming wraithbone of the armor, both blue and green. The ponytail that formed his hair fell like a cascade of yellow water over the upper part of his back. but his most impressive feature was the Dark blue mask covering only the half of his face, reinforced by half a helmet that finished covering only the left part of his head. The form of the mask, and the way how the black of the polished wraithbone contrasted with the clear and fair skin of the elf already created an eerie effect on those who looked upon his features. The red lens that suplanted his left eye seemed to switch and pursue those around the imponent elf, but even more strange was the fact that the artificial implant looked more sentient than the cold, freezing stare of the guard's true eye.

"The other is in the roof, I guess", said the Marquise with a warm, pleasant smile. Alain hadn't found out what was so attractive about his cousin. After all, she wasn't as cute and beautiful as Princess Aliria, or as regal and spectacular as Celestrianna the Chancellor, neither she was strong and brave like Caelith his companion and partner. But something that danced inside the eyes and played amongst the lips of Aleinna was as irresistible as if she was Lúthien herself. it wasn't a physical trait, but anyone near the Marquise was quite easily charmed by her warm smile and her friendly tone of voice, or even more commonly, convinced by the logical reasons that came out of her mouth.

But Alain only nodded. Indeed Caelith was already in the nearest roof doing her job in surveying the Piazza, searching for any possible danger and taking care of the Marquise's wishes. In the corner of the visor protecting his charred eye, he saw the cat like movements of the woman, nearly undetectable unless by the fact that he was expecting to find her there. "She's doing the best to protect you, as I am. Even if you want to run inside the mouth of the wolf", he said in a neutral voice, the concern of his words not showed in his tone.

Aleinna shaked the long and mysterious black hair that surrounded her features falling to her shoulders, and fixed the small blue coloured glasses over her eyes, checking if both the navy blue blazer and the black skirt she was wearing looked perfect. "If you don't want to help me, I'll do it by myself. Just find me Lord Alkanphel, I have a wit contest that started with his rejection, so it's my time to move, I guess", said the Marquise smiling brightly. "Once we find him, we can enjoy the rest of the party, and we will finally taste the fabled wine of these lands. I know you can't understand, after all you never liked chess".

Should am I disguised as a pawn in this Masquerade?, was the only thought that crossed Alain's mind, as he again opened space throught the crowd to let his Mistress pass unmolested.

Shaded from the afternoon heat, Rene sat firmly at attention through the coronation ceremony. Her own ascencion to the Amber Throne of the Greater Ascendancy had been less ornate than this, and that had been more ornate than her coronation as Domina of the Second Dominion ... which in turn had been more ornate than her assumption of command as Lady Protector of the Commonwealth following the Obsidian Event.

Still, a little pomp and fanfare never hurt anyone, and though the austere post-Event days might be long over, Tsarainese still didn't get enough of it.

There was to be a Carnivale later, of course, but for now the Arkhora wore her dress uniform, plain and black and severe of cut. Various medals - head of military's star, aerospace pilot's wings, the knots of the Arkhorate and the Clan Seingult head - glittered on the right breast of her coat.

On her left sat Yseult-Kjathen ea Seingult; who knew what the Communion thought of all this? Rene was very aware that, whatever they might look like, the ea did not think like humanity. The self-appointed Communion Representative was dressed in a simple white cotton dress, red-gold hair intricately braided and tied back from her face.

On her right was Ktoriach ralVenadt, a medium-level Operations Commandant, bearing the gift Rene had had made for the new Imperatrice. He wore a plain klrsiradt and trousers of a burecratic grey, as mundane and efficient as the man himself.

All three stood to applaud as Nathicana finished her speech, following which ralVenadt slipped off to meet with the Chancellor - Rene would give the gift herself, of course, but it was his duty to arrange that.

Rene looked about, seeing foreigners of every stripe and hue. Well, time to be diplomatic.

'Pat' gingerly takes the warlord's arm with a smile. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my dear Warlord. I'm sadly unfamiliar with the local area, so I'm horribly lost tonight. Am I correct to assume you're more well versed in the local sights?" She glances about. "I seem to have been abandoned by my escort, the uncultured twat."

At this last comment the Marshals' shoulders bounce up and down as they laugh heartily, working their way through the crowd. They don't bother to survey their surroudings as much as one would expect of bodyguards; for such was clearly not their task, as evidenced by their constant mirth. They keep a nominal eye on their surroundings, in any event, but rely mainly on the perceptive abilities of their demigod companion, who had already attracted some attention, it would seem.

Alkanphel chuckles. "Well your escort must have a horribly misplaced set of priorities," he offers, shaking his head slightly. "And yes, I would venture to guess I have something of a ...familiarity with this city," he answers, his voice deadpanning somewhat. "I've spent my share of time here," he adds in an equally flat tone, not particularly fond of some of the reminders conjured by the query. "But it--"

He nearly stumbles over Maile Carey, the crowd having seemingly ejected her at his feet. He stops, the look of surprise on his face supplanted a moment later with a pleasant smile. "My apologies," he offers, stepping aside, offering passage. "I should really watch where I'm going."

The Dominion folk in attendance rise as well, watching Nathicana make her exit, polite applause mingling with quiet words, the occasional arched brow, and meaningful looks cast between several of them. Those who are in a service capacity continue to go about their business, a good number of them turning their attention to clearing away many of the chairs to make room for the performers who now begin to set up their areas and small stages, though rearranging and leaving enough for the comfort of the guests.

Several single and small groups of entertainers begin to wander, their colorful, flamboyant costumes nearly as eye-catching as the feats they perform. Some are troubadours, singing festive songs, or reciting traditional poetry. One and all they blend with their surroundings, adding to the experience, not detracting from it, never lingering overlong. Already, some Masqueraders can be seen, eager for the festivities to officially begin, making it quite clear that those who wish to are more than welcome to join them as they kick things off early.

At the far corner of the Piazza, near the government office building, and directly in front of the grand ballroom, tables have quietly been set up, and are already laden with various appetizers, finger foods, delicate pastries and confections, and ample beverages running from simple water, to juices, coffees, and flavored fountain drinks. A bar has also been set up, each guest of eighteen years or older having been provided with a complimentary two alcoholic drinks if they so choose. Many of the delicate treats have been laid out on handcrafted sugar plates, decorated in the old traditional styles. Some plates carry nothing but sugar sculptures of fruit, figurines, or elegant falcons, all in the interest of presentation and décor.

Those Ministers immediately present may or may not be familiar to some. Giancarlo Torino, Minister of Defense makes his way through the crowd, speaking quietly with Antonio Pellegrino, head of Intel. They pause and nod politely to those they pass, Pellegrino, occasionally touching the small over-ear headset, acknowledging reports.

Evangelista Ravanelli, Public Relations, scans the crowd, pondering just where she ought to begin, curious as to some of the more unfamiliar newcomers. Bernardo di Medici seems rather intrigued as well, in spite of the attractive (and much younger) woman on his arm. After all, new contacts could mean new trade opportunities, and as Minister of that department, found such opportunities quite welcome.

Donatello Calfa, Finance Minister is in attendance as well, as surprising as a rare few might be to see him there. With him, his wife Mari, looking much more relaxed that her husband as they start to mingle. Speaking quietly with some of the local religious leaders he worked with via the Ministry's Religion department, the slick-looking Niccolo Giraldi casually watches the crowd, his eyes often resting on one Archbishop Giovanni Battista, head of the Catholic Church in the Dominion.

Fabian Mancuso is also in attendance, enjoying a visit back home from his usual post on Unity Island as the official diplomatic envoy for the NDA council there, looking quite pleased as he makes his way towards the refreshment table. Even the ever-distracted Minister of Science, Leandro Pacci is seen taking his time wandering the crowd, his attention most especially on those races unfamiliar to the Dominion - the Pan-Norm representatives, and the satyrs from The Resurgent Dream.

Cesare Calabrese, in relatively-recent history behind the last attempted coup, now enjoying the position of Chancellor in Nathicana's new vision of government, stretches and straightens his crisp suit jacket. He sports a similar headset to that of Pellegrino - small and gracefully designed. Catching word that the Taraskovyans wished a quiet word, he made the proper arrangements, granting them first audience with Nathicana, and directing them to the Gianfigliazzi Building, ground floor, straight ahead to the small but richly-appointed recieving room.

Here we go, he thinks to himself, smiling pleasantly as he makes himself available to whomever approaches next.

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

Nathicana herself, having by roundabout paths made her way back to the government offices sits quietly, pondering the reactions and expressions she had managed to glimpse during the ceremony. Her hand is now comfortably bandaged, and to take away the distraction of it, she now wears long black silk gloves. Massetti and Pascalli, the two guards who had carried the sword and crown for her, stood nearby keeping a careful watch, and, much to Massetti's private amusement, 'looking the part' in keeping with tradition. She sits on a beautifully-carved chair with a comfortable cushion, sipping her ice water thoughtfully, and trying to relax.

She had carefully balanced her words and actions, quite aware of the implications of each. The only things that had changed were the establishment of a line of succession - the entire point of all this pomp and pagentry - and the re-introduction months ago of the aristocracy. She had put down in official words for the first time, through documents drafted earlier by her hand, and now, with the ceremony over, had signed, what had always been done in the Dominion. None of what had transpired today would affect most citizens in the least.

Those who came from long lines of Kings, Queens, and age-long Empires would quite likely view the Dominion as an upstart in that regard. This was to be expected, and didn't bother her in the least. This move was a necessary means to an end, no more, no less. Whether foreign powers chose to recognize fully the change in status mattered little. She would do as she had always done, and rule how she had always ruled. Respect would be earned through words and deeds, not through empty titles, or it would not, in which case likely little could be done. Closed minds were not the easiest to persuade.

Those who thought little of all the flash and fuss would be handled the same. While she found much of the hoopla distasteful, and had foregone as much of the fluff as she could, there were unavoidable traditions that demanded recognition. Setting new standards was not a task to be taken lightly, and each symbolic gesture had been weighed and measured.

While part of her surprisingly wished that the Church could have taken a more active role in the coronation, there remained the simple fact that she could not be seen as 'accepting' her right to rule from anyone, be it the Vatican, her Ministers, not even her fiancee, which was why it had been important to establish legitimacy before the wedding, as much as she loved and respected the man.

And then there was the matter of the blood oath and traditional offer of clemency ...

"Yer thinkin' too damn hard, girl," came a voice from a shadowed corner of the room, the features of Jacobian Sanguinus briefly revealed more fully as he lit his cigarette, a cloud of clove-scented smoke soon writhing around his head. "You did fine, and by all reports, things're going just fine. Between us, we've got the place covered, and tight. Seems you've got some company as well."

Massetti glances over at the man and grins, word coming over his headset even as Jas speaks. "Taraskovyan delegates," he confirms.

She straightens her skirts and rises from her seat, ready to recieve them, murmuring an uncharacteristically quiet thanks to the men.

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

Across town a group of men sit in a comfortable private room, enjoying a mid-afternoon luncheon as they watch the broadcast of the ceremony. They nod occasionally, commenting to one another at certain points, enjoying their food and their wine.

La Famiglias had business of their own to attend to this day, and the gathering here before their own ceremony was just a customary politeness observed by the Dons, making sure the air was clear, on neutral ground, before they got down to business.

The Genovese Capo Crimini, in his mid-seventies and in failing health, was stepping down as official head of the Family, and turning operations over to his son. It was hoped that the other Families would support this move, and that there would be no need for a power struggle. Issues were to be discussed, old ties renewed, and vows respoken.

Though lacking in the regalia and publicity of the earlier ceremony, to them, this was just as important, if not moreso. After all, nothing had changed between the Cupola and the Dominion government, regardless of this 'new age', other than many of the Old Families had gained titles, and in some cases, traditional lands and holdings had been granted.

Yes, currently life was good. They hoped to keep it that way.

OOC: Yikes. I dont get online for a day or so, and look what I have missed already. Anyhow, I have been looking forward to this since I heard about it. Well done Nathicana on all the details, your plot and detail is to die for. Time for me to formulate my responses now. For those reading who want some background on my charcters, please read the information I wrote in the reference thread (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=6996710&postcount=29).

Admiring the astonishing architecture, all three men from the Austar Union stood in the crowd just before the Dread Lady made her appearance. They had been unsure of the exact details relating to the timetable, however rumours had spread that it would simply be the ceremony, then some kind of social gathering afterwards where the visitors would have the chance to mingle. Quite right too, were the rumours, for it seemed that the event was being executed exactly as expected, although the actual ceremonial events didnt cease to amaze the three men.

As their eyes darted around the surroundings, they were able to spot and recognise some very major figures of universal society, including the infamous Lord Alkanphel, who was standing with a few men directly in front of the Austarians. They all had some form of knowledge of the Warlord, as did many across the universal stage. Not once had actual contact been made between him and anyone from the Austar Union, and that in itself could be considered a good thing. Of course, it would be likely that some kind of chatter would be made sometime during the night, even if it wasnt on a completely diplomatic level.

In a true representation of his christian denomination, Mr. Mark Etherton stood wearing the latest fashion from the Austar Union. As President of the Assemblies of God organisation on a nationwide scale, he was representing that denomination, which held a high majority of the Austarian population. Since he was representing such a high amount of people, he had to dress well, and it was obvious that he knew that thoroughly; though all three men appeared to know this very same thing.

Pinstripe pants must have been the latest style in Men's businesswear, for Richard Henderson himself was wearing them, complete with a shirt, tie and jacket. His shoes, either recently purchased or shined, glimmered in the light which had been let into the courtyard. Like Mr. Etherton, he also looked quite fashionable, which was a growing trend in the Austar Union. Although the nation had its fair share of people with a lack of dressing talent, shows like Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, and other take-off television shows had obviously made their impact in the national industrial world, making the Austarian fashion industry one of the world's leading, if not the world leading itself; though, that was up to speculation. Henderson himself held a great share in the industry, not only making him politically powerful, but incredibly wealthy in the ranks of Austarian society. He generally prefeered that his life not be valued to a figure, but people had the idea that he was ranked amongst the top ten most wealthy in the nation.

As head of the Presidential Security team in the Austar Union, Mike Prodestan was mostly watching his surroundings. Security was high at the event as expected, yet the teams within the Dominion were obviously clever, because not only were there the general visible elements, he had already noted several hidden elements. Sent by the President himself, he was there to watch and observe general security procedures, so that he may gain some kind of idea on how to give his own teams a boost. At the same time, he had been told to enjoy himself in the Dominion, which is what his plans entailed. Naturally however, as a member of the Presidential Staff, he would also hold some kind of role in diplomacy as a whole, and as such he was dressed in traditional attire.

It could be noted that he had dressed in a costume created back in the eighteenth century, made and designed for the Presidential Guard. Complete with a blunted sword, his attire seemed to match the event in itself, and to anyone looking at it, it could be linked as similar to the French. It was obvious that the nation had been influenced heavily by its neighbours, including Italy, which seemed to be the main influence of the Dominion they stood in today.

Standing in a respectful manner, the three men watched intently as Nathicana gave her speech, coupled with a beautiful display of honor and culture. It was somewhat different from that which was all the way back in the Federal Republic, however it wasnt completely alien. The study of other cultures had been encouraged throughout the entire educational system, and as such many people had some general understanding of the world as a whole, including the different customs of the Dominion.

When she had finished, the three men joined the crowd in applause. Strangely the Austarians, Etherton especially, felt a sense of pride in his heart. Although he himself had no real links to Dominion, or the Dread Lady, her speech and display gave him that feeling, and he was honored to have been invited to the ceremony. He would not have missed it for the world, and it was a memory he would have in his heart forever. Perhaps it would mean future visits to the Dominion, only time could tell.

As the applause continued, Etherton leaned over to the two men standing beside him, and whispered his own display of admiration, "God Bless Lady Nathicana..."

Soon, the three men would be mingling, perhaps seperately throughout the mixed crowd of locals and foriegn nationals. Maybe they would even achieve something on their own, and maybe they would achieve something which many could eat the fruits from. Either way, the experience would be a blessing to all three men from the Austar Union.

Watching as the people applaud Nathicana on her speech, Carlos turns to the woman standing beside him her expression one of sincere pleasure at the words of Nathi he smiles and whispers in her ear "Not quite the ceremony you had my dear, but as impressive none the less?" Smiling at him she simply nods and kisses his cheek before linking her arm through his. "Lets get a drink." She says as she watches her son Lidric standing and watching the gathering entertainers with interest. "He likes the music it seems." Carlos whispers his voice thick with pride.

Dressed simply in arabic styled clothing Lidric hears the words of his parents only faintly and smiles to himself as the entertainers grow more and more numerous. Walking through the growing crowd he nods politely to the dominion citizens and exchanges polite words when spoken too. There is so much different here than at home. The people are more.... at ease. he notes to himself as he continues to walk through the crowds of people.

Stopping when the minister for defense and the minister for intel walks near him Carlos smiles and extends his hand to the men shaking each in turn. "A fine speech your queen has made no?" He asks playfully, before patting his wifes hand. "Tell me, you wouldnt happen to know where she ran off too would you? Got someone I want her to meet."

Ktoriach ralVenadt, the gift tucked carefully under his left arm, approached Chancellor Calabrese, bowing politely to the Dominion official.

"Chancellor Calabrese?" he asks, in careful, Sekhel-accented Italian, "I am Operations Commandant ralVenadt, of the Arkhora's staff. The Arkhora would very much like to speak to the Imperatrice" - here he smiled, using the new title - "Before the Masquerade - she wishes to present a gift unto her, as one ruler to another."

Piazza San Bernardi, Devras, DLN

Following the departure of Nathicana and her guards, the three members of the Federation party that had been seated moved towards the tables of food and drink, mostly because it seemed to be a clear space for a moment.

Lesley still trailed silently on D’ron’s arm, looking about at all the various peoples present, something she no longer came into as much contact with during the last year, since her marriage to D’ron and effectively, joining her country to his. D’ron looked over them too, but as they reached the tables and selected refreshment, he began to speak with Cortana, though letting his gaze continually drift over the crowd. “You had something you wanted to do before the ball, Cortana?”

Cortana looked up from her pastry and nodded. “Yes, I was hoping to walk through the rest of the Old City. You know how much I love architecture.”

D’ron smiled. “Indeed. Two things before you do, though. First, find whoever is in charge of this, and arrange for an audience with Nathi later, so we can present the gift. Then find Jessica, wherever she and her friends are, and make sure that she and whichever other student got the prize,” he honestly did not remember, “will be ready for the ball on time.” He turned his head to glance at her while he picked up what he thought was a piece of fruit. “Then go look to your heart’s content, but be back with the gift in time for our meeting.”

The EI nodded. “Of course, Mister President. By your leave?” D’ron nodded, and the avatar walked off, moving through the crowd with a dancer’s grace.

His attention shifted to his Guardsman, who moved closer as two brown eyes fell on him. “Watch for me, and let me know if Lord Alkanphel or the panNorm become free, since I wish to speak with both of them before we go.”

The Guardsman nodded. “Yes, Mister President.”

D’ron smiled. “Thank you, Andrew.” He turned back to his wife as she leaned her head against his shoulder, the music beginning, a wistful smile on her face. She loved to dance, and he, well, he loved to dance with her. He lifted the piece of fruit up to bite into it, and his eyes widened in shock as the sugar treat dissolved in his mouth in a burst of pure sweetness so intense he almost gagged.

Meanwhile, in the Piazza beside the government building...

If something smells like that, then it must be...

A large, smooth-carapaced Red two and a half meters long and the mottled ten-centimeter gray-and-white on her shoulder share the same puzzled expression--antennae waving back and forth, passively sniffing the air, manipulator claws clicking softly. There is food here, perhaps it is an additive... no... not in that volume, possibly? The Red reaches forward and takes a single grape from where President D'ron had acquired his bit of fruit, testing it in her thick bone-like fingers. Far too hard to be a normal fleshy fruit of this type... She waves it past one antennae, pauses for a moment, then tosses it into her maxillae. Fortunately, the grape is so small (and so expertly chosen) that consuming it is actually socially acceptable in this context--panNorm eating is very rarely anything even approaching 'polite' in endoskeletal terms.

A very faint minty smell. Pure... sucrose.

Oh, great. The picnic ants have found the sugar.

Subtlety, at least in making an entrance, was not something the Menelmacari were particularly good at. Thusly it was somehow appropriate that the Old City was even closer to the airport than it was to the New City. The airport was also, when viewed from the sea, directly behind the Old City.

To the helmsquende of the Gilthoniel, personal transport of Lady Sirithil nos Fëanor of Menelmacar, such terrain rarely elicited anything but a grin... and so it was that when Gilthoniel made its approach to the Devras airport before the ceremony, it passed as low as Dominion law allowed, eventually setting down on an assigned half-kilometer square of reinforced open tarmac. She was not an especially loud ship, but there was a low rumble as she passed, and the shadow of her great hull blocked the sun for a few moments. It was impossible not to notice that Lady Sirithil had arrived.

At the coronation ceremony, she wore a flowing, deep purple robe, similar but not identical to her usual style, a bit more elaborate, with embroidered golden traceries twisting their way seemingly randomly over the soft silken fabric. She wore the Daggerstar Crown on her brow, and a pair of intricate golden bracelets on her wrists, and strands of gemstones - mostly diamonds and amethysts, today - were woven into her long golden hair. She sat near the front, in an aisle seat, accompanied by Mephet'ran... with her were her son Maglor, a pair of guards, and her aide, the tall and somewhat mysterious Herufiriëmmolië.

Agwene smiles once more to the ant as her comment illicits a nod. "Quite. That is why we are here as well. I am afraid i am unfamiliar with your people, good Admincoordinator. Perhaps you might enlighten a lady?"

Maile blushes slightly, smiling nervously at Alkanphel. "No, no, my fault entirely, Your Majesty, my lords, my lady..."

Lord Windmere paused in earshot of the Dominion Chancellor. The young man realized he could gain much information from the attempt to gain an interview with the Imperatriceby the Arkhora delegation.

Hmm, Arkhora…well in Latin that would translate roughly to fortress hour…time to just put that away in some report

***
The Landgrave looked about and noticed the few number of elves. Great, half of them around here think I'm some mass murdering anti-elf zealot. Hell, I've only met a few elves in my lifetime.

However, the Landgrave locks eyes on the figure of the Archbishop Battista. Landgrave Wittelbach smiled and maneuvered over towards him.

"Your Excellency, I hope I am not too forward but may I introduce myself? William Wittelbach, Landgrave of Wittelbach…."

He gave a short bow towards the Archbishop, " I am quite enthused by the presence of the Church at this ceremony. Might I inquire as if his Holiness has sent a representative to this occasion?"

Cultural Attache Tolkingham strolled easily through the migling crowds, a warm smile on his face. It was a warm afternoon, he'd just enjoyed a light lunch that came with some very fine wines and the evening looked relatively promising on the diplomatic front. Also it looked like he'd managed to avoid all the boring stuff. Twenty years in the diplomatic corp gave a man instincts as to how long the faffle would last.

"About time you showed up." A refined, yet slightly strained voice got his attention.

Tolkingham turned with a flourish, one hand to his brow, "I do so apologise, Walters. I was positive my invite said three o'clock. Did I miss anything?"

Ambassador Timothy Walters fixed him with a level gaze, "The entire coronation. Dear boy." He reached inside his waistcoat and produced a small bottle of pills. "His eminence is spectacularly irritated," he reported as he unscrewed the cap and gulped down two of the green capsules.

Tolkingham waved a hand dismissively, "Oh when isn't he? Where is the Ambassador General anyway? I thought he was going to make a special effort to be a people person today."

Walters replaced the bottle and shook his head as if to clear it, "He went to find something to drink as soon as the ceremony finished up. Off like a shot to the bar." He looked up, hearing some commotion ahead, "Wait.. here he comes now."

And indeed, through the chattering crowds came a four-foot ten, massively wide, brilliantly red ball of irritation. His eminence, the ruler of Slutbum Wallah, the head of state, brutal dictator and fearsome politician. The man responsible for the almost universal abolishment of "Diplomatic Immunty". Ambassador-General Butah.

The rotund dictator barged through the crowds to his entourage, cursing as he went. "Is a civilised drink too much to ask? I had to fight through one hundred and fifty bastards mingling at the drinks table to find they only have one cask of dandelion wine and that went to a delegation from Guindino." The Ambassador took a swig from his emergency hipflask, "And I'm pretty damn sure that's the cask we sent them for the woman's birthday!"

Butah paused as he spotted a soberly-dressed native, "Hoi! Waiter! You! Hoi!" He snapped his fingers repeatedly in an attempt to get the man's attention. "Waiter! Dammit Walters, why isn't he serving me?"

"Because he's the Chancellor, General."

Devras
International Airport

Walking out of the airport terminal, the small group of Iuthian tourist started to stretch out their arms and legs from the long haul fight to the dominion. It had been a fair awkward fight for them as they didn’t want to waste the money they had scrapped together for this trip on expensive plane tickets, but it was pretty cramped in there and the in-flight movie wasn’t all that good.

Talking amongst themselves, now in the open of the airport lounge, the group started to get excited; they were finally in the Dominion, a nation which seemed to have a relatively similar governing system as Iuthia and it was going to be some party. To be honest they didn’t know much about the actual politics behind the affair and they didn’t really care much about that sort of thing anyways, they did understand that the nation would be celebrating the official coronation of their leader and that they would be doing it with style.

There were about ten of them in the group, some of them couples walking together but all of them were friends in one manner or the other. Like the majority of Iuthians they are lightly tanned from the warmth of their home nations, besides that they wore simple clothes for the time being, shorts, t-shirts, trainers, short dresses and the like… they had only just arrived and it would be silly to arrive in their best. The only odd member of the group was Teresa Summers, an Iuthian elf shorter then the rest of the group by almost a foot in places, her elven heritage was clear but it wasn’t as played upon as she was given a relatively Iuthian name as many elven parents had dropped their own names in place for simpler names. Unlike Sindarin elves, Iuthian elves were from a different lineage but were still considered elven by many despite some arguments claiming them to be inferior to other elves. It was a touchy subject, especially if on referred to them as being less evolved.

The group got their papers sorted out, following all the procedures completely and carefully in a polite manner. Many Iuthians had been taught to respect authority, it was something they sometimes took pride in knowing that Iuthia had little crime and a strong society. Once they had gathered their belonging they started to look excited as they took three separate cabs to their hotel, they each had their own plans for the night…


Devras
Piazza San Bernardi

The Iuthian ambassador made a choice to take his chances with the drinks offered outside of the indoor ballroom area in the piazza. So far he hadn't seen anyone he specifically needed to speak to, though the night was young and he would like to spend part of it talking to people from other nations. For the time being however, a drink would go down a treat and maybe he can talk to some of the other men and women who felt the same way.

So far he had not changed into his Masquerade mask for the evening as it was not time yet and he didn't want to look like a pillock. Instead he was wearing his black-tie suit which had a hint of military uniform about it, it suited his dark brown military crop haircut and his lightly bronzed skin.

Eventually Adam found himself a cold beer and a seat, taking his time so he didn't spill any, he sat down and relaxed to the tune of the ballroom music coming from behind him. He would watch the others for now as he drank his cool drink and thought about the night to come.

Vladimir and Ithun enter the reception room, the young adjutant bravely carrying the oak chest behind. Ithun suddenly thinks they had better taken two adjutants, but then again, won’t hurt the young man to carry a gift for an Empress from time to time…
The two officers immediately salute the Dread Lady in Taraskovyan military style, by clacking the heels together and bringing the palm of the right hand horizontally to the right side of the forehead. The adjutant, having both hands busy and not being able to salute properly, panics and looks from left to right as if searching for advice. But then he gets a better idea and simply bows. The General is the first to speak.

- Your Imperial Highness, the Ruling Council of the Federation extends both personal and official congratulations on this event and expresses its best wishes to you and your people. In my Motherland, the so called ‘nobility’ and ‘aristocracy’ were not determined by one’s lands, but by one’s prowess in combat. Indeed, our ancestors had to tame wild and aggressive nature, cold winds and dark clouds. A warrior had to be brave and intelligent, honourable and cunning, generous and just. But, and that is the most important, a warrior had to be free. Even if he served a leader, the relationship between them was not one of dominance and submission, but one of respect, trust and friendship.

With that the General motions slightly with his head and the adjutant steps forward with the oak chest, standing now between the two officers. Ithun, to the right, rises the flat cover of the chest with the howling black wolf on it. Inside of the chest is a fur rug with, in the very middle, a black fur ball. The Lieutenant reaches out to the ball and strokes it a little, as if taking something off with the tips of his fingers. The fur ball immediately proceeds to bite the officer’s finger. Ithun only grins and extracts his finger from the small mouth. The fur ball then proceeds to stretch and take a seated position, yawning. It is only now apparent that the fur ball is nothing else than a very furry and a very black several weeks old wolf cub, with a white four-tops star on the chest. The cub looks around the room with his little eyes and then honours each of the bipeds present in the area with a majestic gaze full of superiority (as funny and adorable as that sounds…)
Vladimir smiles and continues.

- In my Motherland, the warriors associated themselves with the ‘kathekh’, the famous Taraskovyan Black Wolves. Bigger and stronger than their average comrades, the ‘kathekh’ are also naturally very aggressive, but will never engage into a fight with no need. They are very cunning and intelligent hunters and, moreover, they seem to understand us human folks very, very well. The ‘kathekh’ is the national symbol of my country, it is the symbol of the now past Ruling Dynasty. And today I have the great honour of presenting Your Imperial Highness with this young Black Wolf male. He will be maybe the most loyal friend you will have and will serve you to his last drop of blood.

The little wolf looks up at the General, then concentrates his gaze on Nathicana, bending his head slightly to the right as if pondering. He then jumps out of his ‘bed’ (the kick of his rear legs forcing the adjutant to make a step backwards to keep his balance) right down on the floor and moves slowly towards Nathicana, never letting his gaze off her eyes, as if looking deep into her soul. He then sits himself near his new friend, ponders a little and lies down by her feet, concentrating his attention elsewhere.
Vladimir and Ithun smile, after all, so far things went well. The Lieutenant motions at the improvised wolf lair still in the arms of the adjutant and grins.

- This chest is included with the cub, of course.

The small Vrakian entourage was quite overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the place. Not that Vrak didn’t have their own palaces, but one got bored of huge domes. This was…different.

Along with the rest of the crowd, they offered up their applause with a couple “Hear! Hear!” in for good measure. The lead envoy Jur Ratyuig watched the Dread Lady closely while idly wondering if she would actually remember him at Blu wedding. He played back the day in his mind, and remembered how, well, charismatic she was.

He then tried to mingle the best he can, trying hard not to bump into anyone. Luckily Karlo and Tronj were able to gently steer people away. Not in a condesending manner, it was hoped, but more of the overwhelming need for their own safety. Due to their massive bulk, the walruses didn’t especially prefer to be in large crowds of humans unless they knew how to be among them. And the walruses didn’t force their way around unless they had to.

Both Tronj and Karlo were huge men, but seemed small compared to Jur. Oddly enough, the fourth person in the group was a slightly built, but very attractive woman.

-Do you see anyone else around that we know?
-No, Ambassador. The Alconians and Midlonians are here though.
-Oh, that’s quite alright. Much better to make more progress if we all split up. Besides, I would like to meet some new people. This is perhaps my last trip.
-Are you ill, Ambassador?
-No, Karlo. I am fine. I’ll let you know when I am tired.
-Yes, sir.

OOC: The woman is an empath. They are able to read the desires and emotions of others and can even cause a person to have an idea. This does require some concentration, though and is mostly limited to human subjects. Certainly those with strong mind defenses would be immune. Basically, she would be acting as a “passive” radar for the Ambassador.

Speech beginning with a hyphen (-) indicates that they are speaking Vrakian. Only member FKC states would be familiar at all with the language unless your nation has extensive dealings with Vrak. Even then, our nation is oddly paranoid about exporting the language to outsiders.

"Well, that was certainly a nice ceremony. Short, and to the point," says a man in a dress uniform. "Unlike the ceremony of somepeople we know."

"Interesting that she crowned herself like that," replies his companion, a taller man in a uniform of his own. "Definately making a statement there, making sure everyone knows exactly where the power lies - not that it really changes anything except who's going to have the power after her. Certainly an impressive little oath as well, although I know I wouldn't like the little bit with the hand. And its not like its my fault that there's so many people I had to take the oaths of."

"Is that because Changeling would swallow your hand, Gregor, or because you're squeamish about the sight of your own blood?" The blond looks up at the sky, shading his eyes. "Huh. Is it just me, or is it too quiet for a ceremony like this?"

"The former, you twit," Gregor replies, giving the other man a slight shove. "You know, you're right. It does seem odd. Still, you never know with foreigners. Maybe they're saving the pretty explosions for night."

"Huh. How odd. Still, enough standing around. Let's go get something to drink and snack on before I starve to death." Tarvi sets off in the general direction of food, dragging Gregor along behind him.

"Oh, yes. That would just be horrible, wouldn't it?" Gregor rolls his eyes and follows.

As they make their way towards the drinks, Tarvi makes a quip as they pass one of the attendees. "Is that a sentient giant tomato or something?" This comes out rather less quietly then he had intended. Besides him, Gregor only silently groans, and remembers why Tarvi was usually left at home during open diplomatic functions.

“… find it odd that she should proclaim herself Empress now though, why didn’t she bother when she came to power?” Hykar swirled the cup, collecting the last few dregs before throwing the cup to his mouth, the coffee cup clinked lightly on the saucer as he set it back down.

“Probably several reasons, Empress D'Aquisto probably wanted to make sure she’d be here to stay first, before declaring such a thing. If she wanted to marry someone with royal blood, then instead of whomever she married maybe having to abdicate, they'd be legitimate”

Hykar sighed and stood up.
“Perhaps we should take a stroll around the Piazza…”
“Perhaps we should.”

They walked slightly slower this time, Hykar’s shoes drowned out by the crack of Aslmadeus’ Hob nail boots.

Cheops bows to the AdminCoordinator, speaking directly for the first time. "We do have many races within our homeland, AdminCoordinator. Five years of my education was spent learning to catalogue our own peoples, learning their birthrights, frailties, dreams, cultures, nature...My primary interest is now to learn of other sentient species in the world. It is part of the reason I am Her Higness's advisor on this trip."

Agwene smiles once more to the ant as her comment illicits a nod. "Quite. That is why we are here as well. I am afraid i am unfamiliar with your people, good Admincoordinator. Perhaps you might enlighten a lady?" <lacuna> Cheops bows to the AdminCoordinator, speaking directly for the first time. "We do have many races within our homeland, AdminCoordinator. Five years of my education was spent learning to catalogue our own peoples, learning their birthrights, frailties, dreams, cultures, nature...My primary interest is now to learn of other sentient species in the world. It is part of the reason I am Her Higness's advisor on this trip."
"Ah. Well, I am certain that the various castes of the panNorm are sufficiently alien in that regard." The translator cube in the Blue's mandibles utters a gentle, polite chuckle as the Red standing beside her quietly buzzes her maxillae. "We are ourselves fascinated by the... curious diversity our new home has to offer. So much to learn and come to understand, and so much which seems beyond understanding. We have certainly come quite some way from the journey of Alpha Hive."

Possibly the most disconcerting part about talking to an insectoid would be the utter lack of discernable emotion in its hard-plated 'face,' such that it is. Of course, there are different cues that can be read showing that the Blue is looking at the satyr in a sort of careful curiosity, someone examining something vaguely distasteful to the senses. It is not intended to be insulting, even though it is mildly racist... when one's organs are protected by a nice hard shell, the soft motions of flesh can be... disquieting. A proper human analog is the jiggling of the morbidly obese in frenetic action. "We have not seen your kind before--unfortunate for the past, yet gladmaking that we discover it now. Are you common from where you originate? How has your culture adapted to its internal diversity?" The last question has a bit more emphasis behind it.

* - * - *

This makes no sense. If fruit is fructose, then... why make artificial fruit of sucrose?

The large Red taps her antennae together slowly. I don't know... but I'm smelling a lot more sugar than those fruit account for. See that chipped plate? I'm going to experiment. Leaning over, the Red gingerly picks up a chipped off bit of a 'glass' plate. It's clear, but has a much more granular edge than regular silicate glass.

You got to experiment last time. It's my turn.

The LandCoordinator buzzes her maxillae hand hands the bit of glass to the Mini on her shoulder. Don't complain to me when you break your mandibles on silicates.

The Mini--much smaller than the human-sized-plus Red but still much larger than most insects--gingerly brings the shard to its maxillae, letting a few drops of saliva do its work for it. Spit a little, liquefy, grind up, suck back in--this is how ants eat, and this is why they eat carefully around those easily disgusted. This is most odd. The plates are made of sucrose as well... the plates are food.

They are using food to store food? The Red taps her antennae together slowly again. Madness, sheer madness. Standing still, it surveys the crowd. Do you think anyone will mind if we acquire a few plates?

Cheops bobs a little, eager to explain. However, Agwene speaks first by right. "If you have a system of caste, perhaps you will understand more of our diversity than you realize. You see, while the fairy peoples of the Resurgent Dream seem as different as any two sentient peoples might, we are not simply separately evolved races happening to live in one nation. Our races are magical in nature and to each is appointed a special task in society. My people, the sidhe, are the leaders. One in every hundred residents of the Resurgent Dream is sidhe, slightly more than a million people. Satyrs, on the other hand, are known for there wisdom and passion. They often serve as musicians, advisors, or courtesans. Our relationship with the humans in our realm is somewhat more...complicated."

Cheops nods a little. "In fact, there are one hundred distinct fairy races in the Resurgent Dream. Combined, we make up one fifth of her population."

Maile blushes slightly, smiling nervously at Alkanphel. "No, no, my fault entirely, Your Majesty, my lords, my lady..."

Sudani turns his head and glances over his shoulder at the woman, poking his elbow into Dash's ribcage a moment later, who stops mid-sentance to follow suit. Hatling a few steps ahead of Alkanphel and the two women, they watch the three, horribly interested in the proceedings. Sudani winces as he looks over the new arrival, conversing in hushed tones with his companion in the Haradrim tounge.

Alkanphel chuckles. "The blame is most surely mine," he insists. "Blinded by the prospect of orderves and even further distracted by my new companion," he says with a slight bow of the head towards the woman on his arm, "I was certainly not paying quite enough attention to those around me. I don't usually stumble over women in a large crowd, but it's been known to happen under particularly extenuating circumstances." He grins again. "You're more than welcome to join with us if you wish, unless you have some pressing obligation?"

Maile stutters a little, blinking once. "Your Majesty, I'm not a diplomat. I'm a servant girl, a maid in waiting. I'm really sorry for almost bumping into you. I was looking at..." The poor girl turns red. Telling a head of state she was looking at boys? She'd never live it down so she just trails off. "Well, anyway, I hope you'll forgive my lady the clumsiness of her servants."

The harness was loose, the curved metallic structure that should isolate the wearer to the harsh buffeting that turbulance so enjoyed inflicting being rather less effective on a pilot of such diminutive size as originally intended. The padded steel failing even to firmly make contact with the flesh of its charge. It was of only marginal consequence, comfort rather than importance. Small arms stretched outwards against the harness, struggling to reach the release controls despite no enormous gap existing between the pilot seating and the control systems. With a victorious lurch, the button was pressed, and with a gentle hiss, the restraint rose upwards, and finally she was free and granted what little room existed within the cockpit.

Annika took a further look around, her eyes settling on the various flickering displays and illuminated buttons. Patterns of lights blinked in unison, and against each other in a semi-frantic attempt at outdoing the other. Ahead, the twin control columns, one for the pilot and empty co-pilot chair, moved of their own accord and invention. Although she sat in a position that demanded intimate knowledge of the craft she flew, she knew scarcely more than the name of what carried her at such unbelievable speeds.

her head tilted to the left, at the parallel plexiglass sections of the side walls that allowed a view to the outside world. She could make out little detail, save the whipped, frenzied winds throw water and cloud against the hull, and onwards. Droplets of water slid lazily from right to left, before dropping from her view. She could make out neither city, nor land. She pressed her small hands against the glass, as though searching for a feeling to connect her to the ground hundreds of miles below her.

"We are approaching The Dominion."

Annika froze momentarily, until her memory duly recovered the origin of the voice, and she relaxed slightly. Though it had conversed with her only seldom, she was rapidly warming to its cool, unemotional tones. It would not lie to her, and it would not decieve her. She pushed a length of dark hair from her vision, roughly assigning it a place behind her rear. Placing her hands in her lap, she leaned back in the comfortable, moulded backing of the pilot chair.

She preferred not to think about how she, a sixteen year old girl no less, had come to be within this impressive craft. She could remember the frenzied screams, and terrified groans that befitted her departure. The flames that licked and caressed the crumbling steel and blackened concrete. The once unassailable wire fences and barbed wire that had creaked, and fallen against the trampled grass. The thunder of a hundred boots, screaming profanity and demands for justice. Random spurts of gunfire erupting into the night sky as though the stars could be shot and brought down from their lofty positions overseeing.

She could not remember at what point she had become seperated from her mother. They had ran from the habitation levels, unable to reach her father, who had become trapped in the research domes further south of the ensuring madness. They had done only what could be deemed as realistic to their survival, they had fled to the hanger bays and various landing strips that had once comprised the first bones of the base. But they found only death and panic there. Some craft had failed to even leave their silos correctly. Some had veered from the concrete runway and into scaffolding supports or simply into long grass from which there could be no escape.

Others had made it into air and supposes freedom, but fallen from the skies like stone and lead, those flying inexperienced or even totally ignorant of the requirements to pull free of mother Earth's stifling grip. Fires crackled happily at regular intervals amongst scattered wreckage and fused, torn flesh. Annika could still see the twisted bodies, faces permanently frozen in visions of absolute horror and agony. It may have been as she watched these, her Mother disappeared into the chaos. She had looked for beautiful blonde tresses, and a flowing summer dress. Such easy indications that faded into nothingness amongst the crowd of people. The horizon became bullet and fire, as the onrushing crowds closed on those that fled for their lives. Annika knew they would hurt her. She could not wait to find her Mother and Father.

And she ran, as quickly as her lithe, slight legs would carry her. She fell, and winced as the her knees were skinned by the harsh, unforgiving concrete below. She ignored, and once more broke into full fledged movement, her dress tearing loudly as it caught a splintered gutter. She felt thick mud and dirty water spray up against her as she pushed through deep potholes in the earth. Amongst the ancient, abandoned hangers and silos, stood a glittering, shining construction of steel and fencing.

As she reached the gate, she slowed. Where guards should immediately stand in front, and demand she leave this important and much-vaunted area, none were apparent. Where gates should be secured and watched, they were unlocked and open, creaking. Slowly, she slid between, and into the massive bay. Within the dark, foreboding silence, the occasional overhead lighting tube allowed her sight enough to move forward a step or so. Negotiating the twisting entryway, she felt suddenly a breeze of cool air strike her in the face. Pausing long enough to shake the stinging sensation from her eyes, she saw via the natural light streaming from strategically placed windos high up, that she stood in a great chamber. She could make out the smooth lines of a craft dominating centre-stage, but little more than that.

As though her presence was augmented, powerful lights burst forth. Triggered by motion detectors that remained unknown to her, light bathed the massive room, and robbed the dark of its last vestiges to terrify, and alarm. Annika stepped towards the gigantic craft. She could scarcely describe its beauty, seemingly the shape of a gigantic, oversized missile yet given the benefit of short, wide wings and a poined nose. She walked around the perimeter of this ship, and her eyes caught a logo painted on to its left side, she read the name out aloud.

"Thunderbird."

Yet even as she marvelled, voices were heard. They did not speak in unison, but were disjointed and agitated. She could wait no longer, and she was forced into a monumental decision. One that would bring her to the present, and why she now found herself an unimaginable distance form the scenes of pain and suffering that only an hour ago she had known to be home.


She stretched her legs outwards, shaking off weariness. She had fled, but to where? She knew little of the outside world beyond the basic containings of an updated atlas. Several coardinates were already programmed into the onboard navigational systems, she had simply asked the ship to suggest a location, and after arguing over "refining the parimeters of the request" with it, settled on the Dominion. She knew nothing beyond the fact that they headed to the capital city, Devras. She had worried over money, unsure of what and what would not be accepted by the foreigners. Her fears were mostly settled when she happened upon a discarded Supply Card. Obviously dropped by accident, they were issued to all full time employees at the base she had called her home. They were utilised for purchasing non-standard supplies and personal equipment, and were usable overseas.

"Estimated time of arrival at Devras City, one minute."

Annika's brow furrowed, "Where do we land?"

A moment passed, and the Thunderbird duly replied, "Onboard cultural database indicates Devras is in poession of adequate facilities to allow standard docking and resupply procedure."

Annika nodded, though the disembodied voice cared not if it was understood or appreciated. She hopped from the pilot seat, taking a lasting look at the empty co-pilot chair across from her, and feeling a sickly sense of loneliness creeping through her. She had already taken a short look at the compact cargo bay aft of the cockpit, and found some lightweight military clothing that would suit her with better efficiency than the torn cardigan she now wore around her muddied shoulders. Heaving open the wall locker, she pulled out a padded, unremarkable black jacket. Rapping it snuggly around her slight frame, she returned to the cockpit, and the pilot seat. Tapping the flashing button ahead, the harness swung down once more.

"Beginning transition to vertical landing. Firing VTOL jets in fifteen seconds."

Annika glanced out the left observation window, and beyond the drizzle, could finally make out the bustling scenes below. City blocks sprawled for as far as her eyesight and angle would allow. The sun shone brightly against a backdrop of an almost cloudless sky. A remarkable place, brought to life and filled with a sense of adventure Annika could almost taste.

"Firing VTOL jets."

The Thunderbird began to shake, the resonating increasing until Annika gripped the armrests out of habit. She could feel her stomach tighten, and the curious feeling of gravity present as the craft descended steadily. Soon her windows were obscured by gray, as the hanger welcomed the foreign ship into its friendly clutches. With a gentle thud, and a momentary vibration, the descent ceased, and Annika's stomach regained a sense of balance and content.

"Landing sequence completed. Disengaging VTOL jets, powering drive systems down."

Annika felt almost disappointed as banks of controls and illuminated light sequences flickered into darkness. Where previously the lighting had been generous, provided by an overhead bank, now only four thin tubes, spaced in each corner, provided an odd blue tinge. As though indicating the ship was preparing to slumber. Annika opened the harness, and stood. She turned to leave, hesitating and turning once more to face the dormant panel of controls.

"I'm going to explore, I'll be back later."

"Acknowledged. Securing systems and initiating intruder countermeasures."

Annika couldn't be sure she understood all that the Thunderbird had told her, but shrugged it off. It was more than capable of acting on its own, having managed to fly the little girl halfway around the Earth itself at remarkable speed with little or no interaction. She exited, and did not look back as the hatch receded and sealed behind. Gentle plumes of smoke leaked from the massive engine nozzles aft. She spied an approaching man, his face first impressed at the sight before him, then slightly amused as he looked down upon Annika.

"Hello, little girl, this your ship then?" He said, the last few words louder and with a little humour in his eyes.

Annika nodded, making eye contact with the hangar offical and smiling.

"Yes, and I'd like you to take care of it please. Do you want the money now?"

The offical paused, his smile fading not becuase of unpleasentness, or anger, but of realisation. He seemed to shift into a more professional outlook quickly, though his eyes continued to betray the slight amusement he found in the situation. He shook hands with the little girl, lowering himself to her level.

"That won't be required my lady, we take payment on completion of your stay, I can assure you your craft will be looked after to the best of my ability. I do hope you enjoy your stay in the Dominion. There's quite a buzz about the place today, what with the coronation of our first Empress."

Annika picked up on his unusual intonation of the world Empress, but was none the less fascinated. She allowed her mind to wander. Would she wear a beautiful dress? Annika was sure she would have the finest, most wonderful material, with patterns if she wanted, plain if she did not. With shining, crafted jewellery and a wonderful, smile, like a princess, or a queen. She was reminded of the hours she had spent in front of her own Mother's dresser, imagining herself as a princess, with all her friends complimenting and smiling at her.

"What's the name of this princ....Empress?" She asked.

The Dominion official smiled warmly, picking up on her mistake, "The Dread Lady, Nathicana."

Annika was amazed, she had never before heard such a...royal name. She admitted a little fear of the term 'Dread Lady', but dismissed it. She wondered, wether she would be able to see this amazing princess in person? Would she wave to her citizens as queens did in stories past? Annika did not know, but she was most interested and excited to at least try and find out. Thanking the watching man, she waved and ran onwards, through the checkpoint and into the street.

The smell of a party was in the air, and Annika forgot, for a while the circumstances that had brought her to Devras.

Maile stutters a little, blinking once. "Your Majesty, I'm not a diplomat. I'm a servant girl, a maid in waiting. I'm really sorry for almost bumping into you. I was looking at..." The poor girl turns red. Telling a head of state she was looking at boys? She'd never live it down so she just trails off. "Well, anyway, I hope you'll forgive my lady the clumsiness of her servants."

Alkanphel bows his head again, and the Marshals snicker. "Very well," starts the Maia Lord. "If you feel your station does not permit you the privelege of our company, then suit yourself. But know that I don't make any such impositions on my companions, nor do I judge based on rank or standing, contrary to apparently popular belief. There seem to be many that characterize me based on Five Kingdoms foreign policy.." he chuckles a bit. "..But I assure you such is not the case. Please," he adds, "do as you wish. There are many commoners here and I would be remiss in ignoring them all simply on virtue of their standing."

Security was the tightest it had ever been. Between Pellegrino's tireless efforts, coordination with the broader scope of the Dominion military under Torino, the unseen yet reassuring presence of TYCS lending their strength in the blackness of space above, and Jas' Black Company mercs on the ground, they had things well in hand - the Piazza and the main gathering of high-profile guests could not have possibly been more thoroughly protected.

One of the many advantages of the architecture here was the hundreds of locations from which to observe the square, for the most part, unseen. Extra surveilance equipment had been installed at all possible entry points, for a full block out from the Piazza, and along the canales adjacent to it should enterprising souls seek to smuggle undesired objects onto the site via the water. The presence of an Aelosian among the spires and decorative crenelations is determined to be a non-threat, and so, she was left to her business and tagged for close observation.

An entire room in a sub-level section hidden quietly away in New Devras, known only as E-3, was dedicated to monitoring, compiling, and passing on information to the agents on location, data being transmitted seamlessly over channel Spook, the Dominion's pet QE project, and one that was continually being improved on and refined.

Other agents mingled freely with the crowd, some as part of the entertainment, others stationed with the serving staff, still others in the more decorative and obvious traditional guardsmen uniforms for the occasion.

There are indeed those in the crowd who have, for one reason or other, been picked out for 'special attention', and are monitored more carefully than the others, albeit quietly. No trouble is expected - it would be poor manners, for one thing. Still, the saying had filtered down til it had become almost a motto: There are only two kinds of paranoia - absolute and insufficient. Insufficient is deemed simply not acceptable.

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

Nathicana tilts her head in acknowledgement, smiling warmly as Vladimir and Ithun make their entrance, not wishing to interrupt their presentation. She had prepared herself for many things, understanding that customs would vary wildly in the nations represented here.

This generous gift, and the flood of memories it brings to bear, she is not prepared for.

Her left hand goes to her lips as she watches the little cub stretch, a surge of emotion flaring up before being carefully and firmly suppressed again. Her eyes flicker back and forth between the young wolf and the Tarasovkyans, listening intently to Vladimir's explanation, her hand moving slowly down to her waist, pressing there, and covered by her right hand as if to steady them while remaining as poised as possible.

She blinks as the cub jumps down, meeting his gaze with her own cool blue eyes, fascinated by his demeanor, a hundred old memories running through her mind with all the varied emotions that went with them threatening to spill over. Nathi bends down at the knees, balancing on the balls of her feet as she slowly reaches out to lightly run her fingertips along the little wolf's back.

Looking back up at the delegates, her eyes shining with emotion, she thanks them quietly.

"Grazie, mi amicos. I cannot express how deeply moved I am by your most gracious gift. That Tarasovka would honor us this day with your presence and support in spite of the troubles that have plagued your great nation is gift enough. This ... " She pauses, gently stroking the pup again, and smiling wistfully. "I thank you," Nathi finishes simply, not having the words to properly articulate what she meant, and unprepared to explain how such a seemingly unrelated gift could evoke such an uncharacteristic public display of sentiment from one who had for a time, carried the surname of 'dal Lupo'.

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

Seeing some of the representatives of The Resurgent Dream and the panNorm engaged in conversation, Pacci makes his way towards the adventuresome pair of chitinous guests at the food table. Clearing his throat lightly, he gestures to a platter filled with the decorative sugar sculptures of various colored fruits.

"Whether enjoyed as decoration or ah ... for those with more of a sweet-tooth, those sugar creations can be rather entertaining. Please, help yourselves. The majority of them will go to waste if not, no doubt."

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

Both Pellegrino and Torino seem mildly surprised at the greeting, both putting on welcoming smiles and returning the handshake, bowing respectfully to Yvonne.

"A pleasure," says Pellegrino, followed closely by Torino nodding in the direction of Calabrese, who seems to have attracted a small gathering. "Cesare is the man to see. He's coordinating meetings so as to give the Lady ample time to speak with those who wish to see her."

"Indeed. I know she'll be pleased to see you and your fine family", continues Pellegrino. "We hope that your stay here is a pleasant one."

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

Calabrese, meanwhile, dressed impeccably as always, nods to Ktoriach. "I am certain Nathicana would enjoy meeting with the Arkhora - she has always spoken very highly of her. If it pleases the Arkhora, as soon as the Tarasovkyan delegates have finished their audience, the Lady should be ready to recieve her."

No sooner had he spoken it seems, that Cortana finds him. His response is much the same. "Please convey our thanks to the President and his lovely wife for attending. Once the Arkhora of Tsaraine has finished her meeting, Nathicana should be ready to see them."

The unmistakeable voice of Butah seems to punctuate this small speech, and it slowly dawns on Cesare, that it is he who is being so ... fervently addressed. A quick check with security, and a calculating look later, and he is prepared.

"My Lady, my Lord, if you will excuse me," he says with a respectable enough bow, then makes his way over to the Ambassador-General, a deceptively warm smile turning up the corners of his lips.

"Honorable Ambassador-General Butah, what a pleasant surprise to see you here. Cesare Calabrese, Dominion Chancellor," he says, extending his hand. "How can I be of service?"

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

Battista is taken a bit by surprise, putting his hand out in greeting, and smiling pleasantly as he returns the bow.

"An honor, my Lord. Archbishop Giovanni Battista. In truth, we do have a representative from the Vatican - one Archbishop Emilio Arrivabene Valenti-Gonzaga, staying here in the Dominion as Apostolic Legate. Now, granted, I haven't seen him here so far, but all things are possible," he says, gesturing around the open area. "It is a large place, after all. I admit, we were a bit disappointed that the Church was not included in a more, shall we say, formal capacity, but all things considered, I see it as a step in the right direction."

He becomes aware of Jill and blushes profusely. "My dear lady, my apologies. I'm afraid my mind was elsewhere. If I may, William, Landgrave of Wittelback - the Guanyan Ambassador to the Dominion, Jill ... I'm afraid I am not familiar enough for a more proper introduction."

Nathicana tilts her head in acknowledgement, smiling warmly as Vladimir and Ithun make their entrance, not wishing to interrupt their presentation. She had prepared herself for many things, understanding that customs would vary wildly in the nations represented here.

This generous gift, and the flood of memories it brings to bear, she is not prepared for.

Her left hand goes to her lips as she watches the little cub stretch, a surge of emotion flaring up before being carefully and firmly suppressed again. Her eyes flicker back and forth between the young wolf and the Tarasovkyans, listening intently to Vladimir's explanation, her hand moving slowly down to her waist, pressing there, and covered by her right hand as if to steady them while remaining as poised as possible.

She blinks as the cub jumps down, meeting his gaze with her own cool blue eyes, fascinated by his demeanor, a hundred old memories running through her mind with all the varied emotions that went with them threatening to spill over. Nathi bends down at the knees, balancing on the balls of her feet as she slowly reaches out to lightly run her fingertips along the little wolf's back.

Looking back up at the delegates, her eyes shining with emotion, she thanks them quietly.

"Grazie, mi amicos. I cannot express how deeply moved I am by your most gracious gift. That Tarasovka would honor us this day with your presence and support in spite of the troubles that have plagued your great nation is gift enough. This ... " She pauses, gently stroking the pup again, and smiling wistfully. "I thank you," Nathi finishes simply, not having the words to properly articulate what she meant, and unprepared to explain how such a seemingly unrelated gift could evoke such an uncharacteristic public display of sentiment from one who had for a time, carried the surname of 'dal Lupo'.


The two officers bow to the Empress. Vladimir smiles as he looks at the Dread Lady and her new friend.

- Each illness has two endings - death or salvation. And I am proud to say today that my beloved Motherland is on the right path to full healing. The plague that has forced her to the knees has been vanquished and we are the messengers of that victory.

And as of the gift, there is no greater reward or honour for me and my people than to know that it pleases Your Imperial Highness.

The aging General smiles warmly, again. He does not mention all the top secret debates at the Federal Heraldic Committee on the best gift to offer, how professors tossed papers and pens at each other, insulting each other of 'brainless aspirants' and 'ignorant pupils', and how the representative of the Ruling Council to the Heraldic Committee covered his face with his hands out of despair. And how, when all hope seemed to be lost and the date of the event neared, an old veteran officer of the former TDI and now of the Kaskad approached the Heraldic Secretary of the Ruling Council and offered the best solution. And just as the professors were entering an other round of paper war, the Secretary exited the hall and darted off to talk to the Ruling Councillors.
He does not mention either that the wolf was given by the Alexander Guard itself. Indeed, the centuries old Guard regiment did not recognize the authority of the Ruling Council overthem and refused to leave the Winter Palace. And so the stand off began, the Palace was isolated, the Alexander Guard Honourary Regiment de facto branded as 'traitors'. The problem was that the Guard has the best Wolves of all the nation, since the Black Wolf is a symbol of the Shakhovskoy Dynasty and wolves are on active service within the Guard. But they nonetheless chose the best cub of the best mother and handed it in to the representatives of the Ruling Council. In return, the blockade of the Winter Palace was called off.
All these events were totally unimportant compared to that overwhelming feeling that was coming from that woman as she stroke the pup and the little wolf licked her hand slightly. They faded as shadows in front of light.
The General sighed as the memories ran through his head.

- Our task has been accomplished and unless Her Imperial Highness requests anything from her humble servants, we will ask permission to rejoin with other delegates outside and will not not infringne on more of your valuable time.

However, Agwene speaks first by right. "If you have a system of caste, perhaps you will understand more of our diversity than you realize..." <snip>

Cheops nods a little. "In fact, there are one hundred distinct fairy races in the Resurgent Dream. Combined, we make up one fifth of her population."
The AdminCoordinator bows her head in a decent approximation of a humanoid nod. "I see. We are, perhaps, both more and less defined in the roles of our castes. Each of the subsets of the panNorm evolved over the fifteen million year journey of Alpha Hive to Eärendil to perform various functions aboard Alpha Hive. My caste, the Blues, were responsible for utilizing Alpha's central intelligence, navigation, and operating Alpha's computers. As such, we act more as administrators than leaders, organizing overall structures for optimum efficiency. As the technicians of Alpha's sensors, we are also the pure scientists of the panNorm.

"The Reds, like this one here," she indicates her spiky crimson cousin with an idle wave of one claw, "were responsible for the operation of Alpha's machine shops and engines. Their chitinous armor increased in volume and durability, and over our regrettable years of interniecine conflict they further split into the Soldier Reds, like this one here, and the Engineer Reds, like the LandCoordinator. They are better with the operation and design of machinery than we are, and act as the panNorm engineers and large-scale technicians and builders. Soldier Reds are mostly muscle and combat instincts, and so they are our warriors."

The Soldier Red nods, no scents out of the ordinary. It is the simple truth.

"The Greens evolved in the hydroponic gardens of Alpha's null-gravity core and are our ecologists and farmers. We did not bring any, for they are almost too fragile to withstand this planet's gravity. While their mobility can be aided with power-assisted waldos and wheelchairs, it is still too dangerous for them to be in crowded areas. The Minis, by far the most numerous of the panNorm, evolved to be the technicians of our delicate machinery and computer systems. They are somewhat simple in thought, but they are excellent at problem-solving and repairing minaturized components. Each subset of the panNorm has its own Queens and thus its own reproductive self-sufficiency, and each subset is internally organized in its own best interests, but our skillsets have become so specialized that we must work together for the panNorm to thrive.

"Thus, our caste system is oriented more towards the delegation of actual professions than a hierarchy of power. I am the overall coordinator of the administration, but each subset has its own coordinators to oversee its own operations. As such, my sister Blues are not natural leaders as much as they are natural bookkeepers. Also, as we are so specialized, we do not 'tend' to be in any branch... we simply are." She chuckles softly again.

* - * - *

"Whether enjoyed as decoration or ah ... for those with more of a sweet-tooth, those sugar creations can be rather entertaining. Please, help yourselves. The majority of them will go to waste if not, no doubt."
If the two insectoids had eyeballs, much less eyelids or ocular muscles, that allowed them to do so, their eyes would grow wide with joy. As it is, they simply buzz their maxillae happily. The Red LandCoordinator fiddles around with its harness, finally extricating her translation cube from its loop and lodges it into her mandibles. She finally bows low in an oddly quadrupedal way while the Mini TechCoordinator performs a similar motion on her shoulder.

"We're honored, comrade, by your invitation. It is not often we meet others with a keen sense of the... peculiar utility of sucrose. It's easily digested and an efficient source of energy." Raising back up to eye level with Pacci, she looks over the crowd without using her head.

The Mini likewise finds her translator and speaks with a tinny yet not quite squeaky synthesized voice. "If the sugar plates are in use, then we will content ourselves with the sugar fruit. We are much obliged by your hospitality."

Nodding, the Red reaches out a long arm and picks up a truly candy apple. "I'm afraid we might be lacking in our manners. I am LandCoordinator 86920 of the Red Mother of Us All," she places a free manipulator on her thorax, "and this is TechCoordinator 41899 of the Mini Mothers of Us All." She indicates the gray insect with that same hand before extending it to Pacci. "I coordinate Beta Hive on Eärendil and we're glad to meet some of my more distant neighbors that we've heard much about. How goes the work, comrade?"

Aleinna wasn't surprised by the impressive tact and display of political skills that Nathicana showed in her speech. She applauded the woman in a shy and calmed manner, as she usually cheered a good performance, then realized that indeed politics in a country like the Dominion probably were more baroque and Byzantine than even the bizarre ways of the Aelosian court. Having hundreds, probably thousands of influences from different political forces, from the ancient aristocratic families to unions, taking into account the church, the criminal families, called "mobs" by the Nightfearers, and the military, amongst many others.

The Aelosian Marquise realized that such a task was probably even over the skills of the talented Aelosian courtiers, not used to such variety and different pushes from every side. Only the Plaza was already a show of how heterogeneous was the Dominion in pouplation and influence forces. Suddenly her own mind was overwhelmed by the inmense and complex political actions that such a country needed to function and to stay united.

Now I realize why this woman was picked as a mentor for the Princess. This requires a talent above average to mix all these people together and unite them to achieve their goals. Humans indeed are amazing, I hope that some day the rest of my people realize this..., she told to herself, as she finally watched her bodyguard still trying to pinpoint the location of Alkanphel as she ordered him.

"Let it go, Alain. There is plenty of time to meet the maia, let's go to enjoy something really worthwhile, like a glass of wine, or a nice dance", said the noble, placing the fine crafted mask over her face to avoid being easily identified as an elf. The exquisite mithril piece, adorned with inlaids of white gold and feathers from the strange birds of the Craftworld's artificial forest, mimicked the features of a hawk, her favourite animal and the symbol of her House, the silk hood that fell in the back of the mask covering her ears and her hair.

Surveying the scene in front of her, she looked for a place where she could hear some music and probably enjoy a dance, her bodyguard following her closely...

Agwene blinks in faint surprise, taking a moment to ponder what the ants have said. Fortunately, Cheops follows what his lady does not. "Your misunderstand, Admincoordinator. It is natural, given that we only spoke of the roles of sidhe and satyrs. You see, only the sidhe gain status from their place in society because their task is to lead. Yet, the division is firmly based on tasks. Of the nine main fae races of the Resurgent Dream, we have sidhe and satyrs, one race of crafters, one race of forgers, a jester people, a race of warriors, a people of savage fighters, information gatherers, and another of storytellers. These nine make up nineteen twentieths of the fae in our empire and thus 19% of the total population. The other one hundredth is divided among 91 other peoples, all extremely rare. I hope that is enlightening."

Maile pauses a moment, considering. Then she smiles gently, seductively. "I think I would rather like to join you, Your Majesty, if you'd have me. How are you enjoying the celebration?"

Agwene blinks in faint surprise, taking a moment to ponder what the ants have said. Fortunately, Cheops follows what his lady does not. "Your misunderstand, Admincoordinator. It is natural, given that we only spoke of the roles of sidhe and satyrs. You see, only the sidhe gain status from their place in society because their task is to lead. Yet..." <snip>
The AdminCoordinator nods again, antennae gently waving. "I understand, but my point does remain, albeit lessened--you do have a leadership caste beside task castes. Such a scheme would be... unsuccessful in the panNorm due to our history." Another chuckle, this one perhaps more wry. "It does pose an interesting line of query--could you tell us more about your history and culture? I touched upon ours in my explanation of our castes; I can explain further if you wish."

"Please, no servants here. You are my honored guests, and whatever hospitality we can offer is yours. My time is best spent in such efforts as this - believe me, it has been my pleasure. Thank you again for your kind words, your magnificent gift, and for your attendance here today. I hope that the remainder of your stay will be a pleasant one, and that this will not be the last time our peoples have the opportunity to meet," Nathicana says, rising slowly to her feet, careful not to disturb her new companion any more than necessary.

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

Pacci returns the bow, curious in the extreme about these beings he had heard so much about, yet til now, had never met.

"It is my pleasure to make the offer. Making edible art is an old tradition, really - such displays often referred to in some circles as ah, sotelties. As I said, please, help yourselves. I doubt very much entire plates, fruit sculptures and all, would be much missed. These things have been set out for the enjoyment of our guests, and it would be unforgiveable to deny them such simple hospitality as this."

The older man smiles, accepting the offered hand without hesitation, rather taken in by the experience as a whole, with his usual enthusiasm for the new. He nods to each as they are introduced. "Leandro Pacci, Dominion Minister of Science. I regret that I was not in attendance during your summit on Eärendil, having at the time, ah, a rather involved project I was overseeing. One that, in fact, I am still overseeing, actually. A definite pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, after all I have heard of your miraculous arrival, and ah, dare I say, wonderfully unique society."

He gestures idly at the surroundings with one hand, shrugging slightly. "Aside from today's festivities, things, it would seem, go on much the same as they always do. Always new things to discover, and of course, more work to be done ... but enough of that. How fares the panNorm in their new home? I trust that the ah, arrangements so long in planning have worked out for the best?"

Agwene speaks eagerly. "Our people came into the world one century ago. We did not evolve nor were we created here. We came from elsewhere but we do not remember the nature of our origin. The first arrivals sought to enslave the humans already living in the land, dividing it into six kingdoms. Through a combination of omens, politics, and force of arms, my mother rose to be High Queen of all six kingdoms, officially forming the empire. One of her first acts was to abolish slavery throughout the land. My people are...very interested in learning more of our true origin."

Sudani turns his head and glances over his shoulder at the woman, poking his elbow into Dash's ribcage a moment later, who stops mid-sentance to follow suit. Hatling a few steps ahead of Alkanphel and the two women, they watch the three, horribly interested in the proceedings. Sudani winces as he looks over the new arrival, conversing in hushed tones with his companion in the Haradrim tounge.

Alkanphel chuckles. "The blame is most surely mine," he insists. "Blinded by the prospect of orderves and even further distracted by my new companion," he says with a slight bow of the head towards the woman on his arm, "I was certainly not paying quite enough attention to those around me. I don't usually stumble over women in a large crowd, but it's been known to happen under particularly extenuating circumstances." He grins again. "You're more than welcome to join with us if you wish, unless you have some pressing obligation?"

Pat chuckles politely at Alkanphel's acknowledgement, and smiles warmly at the girl. "By all means, we could make a grand time of the night, a warlord and his ladies. Surely running about in this crowd has left you parched, and there is so much to see and to do here!"

She smiles winningly at the warlord. "If we wish to indulge ourselves on the hospitality of our most gracious hostess, I imagine we had best make haste." Another musical chuckle. "I fear that otherwise the ants may make off with the best bits. Fascinating creatures, if a bit unsightly. Truly amazing, isn't it?"

Maile relaxes a little at Pat's words, laughing lightly. "That sounds charming. Though, perhaps I should introduce myself first. I am Maile Carey from the Empire of the Resurgent Dream." She inclines her head.

"Aside from today's festivities, things, it would seem, go on much the same as they always do. Always new things to discover, and of course, more work to be done ... but enough of that. How fares the panNorm in their new home? I trust that the ah, arrangements so long in planning have worked out for the best?"
"We should certainly hope so--we've been working single-mindedly towards that goal for about four hundred third-world orbital cycles. It is still dangerous to venture out unprotected, but Beta Hive is thriving." There is no small amount of pride in the synthesized feminine voice.

"I'm afraid that learning for its own sake is more of cousin SciCoordinator's interest, but if we can help you in your own interests so much the better. It is the neighborly thing to do, no, and the least we can do in repayment." She indicates the false fruit in one hand. "I do know that cousin AdminCoordinator is interested in speaking to your new chief breeder--our congratulations there."

Agwene speaks eagerly. "<snip> My people are...very interested in learning more of our true origin."
"We have assisted with archeological efforts before," the Blue muses, "and perhaps, if you are interested, we can assist again? We do not have much history here ourselves, but we do have resources and friends with history we do not that may have useful information."

Butah amost choked on the liqour, "Chancellor!" He glared at Walters through watering eyes, thumping his chest to clear it.

Walters, seeing Calabrese break off from the cluster of diplomats and make his way towards the three waved cheerily, grinned and quickly slipped into Old Madrigan. The language was about as dead as they came, having been invented by an insane monarch nearly seven hundred years ago and now only practised by the odd eccentric scholar and the entire Slutbum Wallah diplomatic corp. They found it useful during negociation, since even the most dedicated counter-agent would rather gnaw off his own arm than spend several months with the nearest Slutbum Ambassador in an attempt to learn the language.

"Yes, Chancellor Cesare Calabrese. Important man, considering he has yet to find a reason to hate us." Walters blurted, trying to hide his hurried instructions by pretendin to scratch his nose. "Of course you'd know all this already if you'd bothered to read the notes I sent." He added reproachfully.

"It was forty-eight pages long, man. You think I have that kind of Ah Chancellor! How excellent it is to meet you at last, we're in awe of your work back home. I hear they've appointed a special proffessor at Madrigaz University just to cover your contributions to statesmanship." Butah gushed, shaking the man warmly by the hand. "Please, stay a moment and allow me to introduce you to my delegation." He brought his arm around the Chancellor and drew him towards Walters and Tolkingham.

"This is Lord Ambassador Timothy Walters-"

Walters smiled and nodded deferentailly, "This is quite an honour for me, Chancellor. Usually they keep me locked up in a cell in the Government Buildings." The three men chuckled at the joke. Not that it was a joke. This was the first time Walters had been allowed outside in the last two years. "They only brought me along because I had the greatest pleasure of meeting the Dread Lady herself on one previous occasion. She carries the responsibility beautifully don't you think? A very strong-minded woman." Not just strong minded either. Walters' had been hospitalised for a fractured arm after last meeting the Dread Lady.

Butah kept smiling, "And this is my Cultural Attache Tolkingham."

Tolkingham bowed deeply with a flourish, "It is my most esteemed pleasure to meet you, dear sir. I do humbly apologise for the absence of our Ambassador to your country. He assured us that he would be here but we haven't seen hide not hair of him all day. I can't concieve what he's thinking of."

-Some Miles Away-

Ambassador Aamon-Townhope stuggled hopelessly against the bonds that held him to the chair. His mouth was gagged, he could barely see in the dim lighting and he could tell that his freshly-pressed tuxedo was creased to hell by the ropes. Not to mention spattered with blood.

Three heavy-set men stood above him, sporting the flames and fist tatoos of the Dregruk Elites. They cracked their knuckles menacingly. "We're going to ask you some questions, Mr. Ambassador. And you're going to answer with the truth. Because we'll know if you're lying. We don't like lies, do we Clarence?"

The shaved gorrilla addressed as Clarence grunted non-committaly as he caressed his freshly-polished combat knife.

He leaned in, "Now Mr. Ambassador, General Granite would like to know where you've put those controversial little tapes of yours. Well?" He gripped Aamon-Townhope roughly by the bow-tie.

"Um.. Luke?" One of the three spoke up.

"What?"

"Shouldn't you take the gag off first?"

Agwene nods a little. "I believe one of our kingdoms is hosting an international effort to investigate out origins at present, if you truly are interested."

Tsume weaves carefully through the growing crowd, careful not to accidentally brush his wings or tail against anyone, and being extremely careful to mind his talons around so much expensive finery. There are certain people the six foot long reploid dragon takes great care to avoid- Carlos obviously, and Alkanphel, though for reasons unknown.

Ultimately, the black dragon winds up near the tables, sipping at a power cell that the Dominion had imported for the reploid guests in attendance, moving to join Pacci and the spacedy ants. "Ah, I hope I'm not intruding- it's getting quite crowded." He bobs his head in that sinuous dragon bow, though he keeps his wings tightly furled against his back. "Pleasure to attend the festivities today, this is certainly a great day for the Dominion."

The drake looks at the ants for a long moment. "... I am terribly sorry, but I have yet to reach a point where I don't get the panNorm mixed up. I'm Tsume, from the Shogunate of Reploid Productions, and if we have already met before, I apologize again. I assume things are going well with settling on Eärendil?"

With a polite nod to the departing Taraskovyans, Rene entered the Dread Lady's - Imperatrice's, now - study, followed by Kjathen-Yseult and, finally, Ktoriach. Rene had taken the gift from him a few minutes earlier. It wasn't all that heavy - the Tsarainese smiths had wrought well.

(actually, she'd had three seperate master-smiths working on the gift so as to be able to pick the best ones - but nobody needed to know that.)

"Nathicana, dtakha ktou*," she said, smiling brightly, "Please allow me to congratulate you upon your recent ascencion - it is always an occasion, I think, and one we Tsarainese have not celebrated sufficiently ourselves." (she didn't mention the fact that they'd had three opportunities to do so.)

"I have for you a gift, if you will accept it - from Clan Seingult to Clan D'Aquisto, as it were."

Rene held out the gift, deftly unrolling the dzakhe** cloth around it (the thickly embroidered tapestry, stitched with line upon line of text in the jags-and-curves of the Sekhel alphabet, extended down to pile on the carpet) to reveal a pair of klrsukali, fine single-edged damascene blades just a few inches short of two feet long. D'Aquisto is etched, in the Sekhel alphabet and the Roman, along the steel of each.

OOC: Language notes.
*Dtakha ktou: "my friend", with a feminine gender suffix -a.
**Dzakhe: An embroidered tapestry used to record the deeds and whatnot of an individual, usually hung on a wall somewhere. Nathicana's is quite long, hee.

"An honor, my Lord. Archbishop Giovanni Battista. In truth, we do have a representative from the Vatican - one Archbishop Emilio Arrivabene Valenti-Gonzaga, staying here in the Dominion as Apostolic Legate. Now, granted, I haven't seen him here so far, but all things are possible," he says, gesturing around the open area. "It is a large place, after all. I admit, we were a bit disappointed that the Church was not included in a more, shall we say, formal capacity, but all things considered, I see it as a step in the right direction."

The Landgrave nodded at the statement. "Well your Excellency, modern royalty does face the need to support all religions of their nations, as such the Church will perhaps never be as prominent in such matters as it once was. Of course, I am afraid my family helped start things along that path.*" And she is stating that she has the sole right to crown herself. Not by right of God but her own personal might. the nobleman thought as he looked back towards the palace.


He becomes aware of Jill and blushes profusely. "My dear lady, my apologies. I'm afraid my mind was elsewhere. If I may, William, Landgrave of Wittelback - the Guanyan Ambassador to the Dominion, Jill ... I'm afraid I am not familiar enough for a more proper introduction."


When the Ambassador appears, the nobleman bows at the introduction. "Enchanted, I was just introducing myself to his Excellency as a good Catholic should at times such as these."

*****
Lord Windmere watched the Chancellor go over to the man who had been snapping his fingers like a servant. Great, just great…. he followed at a discrete distance waiting for an opportune moment to ask for an audience with the new Empress.

(*RL History note: The Wittelbachs were partly responsible for the Thirty Years war and the rise of the modern nation-state.)

The drake looks at the ants for a long moment. "... I am terribly sorry, but I have yet to reach a point where I don't get the panNorm mixed up. I'm Tsume, from the Shogunate of Reploid Productions, and if we have already met before, I apologize again. I assume things are going well with settling on Eärendil?"
"Don't worry, comrade--there's not much that differentiates us even to ourselves." The Red emits a chuckle from her translator box, then extends a hand, bony manipulator claws extended. "LandCoordinator 86920 of the Red Mother of Us All, overcoordinator of Beta Hive on Eärendil. Things are going quite well, and all is proceeding apace. How goes the work in the Shogunate? Harvests still plentiful and labot still needed?"

Maile follows Pat's gaze to the ants, brown eyes widening. The woman takes a few steps back, almost tripping over her quite tight black dress. She speaks in a hushed whisper. "I've never seen such creatures. Are they friendly?"

Agwene nods a little. "I believe one of our kingdoms is hosting an international effort to investigate out origins at present, if you truly are interested."
"Outstanding. We would be quite interested in supporting that effort, if you would allow. Given that we have an entire caste dedicated to absorbing knowledge for its own sake..." The AdminCoordinator twirls one manipulator lightly in a copy of the humanoid gesture for things generally moving on, leaving the rest unsaid but hopefully understood. "If you are interested, we are now going through the logs of Alpha's voyage--fifteen million years of evolution observed. Perhaps there would be some information there useful to you, or at least interesting?"

Agwene shrugs. "I am not a scholar of such matters. I am sure King Frederick, one of my mother's vassals, would be rather interested in such things. He loves all knowledge. However, few believe we evolved."

Piazza San Bernardi, Devras, DLN

D’ron had recovered from his near choking when the Guardsman noticed the two panNorm coming up on the other side of the table. He took a step towards D’ron, who chose that moment to direct Lesley out towards one of the areas cleared for dancing.

Andrew relaxed for a moment, and then kept his eyes searching for threats. He would point out the space ants when they returned from their dance. In the meantime, he glanced longingly at a drink of punch, but shook his head, bringing his attention back to his charges as they danced like two carefree children.

Somewhere in the Old City, Devras, DLN

Cortana weaved her way quickly through the narrow streets and old buildings, her practiced eye memorizing every inch and comparing it to a library of information she possessed. She paused, staring slightly at one building, which seemed to defy natural laws in the formation of its columns.

A voice spoke behind her. “I’m much more in favor of the Ionic style, myself.”

Cortana turned her head politely to the woman standing beside her. “I prefer Corinthian, but this seems to be an amalgamation of all three classical styles.”

“Two blocks north, turn right. Third doorway.” Cortana inclined her head in acknowledgement of the directions, then continued to examine the column, raising her hands to compare the lines, then smiled, appearing satisified.

She followed the directions quickly, and knelt before a small child, who grinned up at her. “Hello,” she said in Italian, producing a Federation-standard issue candy bar from no where for the child. As the child took the candy bar, she replaced it smoothly with a data chip, and Cortana smiled, before ruffling the child’s hair.

Another moment of smiling, and the child, after staring at her for a moment, tore open its candy bar and began to eat, looking away. She rose, and hurried towards the airport to collect the gift for the Dread Lady. It would not do to be late at all.

Piazza San Bernardi, Devras, DLN

D’ron and Lesley finished their dance, and as they returned to where Andrew was standing, D’ron suddenly grinned, apparently spotting the two panNorm members before Andrew could point them out. And the reploid. Two types of beings he had never met. “Andrew, get yourself something to drink. Even of nanofabric, that uniform has got to be hot.”

The Guardsman nodded sheepishly, looking near ashamed to admit his weakness. “Yes sir, that would be nice.”

D’ron smiled. “I’m just gonna go talk with the nice sentients over there,” he nodded in the direction of the panNorm and the Reploid. “Get yourself a snack and a drink. We’ll be alright for a second without you.”

Andrew nodded. “Yes, sir.” He moved towards the table, taking care not to spill anything on his uniform, as D’ron and Lesley moved towards the group growing around the panNorm, politely inserting themselves into the conversation, but not managing to interrupt, nor appear to be easedropping, merely waiting on an opportunity to introduce themselves.

Maile blinks once more as a Drake joins the panNorms. She looks to the Maia questioningly, confusion in her eyes.

"Don't worry, comrade--there's not much that differentiates us even to ourselves." The Red emits a chuckle from her translator box, then extends a hand, bony manipulator claws extended. "LandCoordinator 86920 of the Red Mother of Us All, overcoordinator of Beta Hive on Eärendil. Things are going quite well, and all is proceeding apace. How goes the work in the Shogunate? Harvests still plentiful and labot still needed?"

Tsume accepts the hand(or hand-equivilent)shake, mindful of his pointy stabby talons. "Glad to hear it. Things are going as well as to be expected in the Shogunate." He chuckles slightly. "Sugar has become quite the leading export recently- producing it has done doubly well in providing jobs for the Um Lizaan refugees the Shogunate is hosting."

The drake pauses for a moment in thought. "Come to think of it, Queenie has plans on the table to build a third orbital station sometime soon- we may seek your assistance in the endeavor."

Maile follows Pat's gaze to the ants, brown eyes widening. The woman takes a few steps back, almost tripping over her quite tight black dress. She speaks in a hushed whisper. "I've never seen such creatures. Are they friendly?"

Pat responds to the whisper in kind, with a slight giggle like a school girl. "If they weren't friendly, I doubt that they would be in attendance. They are from the panNorm... space ants living on Venus. Fascinating, in a mildly grotesque way, are they not? I heard they travelled in space for millenia before getting to Sol... I can't imagine how anyone could make such a long voyage!"

Maile nods, relaxing a little. "Thanks." She looks briefly to the three men, shifting her arm a little before looking back to Pat. "That's pretty interesting when you think about it. What would it be like to be out there in the void with nothing and no one for so far around? By the way, I don't think I caught your name."

Agwene shrugs. "I am not a scholar of such matters. I am sure King Frederick, one of my mother's vassals, would be rather interested in such things. He loves all knowledge. However, few believe we evolved."
"Still, it would be a unique endeavour to see it happen, no? It may turn useful if such technologies are within your power." The AdminCoordinator offers something approximating a humanoid shrug. "The offer remains open to you. Additional computing power and minds for analysis will be helpful, if nothing else. Perhaps there are other ways we can further interact and learn more about each other?"

The drake pauses for a moment in thought. "Come to think of it, Queenie has plans on the table to build a third orbital station sometime soon- we may seek your assistance in the endeavor."
The Engineer Red chuckles heartily. "Outstanding. We have quite a bit of experience in spaceborne facilities, comrade, and would quite enjoy assisting such a valuable partner in this. You would benefit from no less than fifteen million years of space habitat experience--certainly that sweetens the deal somewhat, no?"

The Mini giggles a little bit at the weak attempt at a pun. Humor is not a strong suit of the panNorm, but they try. It seems to be effective when others use it...

Maile nods, relaxing a little. "Thanks." She looks briefly to the three men, shifting her arm a little before looking back to Pat. "That's pretty interesting when you think about it. What would it be like to be out there in the void with nothing and no one for so far around? By the way, I don't think I caught your name."

Pat eeps and looks sheepishly at Maile. "A thousand pardons, where are my manners? I am Patricia Christofer-Aina Keeari the Third... though everyone shortens it to Pat- t'is far more gentle on the tongue, I suppose. And certainly far less of a mouthful." The woman chuckles, brushing a stray lock of her hair from her face. "I think I read that the panNorm spent a good deal of the time fighting eachother... but I suppose even giant bugs get cabin fever and get cranky."

Agwene nods. "We welcome any contact you wish. I was sent here to establish contact with other peoples and cultures and I must admit that yours fascinates me. Do you know much of the world from which you originally came? We know of realms of dream beyond the mists, realms of magic and the dead but of other planets across the void we know next to nothing. I would know more of your culture. What is day to day life like?"

Cheops glances towards the food and drink, smiling. "Your Highness, perhaps our new friends would like to join their companions over at the food. I must say, I wouldn't mind a bite myself, and a bit to drink." He smirks lightly to himself, his eyes moving over the crowd, lingering on the attractive women and even a few men.

Maile shrugs her bare shoulders lightly, looking at the panNorm once more. "It is nice to meet you, Pat, even if I do lose any chance of attracting dance partners standing next to such a lovely lady."

Reaching the table and snaring some food, Gregor slips over to the pair of picinic ants and their companions. "I couldn't help but overhear your mention of stationbuilding, Lord Tsume, Ser Pacci, ah, LandCoordinator and TechCoordinator, I would assume? We're actually planning some new stations ourselves - quite a few rather large ones, in fact, scattered throughout explored space." Gregor gestures upwards with his cup. "Not terribly interesting systems, but I feel that its best not to keep all of our eggs in one basket. I suspect our engineers and planners could be very interested in PanNorm long-tierm sustainablility techniques, especially spaceborn ecology."

====

Meanwhile, Tarvi had gotten himself seperated, and while scanning the area for Gregor, spotted someone else. 'Well, if it isn't everyone's favorite dictator - wait, who's that with him?'' Frowning, he begins to make his way across the piazza towards his target. At first he tries to be circumspect, making sure that the man was who he thought he was, and that the other people really were with him. Then, throwing caution to the wind, he approachs them.

"Good afternoor, Fuhrer Quil'raya. Prince-Consort Tarvi Andivar, of Cetaganda. I hope you're having a pleasant afternoon. Who are this beautiful lady and handsome young man with you?"

"I would know more of your culture. What is day to day life like?"
"We are currently piecing together the culture of the Norm that we originated from in the high stellar density regions of the Magellanic Cloud galaxies adjacent to your own... our own, rather, now. They are the ones who built Alpha and stored their information on viral data storage, but the archives are expansive and Alpha's excess runtime is currently devoted to spooling off a daughter intelligence that will assist in the operation of Beta Hive. As such, the research into the historical archives is primarily manual at the moment, limited by the computing equipment we can spare to parse the data.

"Our day to day life... is work. Even now I am on a mission for the betterment of the panNorm. I, and the coordinators under me, analyze the needs of the panNorm as is registered by what could be argued to be our gestalt-mind caused by trillions of individuals in constant direct communications, and organize the panNorm in the ways that most efficiently meet those needs and move the whole in the direction dictated by necessity--that of expansion in living area to support our population; expansion in diplomatic circles, like now, to better the panNorm and its friends; expansion in technology and knowledge so we can better meet our needs and adapt more capably to new circumstances. That is, of course, the global view--from the 'personal' level, we live to work and support the greater whole. The health of the panNorm is our prime directive, our motto, our essence of being, essentially." The synthesized voice now carries a note of fervor bordering on zeal. "It is, to put it simply, our mission."

"Your Highness, perhaps our new friends would like to join their companions over at the food. I must say, I wouldn't mind a bite myself, and a bit to drink." He smirks lightly to himself, his eyes moving over the crowd, lingering on the attractive women and even a few men.
She can, however, take a hint. "Of course--I am certain that all this talking has dried out the membranes of your mouth." This is said in an easy, friendly manner like describing how dust makes people sneeze or how a healthy dog's nose is wet and cold. "It is something we must keep in mind, lacking such things. Besides, I must check up on the LandCoordinator and the TechCoordinator--I see they are talking," she notes without moving her head in the slightest, "and diplomacy are secondary functions at best to their constitutions. It would be unfortunate for them to overextend their limited faculties in that regard."

* - * - *

"I suspect our engineers and planners could be very interested in PanNorm long-term sustainablility techniques, especially spaceborn ecology."
The LandCoordinator bows again to the newcomer, apparently quite pleased with herself at becoming the center of diplomatic attention, sugar apple in manipulator hand quite forgotten. "We would be happy to help those who brought the Succession Wars to an end, Emperor Gregor Miles Horatio da'MacIntyre yos'Vetinari. I'm afraid the EcoCoordinator couldn't come because of all the crowds and the gravity, but we can relate that to her. I've heard the other Engineers talk about the need for rare heavy elements, fissionables and ultradenses like osmium and iridium. Perhaps you could arrange something with the AdminCoordinator--we certainly have enough Mini labor and raw materials to trade in, especially now that my mines on Eärendil are operational."

Maile shrugs her bare shoulders lightly, looking at the panNorm once more. "It is nice to meet you, Pat, even if I do lose any chance of attracting dance partners standing next to such a lovely lady."

"Oh, pfft." Pat waves her free hand dismissively. "There's plenty of men to go around, and I for one certainly don't object to sharing a bit. One must sample a wide variety of treats before settling down with a favorite dish, after all!"

Leaning lightly on the warlord, the redhead surveys the room. "And there are quite a few tasty treats milling about tonight, if I do say so myself. M'lord, I am sorely underinformed- who are some of these people? Colleagues of yours, mayhap?"

Gregor winces as the Coordinator spiels out his entire name and hold up his hand. "Please, Emperor Gregor is fine, or Emperor Vetinari if you must insist on formality. Yes, I'm sure we can work something out with the AdminCoordinators in a more formal diplomatic agreement. Our outsystem assests could likely supply the dense elements you need." Noting the candy apple, he grins the wide, tightlipped grin of a person experienced in Triumvirate diplomacy and business. "I can see that foodstuffs may also interest your people. I'll also make sure to ask Mastercrafter Ingolfson about the possibility of using a limited antigrav field to allow greens greater freedom of movement in near earth-gee environments. Perhaps next time the EcoCoordinator will not have to stay behind."

The LandCoordinator bows again to the newcomer, apparently quite pleased with herself at becoming the center of diplomatic attention, sugar apple in manipulator hand quite forgotten. "We would be happy to help those who brought the Succession Wars to an end, Emperor Gregor Miles Horatio da'MacIntyre yos'Vetinari. I'm afraid the EcoCoordinator couldn't come because of all the crowds and the gravity, but we can relate that to her. I've heard the other Engineers talk about the need for rare heavy elements, fissionables and ultradenses like osmium and iridium. Perhaps you could arrange something with the AdminCoordinator--we certainly have enough Mini labor and raw materials to trade in, especially now that my mines on Eärendil are operational."

Tsume bobs his head in greeting to the newest arrival to their conversation. "Well met, Highness. Perhaps a joint project may be in order, if we are all tossing around idea for new spacedy stations. Firefury-sama has yet to lay out what purpose exactly she wants Xoulod station to ultimately serve, but from what she has said thus far, I think she plans for the station to be built past Pluto, likely to serve as a hub port to various extrasolar colonies and to facilitate interstellar shipping."

The drake turns back to the spacedy ants. "In any event, the expertise of the panNorm would be most welcome on such projects."

The Hackers were late. No big surprize to those familiar with the nation; when your populace is largely made up of computer geeks and other people with such slacker tendancies, it rubs off on you, even if you prefer to always be on time. Nevertheless, the had managed to arrive before the ball, so it wasn't a total diplomatic faux pas. Of course, with all the people here, it was unlikely that anybody noticed.

Ambassador Marcus and President Victor Solis were dressed in impeccably tailored formal attire, their long Hyperborean frames looking especially good in their clothes. With them was Assistant Ambassador Rebecca Channing, from Marcus' office, dressed in a flowing evening dress, looking perfectly calm. The final member of their party was the EI Lazarus, who had no official capacity, and looked somewhat uncomfortable in his suit. Of course, he occationally looked uncomfortable in his own skin, probably an artifact from the years he spent without a body at all.

The four of them entered the room, casting their eyes to the myriad of guests, officials, servents and miscellanous people, Marcus and Rebecca pointing out various Dominion employees and diplomats to the other two before they moved into the crowd to start mingling.

Ruth looked a little nervious as she stepped off the shuttle and into the car provided by the Hacker embassy. This was her first diplomatic event. Indeed, this was the first time she had even left the confines of Mercury or Nod Station. Then again, she had only been online for a few weeks. She was one of three new intelligences created by Elijah to help parse out the multitude of tasks required to keep the Federated Colony running smoothly. As her personality developed it had become clear that she would be most suited for diplomatic functions, which explained why she had taken up residence in Nod Station, and why she was now here. Only Elijah had a spare avatar, and that was back in the Hack, deactivated for upgrades.

Like Elijah (and her two brothers), Ruth had a liquid-metal avatar, designed to change coloration depending on ambiant light and heat for power needs. On the surface of Mercury, she had a highly reflective silver body, as her power needs were easily met, and reflection was necessary to avoid overheating. At the ball room, however, she had adopted a much deeper, near-black color. Clothing was normally eschewed as unnecessary, but in order to avoid any potential offence, she wore a simple emerald green dress. She had always liked various green shades, probably because there was precious little of it available on Nod Station, let alone on Mercury itself.

Her pupilless eyes looked over the room, taking in all the available information, her processor storing it for future reference, while simultaniously pouring over it to pick up on possible cultural cues and idioms. Trial by fire... thanks, Elijah she mused, smirking slightly to herself.

Meanwhile, Tarvi had gotten himself seperated, and while scanning the area for Gregor, spotted someone else. 'Well, if it isn't everyone's favorite dictator - wait, who's that with him?'' Frowning, he begins to make his way across the piazza towards his target. At first he tries to be circumspect, making sure that the man was who he thought he was, and that the other people really were with him. Then, throwing caution to the wind, he approachs them.

"Good afternoor, Fuhrer Quil'raya. Prince-Consort Tarvi Andivar, of Cetaganda. I hope you're having a pleasant afternoon. Who are this beautiful lady and handsome young man with you?"

Smiling calmly Carlos extends his hand to the Prince-Consort and bows slightly. "Good afternoon to you too Prince-Consort." He replies and chuckles politely at the questions asked of him.

"Allow me to introduce to you my lovely wife Yvonne, a former resident of Treznor and now a permenant fixture in Iraqstan, and my heir and son Lidric." He says, pride obviously filling his voice when he pats his son on the head and smiles at him. "How did you find out mutual friend's ascention into the realms of royalty just now?" He asks conversationaly his hand slipping once more around Yvonne's waist.

“Ah! Ankanphel ‘Ancalagon,’” rang out a clear voice, sounding loud but only really loud enough to be heard by Alkanphel, his companions, and the speaker's own companions, ever so slightly like the accent of a stereotypical malicious Englishman, “Tyrant of Udûn, servant in chief to the Dark Lord of Angband, Morgoth Bauglir, AKA the Constrainer and the Black Enemy of the World. Tell me, have you attacked any innocent nations and carried their populations off into thralldom lately?”

Obviously having said that louder than was normal, the owner of this voice, one which the maia had not heard for many years, stepped forward towards him. A relatively tall man, though of course, he could adjust his height when he changed form, Mephet’ran still looked small compared to the woman – elf woman – on his arm. That however, didn’t matter much, as one could feel an almost tangible sense of majesty and power from him, something like the ‘aura’ Alkanphel prided himself on, but more subtle and invasive, it usually slipped under the radar completely. Behind these two followed a few others, not least the quite staggeringly tall Herufiriemmolië, garbed in black and for once only carrying a C’tan phase sword as visible armament. His gaze settled on Pat for a long moment and he gave a charming smile to Alkanphel, that seemed ever so slightly sinister.

“It’s been so long since I saw you last! Have your brought a squad of kamikaze uruks to this event too?” The lack of tact was quite appalling, it was as though he were aiming to be as blunt as Grond, Morgoth’s great war hammer, as he stood there looking at Alkanphel with that little smile.

Sirithil is of course with C'tan - she is the aforementioned elf woman... and for her part, she looks horrified... yep, even Sirithil, queen of Not Being Subtle, is surprised at quite so much lack of tact on the part of her companion. She just waits to see what will happen, for now, though.

Watching the various groups of VIPs forming and splitting like organic cells as they each 'mingled' with one another; conducting their business and making links with other nations, Adam concidered his own affairs over the cool beer before him. So far he hadn't made much of an effort to talk to others in the Piazza and his inaction may result in him missing oportunities. However, for the time being the Iuthian Ambassador relaxed, supping his beer politely as the others politely started and left conversations, circling around the very Piazza itself in a mission to speak those of importance to introduce themselves. The whole thing made for interesting observation if one had the patience and the eye for such a thing... but observation could only go so far. It was time Adam introduced himself to some of the others currently wandering around the room.

Getting up; Adam finished the remainder of his beer and looked around for people he recognised through inteligence files but had never met. He noticed a group in the ballroom area, one of them he recognised from the Most Glorious Hack. So far Iuthia hadn't made any real connections with the nation despite the fact that it is possible that they may become allies in the near future... pending the NDA's decision on Iuthia's membership into the alliance.

Politely intercepting part of the group, Adam sought to introduce himself to the President and his Ambassador, who had clearly gotten better tailors then the Iuthian Diplomatic Corps had.

"Greetings President Solis, If I may be so bold as to introduce myself; I am Ambassador Adam Tyson, offically representing Iuthia in this glorious event." Adam started, though he felt he had sounded a little too... official for his liking.

Gregor winces as the Coordinator spiels out his entire name...
"Understood, Emperor Gregor. Even after a few hundred years, the many and varied structures of endoskeletal personal designation systems are still a bit beyond us..." The Red offers a careful shrug, making sure the Mini sitting on her shoulders isn't bobbed about too severely. "Thank you for your kind offers--I'm sure the AdminCoordinator, far better versed in these things, can make something that works with you."

The drake turns back to the spacedy ants. "In any event, the expertise of the panNorm would be most welcome on such projects."
"If we can help, then we would be glad to," offers the TechCoordinator, switching shoulders over the top of the LandCoordinator's thorax in order to speak more easily with the artificial dragon. "I know our splinter hives that have been adopted by the Sakkra assisted with the construction of their facilities. If we can contact them, and we probably can, then we will have much more modern experience to share. We understand the Triumvirate has quite a few systems in common different from ours... interesting, intricate little things."

Agwene nods to the Admincoordinator. "Walk with me then, AdminCoordinator. I would be glad to tell you more of our people. We are very different. Our lives are based around dreams and magic, not science, though we do have some scientist. Most of them are staunch Aristotelians, however, and outsiders often tell me that that's no science at all. The human world is very enthused about a man called Nalton, Melton...Newton! That's it. Have you heard of him?"

Meanwhile, Datima trails behind, her eyes wandering the pavillion. Spotting Maile, she gives a faint shrug of annoyance and looks to Cheops. "Didn't Her Highness tell that girl to ready her costume? Though that does seem to be an interesting crowd she's in. One or two faces look familiar from the diplomatic folders you had me go over."

Cheops follows his companion's gaze and just facepalms. "Danu, please let her have the common sense not to get involved in that. For that matter, please let His Lordship and Her Ladyship have the commonsense to realize the girl's here to prepare garments, not represent our nation."

Maile, for her part, is totally quiet right now, moving next to Pat. Part of her is starting to regret accepting the Warlord's invitation while another part is rather excited by all that has happened. After a long moment, she whispers very quietly to Pat. "Do you know who the newcomers are?"

Nathi smiles warmly at Rene as she approaches, gently picking up the wolf pup and setting him on the soft cushion of her chair, scritching behind his ears before stepping forward to greet the Tsarainese leader.

"Why my friends think they need to bring me gifts when their presence here is more than I could have asked already is beyond me, mia amica cara. Believe me, if I could have gotten away with a quiet little ceremony, I would have," she says, her eyes widening as she looks over the beautifully-crafted blades, and the dzakhe they've been presented in. "Sweet Jesu ... sonno bellissima." Nathicana accepts them with quiet respect, bowing as she murmurs her thanks. Using one arm to cradle them, she runs her fingertips along the etched letters of one of the blades, shaking her head briefly and smiling.

"You've outdone yourself, Rene. Grazie ... bene grazie. I am honored to accept. Please, pass on my compliments and thanks to the craftsmen who forged them, and who created this beautiful tapestry."

She looks to the two who've accompanied the Arkhora, then back to Rene. "I hope your trip was not too tiring, and that you find our hospitality to your liking. Please, anything you need, don't hesitate to ask. I appreciate you making the effort to come all this way, and I'd hate for anything to be amiss during your stay."

"Eka ana za!" Rene replied, falling back into her native tongue and shaking her head - it is nothing. "It is customary to give a new-crowned ruler gifts, is it not? It may not be strictly necessary, but it is a mark of respect - and I do respect you a great deal.

"Quiet ceremonies have their advantages and their disadvantages - after all this, who is going to forget your ascencion?

"The klrsukali, well, I felt them fitting. As for the dzakhe, it records an individual's deeds - those we know of, at least!" she grinned; certainly there would be things they hadn't managed to find out to stitch onto the tapestry.

"And I shall definitely pass on your compliments - I'm sure the craftsmen shall be most pleased to hear them.

"As for our trip, we took the maglev train along the pipeline between my Ascendancy and your Dominion - it was not so onerous as all that, and your hospitality has been splendid. I am quite looking forward to the Masquerade tonight."

Both officers and the adjutant salute the Empress before leaving the room, leaving other delegates with their own turn to greet Nathicana. The adjutant leaves his burden aka oak chest on the floor near the wall and follows the officers out. The two officers nod politely to the Tsaraineese representative and they talk something over in native Taraskovyan, an ancient language that usually did not cross the boundaries of the Sisgardian Metropoly.

- Takhe, nathanul luot ugelekhit.
- Ikh, uitu kaitekh?
- Hakh… ma jukhane methet uk keth. Ni ta, Ithun?
- Eth-nethe… takhe, kakhenetre mith loya.

Vladimir does not comment the last replic by the Lieutenant. He simply sighs and wishes the young man luck. The aforementioned young man immediately dashes off into the general direction of the guests, while the General walks calmly through the crowds of guests, taking a drink off some waiter, the most loyal adjutant following closely behind.

Ithun, in the meanwhile, walks joyfully among the guests, trying to spot some young woman of his taste. After all, he is at the party to have some fun…

"I'm afraid that learning for its own sake is more of cousin SciCoordinator's interest, but if we can help you in your own interests so much the better. It is the neighborly thing to do, no, and the least we can do in repayment." She indicates the false fruit in one hand. "I do know that cousin AdminCoordinator is interested in speaking to your new chief breeder--our congratulations there."

"Oh! Oh yes ... yes of course, yes," Pacci stutters, in his usual manner when rather engaged or excited about something. "She ah ... let me think ... Calabrese. Yes, that's the man to see about setting up a meeting. I believe she has the Chancellor coordinating for her, you see. As for the rest, I'm just pleased to learn anything you care to share, really. Fascinating race," he says, then blinks as Tsume joins them.

"Ah! My Lord Tsume - a pleasure. Truly a pleasure." Smiling genuinely, returning the polite bow, then making ample room for the drake where they could all address one another easily. He draws back somewhat, listening to the conversation, taking the opportunity to study the ants more closely, though having the good taste not to be blatantly rude about it. His lips twitch slightly now and then in his habit of talking to himself, running notes and comparisons and observations over in his mind, and more than once, he reaches into his pocket for a notepad and pen that aren't there.

"Spa-spacebourne facilities?" he says, blinking, coming back to the conversation at hand, albeit a bit belatedly. "We've such things in the works ourselves, currently. Our engineers - and no doubt the Lady herself - would be thrilled at the opportunity to learn from those who've mastered the ah, arts." The arrival of Gregor only serves to fluster him further, and he drops the drink he's carrying in his effort to properly greet the Emperor. The glass, oddly enough, does not shatter. It seems to almost 'give', slightly, then bounce, twice, before Pacci swiftly ducks and picks it up, making as if to hide it behind his hands, not wishing to draw more attention.

"I-Imperatore! Il dio, sono spiacente," he begins, forgetting in his haste that he's rambling in his native tongue. As realization dawns on him, he blushes and shakes his head, setting aside his cup and straightening his jacket, then bowing deeply.

"My apologies, Emperor, and greetings. I ah ... yes. Um, the ah spacestations and such. Perhaps, I was just thinking that as milord Tsume mentioned, a joint venture or ah ... how to say, a well, not summit, but ... yes. Something of a cooperative learning effort might be in order?"

It is at this point he notices D'ron and Leslie, and what little composure he's managed to gather seems to go to pieces.

"Your Imperial Majesties ... I ... ah, mio dolce Jesu, I am so sorry - I didn't notice ... that is, I was trying to ... p-please. Is there anything you need? Anything we can do to make your stay more ... I mean ... scuse, per favore," he finally manages, retrieving his glass, and directing the attendant to fill it with some of the Chianti. He takes a slow, deep drink, sighs softly, then bows respectfully to the pair.

"Welcome to the Dominion. I'm only sorry that you have such a poor representative as myself to offer the greeting."

Stahlstadt District, Realspace

"A knife?" The voice is very British, and not a little snotty, and it usually isn't either. The unspoken "That's so very original, dear." might as well have been yelled at parade-ground pitch.

The reply slips into a nasal Erich von Stroheim whine. "A knife is a perfectly good gift, liebling. I like knives. She likes knives. You can never have too many knives."

Flicker-fast draw of paperthin, milky blade slightly too long for the wielder. "And it's a good knife. Still, does the Brigadier have any suggestions?"

A pause, and a quick, deliberate look. Renate smiles in delighted response, and slips from Stroheim accent to the mangled English that passes for language in the Territory. "Blood money from a Cambodian drug czar that we took to kill every Khmer Rouge east of the Mekong? Excellent!"

Three quick steps to her personal shrine, and a hand sweeps down one of the smallish gold bars piled in a bone-china bowl, among flowers and weapons and a skull. She looks at the bar, grinning at the stamped guardian lion. "You'll do."

Knife slices through armored skin, drawing blood before being resheathed, then she slips the gold bar into a pocket and walks off, laughing.

Cyberspace

Inside the simulated diamondoid tube is the smell of old libraries and ink and the writer's skin, of dry thunder and dust. Iregularities of goose-quill pen on ivory cotton paper, simple black ink.

Dread Lady,

I am pleased to hear from the intelligence community that you are doing well, and fondly hope that there are no tigers lurking in the grass.

It is my understanding that the Dominion will soon be celebrating a reform of government, and I would be honored to attend, as would some family members as far as it is possible for them to attend."

Here a brief note manifests itself, precise glyphs autotranslating into colloquial Italian.

with the obvious security considerations, i would ask as a favor that you forward the accompanying references to appropriate members of your national security community as procedure calls for bringing a lot of iron. also, since this note is inside another layer of encapsulation, a blood relation of a mutual friend will with a high degree of probablility be attending. i feel this is appropriate but there may be a risk of a very serious incident if this became obvious to some of our mutual acquaintances.

The letter continues.

I would not presume to bring business into the Dominion at this time, and so I would be greatly pleased to remain after the celebration and discuss such business with our mutual friend.

I remain,

Rvxjb v-n So-h~~~
Senior Member, TAB

That last, presumably, would seem to be Renate von Saucken's signature. It is quite atrocious, especially when contrasted with the neat handwriting.

Augmented reality, Earth/Rhea

The Senior Advisor's shadow overlays itself on a rather disturbing piece of realspace.

"Pervert." Renate's voice only addresses one of the people in the room. Doing otherwise would be seriously rude. It's clear enough that she has the access to know that her host is presently engaged with one of her pets.

"Advisor, I really think intruding like this is inappropriate." Guards Captain Servalan has an avatar appear in a comfortable chair as her body goes on doing what she likes.

"Speaking of rude, I'm opening talks to deepen TCPS relations with the NDA, with an eye toward membership."

Hyperalloy undernail blades are sharp enough to part skin and subcutaneous fat and draw little blood. The point of the matter is pain or, in this case, pleasure. Servalan's body and most of her attention are busy with the third person in the room. The avatar's blades pop out, slicing palms.

"So what do you want, Advisor?" Servalan takes every advantage of this being her private place, as her avatar leans back in the chair.

Renate looks her in the eye and grins.

"Certainly not putting your head on a stake for nicking Emperor Treznor's genes without asking. I just want parental consent for Trevor to visit the Dominion. Oh, and make sure he wants to. I've already signed off on providing him with accelerated training and full military augs."

Servalan doesn't even have to ponder, since von Saucken has chosen the or I f*cking kill you approach. She acquiesces with a graceful nod. "Will that be all, Senior Advisor?"

"Since I'm not on Rhea, yes..." Slow smile. "Ah, yes... I'd appreciate it if the Corporal were fit for fight and on Earth in ten days' time. And commend her on her handling of Leandra Cornelius."

Skin parts. "Oh, I will."

Devras Inbound

KG Werther de Goethe is disappearing ahead and above as Oggun and his consorts brake down toward Devras International. Broad flanks set to sport wide red peace stripes marring the airship camouflage, they descend.

It's quite the show, and most of the budget comes from the exercise accounts. Public relations doesn't figure into it, but the sight of that brutal, utilitarian slab of metal angling over Gilthoniel, flanked by the triangles of ecorts, several transporters and a shifting pattern of battle platforms does say something about design aesthetics.

The ships settle toward the ground with unsettling precision, thermal dumps shrilling in the Devras air, not landing but hovering feet over the tarmac. The dance of inspector and security goon begins, and soon sleek gravcars are headed toward the city.

Piazza San Bernardi

It takes Renate some effort not to grin ear to ear and whoop as the Dread Lady changes her social status. She does allow herself as much of a roar as can be hidden by the adulation of the locals.

Now, there are quite a few khaki TAF uniforms in the piazza, three of them bearing nametapes of note; energetic VON SAUCKEN, dapper KAVALIER and expansively masculine CORNELL. Their wearers' body language a lot more extrovert than that of a young woman apparently named WILKINS, harsh faced and apparently of the security persuasion.

Moving with some care to do things like clomp her feet and introduce extraneous motions, Renate von Saucken drifts over toward a point not far from where Mephet'ran issued his challenge. Originally her interest was more directed at the Warlord, but she does have a tendency to hear things.

[Yikes this is late, oh well.]

The Prince's party -which consisted of him, his fiancé (a Colonel in the Imperial Marines), and his two personal guards- was late to the coronation and missed all but the tail end of the Dread Lady's speech. Stefan hoped that nobody paid undo attention to their rudely late arrival, although his party's dress uniforms and the fact that they stood at parade rest while most others sat made that hard. Still, custom was custom and respect was respect, the Emperor would have his hide if his father found out that he had not obeyed either after such a display.

Once the Dread Lady had finished her part and left the balcony Prince Stefan sent once of his guards to retrieve mugs of beer for the four of them. In the meantime they found seats and Stefan began to take note of people he recognized, either those who were from allied nations or those that he recognized from the holos. He recognized the duke from Alcona, it was hard not to given the troubles with the FKC none too long ago. He also recognized the representative from Iuthia, although where from he couldn't remember. Two people in particular caught his eye, Lady Sirithil and Lord Alkanphel, the latter of which received a brief but particularly poisonous glare.

When Sirithil's escort, whom neither Stefan nor Imogen recognized, began baiting Alkanphel, Imogen's eyes widened. "My God, has this sassenach completely lost service of his faculties? I wouldn't be any more likely to provoke him than I would one of the High Justices, probably less."

Stefan had a chuckle at that, "Alkanphel? Are you kidding me? The man's probably going to think what this idiot's saying is humorous." The Prince turned to his second guard and said, "Ludvig, what do you want to bet superboy over there crack's up?"

Ludvig, a Captain in the SSG, which was the Imperium's special operations group dedicated to protecting the Emperor's family and other dignitaries, was never able to pass up a good bet and said, "20 dollars. I'll propose a bet myself, what do you want to bet that the good Dread Lady here's about this and comes storming out here to set them straight?"

Stefan frowned slightly in thought and said, "I'll bet 20 dollars for that possibility, she did lay down the law for this event before any of us arrived, they should know better than this. Anyway, let's sit back and watch what happens, this could become interesting."

Bastard smiles too much. Now, what in hell does he want?

"A pleasure," Calabrese says, smiling in a casually friendly manner as he shook the large man's hand. "Though I hardly think my simple efforts are worthy of such extranational attention." He quite firmly said nothing about his involvement in the last coup, nor his subsequent promotion on account. It was bad enough as much information was out as is, and he saw the Ambassador-General's comments as pointing out both his skill at managing to have kept his head, and his failure for outright taking the prize.

He nods to Walters, shaking his hand firmly, then pauses in recognition. "Ah yes, Walters. Gothicum. Quite some time ago, that was. No doubt Nathicana will be pleased to see you're still in one piece after all that, eh? Perhaps you'll want to extend your stay a bit, catch up on old times?"

Tolkingham recieves a nod of recognition and a handshake as well. "Likewise, my good man. What's this about an ambassador? I wasn't aware such an embassy had been established in the Dominion - or is that part of the reason for your attendance? I'm certain, if the La--Imperatrice approves, that we could make the initial arrangements for such, of course. Though the small matter of having certain members of her security staff still on the books as 'wanted criminals' might, shall we say, create some difficulties there."

Cesare delivers that last line with a broad smile at Butah, showing perhaps, a bit more of his teeth than absolutely necessary. Amazing how some cultural quirks rubbed off among allies.

"A ... technicality, I'm sure."

Battista nods gravely, offering up a soft sigh. "Well, time does have a way of changing things. Given our own history here I suppose it is to be expected. Still, renewing her trust in the oaths was reassuring at least. It is more than I expected from her, to be quite honest. She seems to have been more accepting ... no, that's not quite the right word," he says, pausing a moment in thought.

"She has paid more attention to the Church of late, and to my knowledge, seems to think highly of the new Legate. Our nation has been somewhat estranged from Rome for far too long, due to the political atmosphere of the nation. It has been good to be welcomed so warmly back into the fold, so to speak, and renew our ties there. I hope for more positive changes at the government level, but we shall see. God willing, all in good time. But, enough of this. It is good to meet with other good and faithful men. Would you care for some refreshment, or does your business here require something I could be of assistance with?"

"And you, my lady," he says to Jill. "Is there anything you stand in need of?"

From a distance, Minister Giraldi takes careful note of the exchange, the Archbishop's expressions. Just another connection to look into later, to assure himself Battista was not stirring up any sort of trouble.

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

Calabrese, meanwhile, is alerted via Spook about the Klatchian representative, and, holding up one finger, and murmuring a brief apology to the group from Slutbum Wallah, turns to Lord Windmere expectantly.

"Scuse, my lord. Is there something I can help you with?"

"She has paid more attention to the Church of late, and to my knowledge, seems to think highly of the new Legate. Our nation has been somewhat estranged from Rome for far too long, due to the political atmosphere of the nation. It has been good to be welcomed so warmly back into the fold, so to speak, and renew our ties there. I hope for more positive changes at the government level, but we shall see. God willing, all in good time. But, enough of this. It is good to meet with other good and faithful men. Would you care for some refreshment, or does your business here require something I could be of assistance with?"


The Landgrave nodded, "well so many things under the last Pope degraded badly. So many places have raised false Popes in the past few decades it is depressing." He stopped and beamed, "But this is to be a celebration in honor of your new Prince, or Princess rather. If you would be so kind as to join me in getting some refreshment and perhaps a toast to the renewal of the Church in our respective lands?"

He looked at the Ambassador, with a twinkle in his blue eyes and offered his arm to her.
"And perhaps you would care to join us in refreshing ourselves, Ambassador?"

As he stepped towards the refreshment table he said in a lowered tone to the Archbishop, "Your Excellency would you be so kind as to point out some of the notables of the Dominion Government? I am afraid my briefing on your homeland had a bit to be desired..."

***
The Adel was thrown for a moment when the Chancellor seemed to spin on his heel and address him directly. The young lord just blinked a few times and then seemed to throw himself back into mental gear. "Oh, yes…quite…Ah, His Lordship, Landgrave Wittelbach would like to know the appropriate time to present gifts to the Imperatrice on behalf of himself and the Federated Klatchian Coast."

Piazza San Bernardi, Devras, DLN

D’ron smiled, and reached out, putting his free hand on Pacci’s shoulder, a brief, reassuring touch, as meanwhile, he scoured his database to identify everyone present. “Don’t worry, you’re doing a fine job under the circumstances, Minister.” He turns to everyone else present. “D’ron Smith, and my wife Lesley, of the Federation of Sentient Peoples.” He smiles at Gregor and Tsume. “I know of you both, milord, your Majesty,” he nods to each in turn, “though I’ve never had the pleasure of actually meeting either of you.” He extends his hand to shake theirs.

As Lesley detaches herself from his arm to shake hands as well, D’ron lets his attention shift to the panNorm. “I greet you, future neighbors. I am happy all is going well for you in your new home.” He extended his hand to shake again, noting the manipulator arms.

His gaze returned the entire group as Lesley moved to shake hands with the panNorm as well. As D’ron began to speak again, she leaned in closer, slightly, and whispered to the panNorm. “What should we call you? He sometimes forgets courtesies when he’s in a new situation. He gets nervous, especially up close and personal with new people.”

D’ron was speaking louder, addressing everyone present. “A station out beyond Plutonian orbit, huh? If need be, I’m sure we could work out letting you use Shambhala station on the warp point out there for a base to build it.”

Alkanphel grins at the intentionally obnoxious C'tan Emperor and extends a hand. "Only if your companion happens to have a battery of cruise missiles hidden in.." he hikes his chin towards Sirithil, "that gown of hers," he counters with a snicker. " Which I doubt. And thus, I travel with no such escorts." He bows his head towards the Marshals and gestures to them vaguely. "Only these men, who are here more out of personal desire than anything else."

The Marshals instanly become visibly tense, their eyes becoming slits as they regard the new intruders. Sudani instinctively reaches for his weapon, halted a moment later by common sense. Both take a step closer to the pair, though not directly interposing themselves between Alkanphel and the rather tactless newcomer. Both men are aware that they probably couldn't win a fight against them, and for probably the first time in their lives hope the situation does not come to blows.

Alkanphel begins to walk towards the giant table of appetizers, somehow knowing without looking that Mephet'ran would follow, for he percieved his intent, petty as it was. "Sadly I must admit your thinly veiled attempt at separating me from those who have thus far chosen to seek my company is, regrettably, not a surprise. Noting how.. inseperable you've become as of late with the esteemed Elentarí, it would be impossible for me to follow suit," he notes, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. He grins again. "Though to be honest, the fact that it irritates you so is very gratifying," he adds, nodding to Patricia and Maile in turn. "It's a pity in fact that I'm likely to be forced to spend the duration of my time here bandying words with you, for I'm sure these two are much more worthwhile companions."

For a moment, he was silent, his expression cold, annoyed, the smile fading a little. It was the kind of thing that would normally result in a slight drop in perceived temperature nearby. Then the smile returned. This time however, it was something else.

Mirth.

First a snigger then an outright laugh came from the Jackal God as he un-entwined his arm from his lover’s, and began to follow Alkanphel over as the maia had indeed predicted that he would. “You are as ever,” he said, after a moment, “an admirable wit Al.

“Separate? I’d never wish to separate you from your charming companions,” he said, quite truthfully, casting a long glance over Patricia before continuing, “nothing nearly so petty. How have things been for you lately anyway?” he asked, “It has been such a long time since we last spoke.”

Butah glared. To think that a Chancellor, a mere bureuocrat, a petty pencil-pusher, a stripling of a statesman had dared even for a moment not only to impugn Butah's illustrious history in front of his underlings but to do so then to blow him off! Butah! The Ambassador-General, the ruler, the unqustionable dictator of a not-insignificant nation to talk to some whining aristocrat. The audacity! The nerve! The sheer shamelessness of the insult! Butah took a deep breath and raised his arms in preparation to grab the man by the collar and demand an apology.

Walters and Tolkingham, taking the opportunity to swiftly and simply avoid a major blunder, a brutal war and seventy years in a Dominion P.O.W camp, slipped their arms under Butah's, hoisted the man several inches off of the ground and quietly dragged him far away from the Chancellor. Butah's planned slew of insults and furious demand for an explanation died on his lips and was replaced with a shocked, stuttering release of air as his target was pulled out of reach and obscured by the ever-milling crowd.

"What the deuce do you think you're doing? Put me down at once!" The Ambassador-General managed finally, flailing his limbs ineffectually.

"Calm down, dear boy. Remember what happened last time." Tolkingham crooned, "That last little blunder started a war."

"Not with us, dammit man! And anyway, the Dregrukian General hit me first!" Butah stated, finally breaking free of the two men.

"Deep breaths General, think peaceful thoughts." Walters reached inside his waistcoat again, "Perhaps you'd like to try some of my pills?" He proffered the bottle to Butah.

"I don't want the damn pills." Butah snorted, knocking the bottle from the Ambassador's grasp. "And what was all that nicey-nicey stuff with the Chancellor eh? Extend your stay? Catch up on old times? Sounds awfully suspicious to me!"

"I'm sure he was just being polite, General."

"To hell with being polite!" Butah thrust a finger at Walters, jabbing the man in the chest, "You'll stay here as long as I tell you to! Find out just what these people are planning. I'm sure I saw a hint of something in that man's eyes!"

"Intelligence, maybe.." Tolkingham muttered, burnishing his waistcoat buttons on a sleeve.

"What was that?" Butah spun round.

"Oh, nothing sir. Nothing at all." Tolkingham smiled, wide-eyed and innocent.

"And that's another thing!" Butah began, "You twittering on about an ambassador we don't have! What kind of a fool are you?"

"Oh we have an ambassador sir, we just don't have an embassy." Tolkingham explained. "We have a small office over a bakery not far from here. You know how it is with budget cuts these days, we can barely afford the rent as it is. We tried to inform her Dread Ladyship's Government of his existance but the notices probably got lost in the paperwork."

Butah put a hand over his eyes and sighed heavily. "Just... one of you go and find me a glass of dandelion wine. I don't care who you have to kill to do it, or how many international laws you have to break. Just one glass."

Maile smiles a little, blushing as Alkanphel nods to her. She moves just behind the warlord and a little to the right, sliding an arm through his if allowed. She looks to Pat again and then to Siri, hoping to be enlightened as to who everyone is.

Cheops trots up to whisper briefly into Agwene's ear. Not pausing in her walk to the refreshments with the panNorm, the Princess does respond with a slight inclension of her head.

Mephet’ran glanced at the Sidhe woman, and smiled a little, thinking to himself, poor young, not that this meant much, just about everyone was young by his reckoning, thing, probably hasn’t the slightest idea what she’s getting herself into here.

To those more knowledgeable about her race, it was probably best that he kept away from her. Given the base element of his Living Metal avatar... ((Not sure how much you'll be playing the Iron thing, but still...))

Jill flashed a dazzling smile and took Wittelbach's offered arm. "I would be delighted, Landgrave." Polite, but dangerous. Had she been human, she might have mentally added the phrase "and don't forget it."

"As for your question, Your Excellency," Jill said, turning to Battista, "I am not in urgent need of anything at the moment, thought I must make a point of speaking with Cesare at some point today. Your asking is most appreciated, however."

Maile, actually a human servant of a sidhe princess and not a sidhe herself, smiles back at Mephet'ran, looking a little to Siri as well. It is clear, perhaps surprisingly, that she has no idea who either of them are. After all, there didn't seem to be a reason for her to recognize even the most famous international leaders. She was only supposed to worry about room and board and costume.

Maile smiles a little, blushing as Alkanphel nods to her. She moves just behind the warlord and a little to the right, sliding an arm through his if allowed. She looks to Pat again and then to Siri, hoping to be enlightened as to who everyone is.

Sudani and Hattori resume their trend of keeping largely to themselves, conversing in hushed tones. They keep a wary eye on the Elven Queen, occasionally regarding her with no small amount of disdain. Slowly, they seperate themselves from Alkanphel and his companions, not particularly caring to stick around Mephet'ran.

Alkanphel nears the table, quite content on having a woman on each arm. Sensing Maile's apparent confusion, he acknowledges her first before answering Mephet'ran. "This rather boorish man," he says with a grin, "is none other than Emperor Mephet'ran, one of my most open and vocal rivals. Our nations have something of a.." he pauses. "Sordid history. Quite the aged rivalry, we have," finishes the Warlord with a nod, shifting slightly against Maile as he maneuvers the three of them through the crowd.

"Things have been incredibly taxing," admits the Maia with a sigh, turning his attention for a time to the C'Tan emperor. "I've not been this burdened in at least an Age, to be frank. These are trying times." He raises an eyebrow. "You seem uncommonly jovial for someone who openly hates me so. A marked departure from our past dealings, to be quite sure."

Maile allows herself to lean against the Warlord slightly, flirtatiously. There are worse places to be than on the arm of one of the most powerful men in the world, even if it is just for one night. "It's nice to meet you, Your Imperial Majesty." She bows her head to the Ctan Emperor.

Agwene nods to the Admincoordinator. "Walk with me then, AdminCoordinator. I would be glad to tell you more of our people. We are very different. Our lives are based around dreams and magic, not science, though we do have some scientist. Most of them are staunch Aristotelians, however, and outsiders often tell me that that's no science at all. The human world is very enthused about a man called Nalton, Melton...Newton! That's it. Have you heard of him?"
The AdminCoordinator nods, following along with an easy scuttling motion, far smoother than would be expected. "We have--our analog has been lost to time, although hopefully our research into Alpha's records will amend that. It is my understanding, however, that Newtonian physics has been largely replaced by Einsteinian relativity and quantum mechanics... but that is beside the point. While I vaguely understand what you say, it is difficult, as those concepts are inherently alien to us and our extremely rational idiom. However, I see this as an opportunity for growth--the only way to understand that which is unknown to us is to study it further. Perhaps this chance meeting can be extremely beneficial to both of our peoples...?"

<Pacci implodes>
The LandCoordinator cants her head, slowly tapping her antennae together, these motions mirrored in miniature by the TechCoordinator on her shoulder. "Are you well, Leandro Pacci, Dominion Minister of Science? I am sure we can help with your station as well..."

As D’ron began to speak again, she leaned in closer, slightly, and whispered to the panNorm. “What should we call you? He sometimes forgets courtesies when he’s in a new situation. He gets nervous, especially up close and personal with new people.”
The Mini gets up from her position curled up on the Red's shoulder and sneaks closer to Lesley's ear, leaning over conspiratorially. "I am TechCoordinator 41899 of the Mini Mothers of Us All, and this Red is LandCoordinator 86920 of the Red Mother of Us All. If he is not trying to be formal, then the numbers and caste identifiers may be omitted--TechCoordinator and LandCoordinator, respectively."

Agwene nods. "I do hope that it turns out that way. What is this quantum relativity you speak of? I am afraid I have not before heard the term."

Torino and Pellegrino draw back slightly, not wishing to intrude on what could be potentially a delicate situation, all things considered. Best to just watch Tarvi and Carlos interact, and take note. In fact, Pellegrino lightly puts a hand to his ear, his brow furrowing slightly, murmurs a quiet word or three to Torino, and makes his way quickly through the crowd to another area where the C'tan Emperor, the Elentarí, and Lord Alkanphel seemed to be ... chatting.

God almighty, of all the potentially explosive mixes ...

He keeps himself at a respectful distance of course, coordinating with security to take action if need be. He isn't terribly surprised that things remain if not civil, at least non-physical - he has more respect for those involved than that, previous record notwithstanding on Alkanphel's account - but still. Better to be safe than sorry.

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

"But of course!" Battista says to both, falling in step next to the Landgrave and Guanyan Ambassador. "Let me see now ... Chancellor Calabrese, there," he gestures to the sharply-dressed man currently speaking to Lord Windmere. "He would be the man currently sitting second in command here in the Dominion. The Ministry now, is comprised of many, many different branches."

He scans the crowd as they walk, nodding and smiling pleasantly at Minister of Religion as they pass. "That gentleman is Niccolo Giraldi, overseer of the Ministry for Religion. Yes, surprisingly enough, they feel a need to have a ministry for nearly every little group it seems. The government here is ... extensive. The older gentleman there at the refreshment table speaking with the Reploid and panNorm is our Science Minister, Leandro Pacci - a good Catholic might I add, he and Minister Ravanelli, of Public Relations. Amazing she's gotten as far as she has, really ..."

Battista taps a finger along his lips, looking thoughtful. "Let me see ... Ah yes. Minister Donatello Calfa and his wife there, near the musicians - Finance. I know I saw both Pellegrino and di Medici earlier - Intel and Trade, respectively. I think I even caught sight of our Defense Minister at one point. Giancarlo Torino. I'm afraid I don't know all of them half as well as I should. As I said, it is a rather intimidating organization, our government ... that is to say, a large body of individuals. Should I see any others, I'll be sure to point them out to you."

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

Calabrese smiles reassuringly, resisting the urge to turn around to see the scene playing out behind him - and being relayed over Spook to the tiny headset in detail by security.

"Of course, my lord. I am sure she would be quite honored. Our relations with the FKC have been few and far between, dare I say, nearly non-existant on any official level. It is a pleasure to be able to play host to yourself and the Landgrave. Let me see now, as for the 'when' ... I believe there is only the Federation of Sentient Peoples' delegation before you, if you find that suitable."

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

Pacci laughs softly and smiles at D'ron, shaking his head. "I've been out in the field too long, I'm afraid. And I thank you, LandCoordinator. Please, forgive my stumbling. This," he gestures with his hand, "socializing, it gives my head quite a turn now and then. Grazie - you are all most generous for putting up with this foolish old man. And yes - yes indeed," he says turning to LandCoordinator again, "for your offer of assistance. I ah ... il dio, the advances your race has made ... it boggles the mind, truly. I only hope that I have the pleasure of working with you myself should it all, well, come to fruition."

The crowds were seething, and Annika did well to avoid being pushed and shoved during her first few moments on the pavements of Devras. Her eyes widened as she took in the splendor that Dominion. The buildings were like nothing she had ever seen, and totally alien when compared to the sterile, scientific holdings of the base that had called itself home for near all of her sentient life. Here every brick seemed steeped with age and experience, where the slight fadings of texture were celebrated, and not belittled.

She pushed through a mass of arms, legs, and swinging banners. The colours assaulted her senses, bright yellows, seething reds and burning orange that overloaded what little expression she had seen back home. Such vivacious displays were strictly against the protocol of the research facilities, and only on seldom trips into the city, usually on market day, had she been able to witness a feast of expression as was before her now. Yet it was this time she became self conscious of her appearance. Her already bland dress torn, and dirtied with her frenzied flight.

Her shoulders were grubby also, smeared with mud, and dirt. She gathered the remains of her torn hood, and pulled it over her tresses. She lowered her head, now no longer willing to expose herself as much as she had done so only moments past. Her eyes scanned the rows of packed shops and store fronts, and she frowned. Dipping into her coat pocket, she pulled the shining, silver card from its depths. Her mother had always told her it was to be used in emergencies, and not to be reckless.

She sighed, her lip quivering slightly. Her mother was never going to lay eyes upon her again.

Steeling herself, she made her way along the packed street as best she could, ducking the occasional scowl as a stranger took aversion to her tendancy to duck through legs and push into outstretched limbs. Finally, she found herself a welcome break in the crush, and lay eyes upon a small window display. Beautiful material adorned like a frame of a photo, and more wonders were duly framed so. Wonderful dresses, of materials exotic and colourful were on display for all to see and imagine. Stunningly complex yet benefiting from a design simplicity that attracted Annika like nothing she had seen before. Reaching the door, she reached up for the handle, and ventured inside.

She immediately stopped, the door barely having closed before the smell reached her nose. Incense burned brightly from several candle holders, a pine forest aroma that stunned her. She had never been allowed to even burn a candle, let alone incense of this beauty and deliciousness on the base. Anything deemed a fire hazard was strictly forbidden, and she had felt the wrath of her parents the sole time she had ignored these orders and tried to do so anyway on her own.

Suddenly, she was no longer alone. An older women, probably older still than her own Mother, presented herself in front, behind the wooden counter. She wore a smile, her eyes betraying a kindness and interest that no matter how many passed through these doors would not see dimmed. Annika walked ahead, stopping at the counter and planting her hands on the desk.

"Hello my dear." She began, "And what can I do for you on this day of celebration?"

Annika paused, her lips pouting slightly as she puts her thoughts into words, "I would like a dress, a pretty one please."

The older women laughed, a rich, pleasent sounding chortle, and crossed over to Annika's side. She looked over the girl, upwards and downards, before nodding. Her eyes rolled slightly as she seemed to think, and calculate something inside of her head that was altogether less difficult. A moment later, and she crossed to a nearby rack.

"I think this (http://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/annika_dress.jpg), would accentuate your lovely eyes." She motioned Annika over, and held it against her.

She scowled, taking into account the grubby appearance of the young girl, "However this will simply not do. I am no hairdresser or make up expert, but perhaps we should best attend to your needs elsewhere, and then we can whittle the dresses down."

Annika simply nodded, and the pair busied themselves long into the afternoon.




The Dominion docking official whistled as he once more took in the impressive sight that was the mysterious foreign craft. He had no official name or ident number for the vessel, but that in itself was nothing new in the Dominion, and as always, questions weren't wasked where answers weren't important. He once more walked around the craft, pausing as he reached the nosecone. Though it towered above him, he was suprised to find a name etched in red paint along its side.

Thunderbird. (http://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/Thunderbird_final.JPG)

He placed his hand against the silvery hull, and found what responded to his touch interesting in the extreme. Where he had expected simple, cold metal, he found a ceramic compound of sorts. Where his temperature was introduced, the hull simply remained at the room temperature. It was intriguing, and very provocative. Yet he backed away, respectful that unfortunately, he would get little chance to learn more of this amazing specimen. Returning to his office, he gleefully updated the records to include the newly discovered name.


Annika stepped on to the street, a wide smile beaming. Her hair was now no longer mismanaged and loose. Instead it was elegantly wound into four identical bunches, and entwined in a bun at the rear of her head. Gold laces secured the hairstyle in place, alongside a smattering of tasteful glitter-dust. She proudly showed the colourful, lavender-esque shade of the dress that now adorned clean shoulders. She was also pleased to see the crowds had moved upwards ahead, and she had yet more room to walk. It was then, that she found her mind wandering to what had been mentioned so many times before.

She dreamed of the coronation. She dreamed of seeing the princess Nathicana, and her beautiful she would look. She wondered if there would be flowers, precisely arranged explosions of colour and delicacy. Countless guests dressed as they would to the best of their ability, to see this wonderful lady and her illustrious coronation. Annika suddenly felt very silly, and small. She had thought nothing of her parents in this short time, her mind simply blocking out the events that had lead her to the Dominion in favour of this pleasent distraction. But now, dressed as well as she had been in her life, she realised just how unhappy she was.

She lowered herself to the pavement, burying her head in hands. Great sobs began to heave and wrack her shoulders. She weeped for her parents, whom would surely never again tell her they would be late for dinner, or busy in the science lab until late. She wept for the few friends she had left behind, she wept for her pets, her only true consistant companions, now left behind. She wept for all that she had lost, now alone in a foreign nation of which only the name inspired anything in her young mind.

And in this time of celebration and fun, one cried for all that was once and no more, and all that could never again be.

Pat's eyes go wide as small dinner plates at the subtle-as-a-brick exchange of words between Alkanphel and Mephet’ran. "G-greetings, m'lord, m'lady." She squeaks, curtsying briefly before opting to cling protectively to the warlord's arm, standing slightly back behind the maia and exchanging surprised looks with Maile. She leans over behind the warlord's back to whisper to the girl. "Quite the whirlwind tour of international rivalries, isn't it? All we'd need to top off the night is Lady Shogun Firefury from the Shogunate getting into a shouting match Carlos Quil'Raya of Iraqstan!"

Maile frowns a little, looking to Pat in confusion. She whispers back, trying to be discrete. albeit futiley so. "I don't know who any of those people are. For that matter, I still don't know who the woman with the Emperor is."

Tsume bobs his head in greeting, exchanging handshakes with the latest arrivals. "The finishing touches are still being put on the Fifth Mobile Reactionary Fleet, but after that, I suspect Xoulod station will become the next big project. Perhaps the Shogunate will finally expand into some of the Triumvirate extrasolar colonies instead of just Dosei on the Ring." The drake chuckles. "It's either build a whole new station, or look into expanding Tengoku and Makai stations. But I ramble. How has everyone else been doing? Your studies going well, Minister Pacci?"

Agwene nods. "I do hope that it turns out that way. What is this quantum relativity you speak of? I am afraid I have not before heard the term."
Asking a Blue about science is generally a bad idea unless one is well-versed in the subject.

"Quantum mechanics is the study of the interactions of matter and energy on scales so small that Newtonian macroscopic laws fail to accurately describe reality. At these scales, uncertainty due to the inability for any observation to be acceptably accurate becomes a dominant factor and, as observation--or at least the capability to be observed--does actually play a defining role in the actions of bodies and energy at that scale. On a larger 'everyday' scale, these interactions average out and simplify to the Newtonian laws, and so I doubt your people will have to worry about it any time soon.

"Relativity is related to the fact that information in the universe propagates at the speed of light and as such the description of an action of an object depends on where it is observed from relative to that object--thus, relativity. Its variations only become dominant on extremely large scales the size of galaxies--where information propagates relatively slowly--and at extreme speeds nearing the speed of light, where matter begins to move as fast as information of the object's presence there. An analogy you may understand... A simple example of relativity concerns one observer on a moving cart and another observer standing on the ground nearby. The observer on the cart tosses a rock straight up into the air; to that observer, the rock rises and falls straight up and down." The AdminCoordinator demonstrates with one hand. "To the observer standing on the ground, the velocity of the cart is also taken into account. The stone rises, keeping up with the cart under it, then falls back down, creating a ballistic arc." Another demonstration, this time with a balled-up fist 'stone' and a flat open-hand 'cart.' "It is the exact same event, but it can be described with equal accuracy multiple ways depending on where one observes the event from."

The Blue pauses in her breezy explanation, then chuckles softly. "Hopefully I haven't bored you with detail. Why do you say you are from a land of 'dreams and magic?'"

"I ah ... il dio, the advances your race has made ... it boggles the mind, truly. I only hope that I have the pleasure of working with you myself should it all, well, come to fruition."
The LandCoordinator nods once slowly. "Perhaps you'll have that pleasure, comrade. I can see you find us fascinating; I'm sure I can find room for you to visit Beta Hive if you're interested."

Maile frowns a little, looking to Pat in confusion. She whispers back, trying to be discrete. albeit futiley so. "I don't know who any of those people are. For that matter, I still don't know who the woman with the Emperor is."

Pat, being a bit more versed in international politics, whispers conspiratorially. "Unless I am horribly mistaken, that would be Lady Sirithil, leader of Menelmacar, and a very long-standing opposition to our warlord here. Given the occasion, I very much doubt anything will come to violence... which works to our benefit, as annoyed men often could do for the soothing of a lady's touch, yes?"

The winds of freedom.

Ithun makes his way through the crowds of guests, waiters, entertainers and Seven Deities know what other folk. Stealing a drink from a waiter here, making a wink to a girl there, the young Lieutenant in his black parade uniform actually wanders without any clear objectives in his head. Well, he does have one objective. Find someone and hit the town, waste some Federal money down the drain (Seven Deities bless the fact that the Ruling Council granted him and Vladimir a rather juicy sum of money in a cozy bank account) and have some fun. Ever since he learned that all of his thousands of comrades died in the North Spine during the Plague and that he was the only survivor of an entire Airborne division, he never felt such a strong lust for life… And nobody could treat him of coward. When his bleeding corpse was found, he had enough bullet and other wounds to send an elephant to paradise and his combat armor was just ragged and tattered metal. He was decorated with the gold star of the Hero of Tarasovka and with the Ist grade order of St. Alexander, the regalia that he deemed good to leave at home and not brag around in front of foreigners. After all, it is not the medal that makes a man, but the man himself.

Suddenly, he catches glimpse of a most beautiful of all girls he has seen so far at this party. A tall, slim goddess, with a pair of sapphire eyes that shine like stars on a nightly sky. Her hair, of the colour of gold and silver falling in majestic and rich waves on her shoulders. To say that Ithun got intrigued was to say nothing. He immediately went through the crowd, taking direction of the young lady, and nothing could stop him. An army? He would cut through them as knife through butter. Gods themselves? Gods are nothing.

However, his ardent lust was slightly calmed when he saw that the woman was accompanied by a man. “Of course, how could it be otherwise? All the best women are married, all the handsome men are gay…” – he thinks to himself. He does not give a damn about the latter, but the former may be really annoying at times. But well, he is so not going to let this one slip away. And so, without a moment of hesitation, he steps in front of the man and quickly analyzes the situation. The man clearly looks like a dignitary from Tartarus. Ithun cannot really recall who the man is, but he is sure that he spotted him in that Kaskad dossier on the NDA countries they were given to read before leaving for the Dominion. And so he salutes the man in military Taraskovyan fashion, by clacking the heels together and bringing the palm of the right hand horizontally to the right side of the forehead. After a second, he lowers his right arm to his heart and makes a gallant bow to the lady.

- Pardon my audacity, honourable Lord, honourable Lady. I am Lieutenant Ithun Khat of the Taraskovyan National Defence Forces, currently assigned to the Secretariat of Foreign Relations of the Ruling Council on diplomatic duty to this event. If Milord does not mind, I would allow myself the audacity to invite the Milady for a dance.

With that he grinned, giving a playful glance at the young woman.

***

The winds of wisdom.

Vladimir and his adjutant eventually make it to some table with food all over it. The officer and his adjutant are not very remarkable, at least not as remarkable as large talking insects, elven Queens, necron Emperors and God knows what other folk that frolicked freely in the area. Vladimir allows himself the pleasure of tasting the local cuisine, while the adjutant stares with a lot of curiosity at the Emperor Mephet’ran, Lord Alkanphel and the direct entourage of the two men. The gaze then moves on to stare at the… ants… roaming around. Indeed, this party is a very good lesson on the fauna of the universe mankind lives in.

Jur nodded towards one of his bodyguards and said,

-Karlo. Find out where the newly crowned Queen has went so I can pay my respects. Or at least find out from one of her ministers as to the proper diplomatic channels to do so as well as who to leave gifts with. I tire of crowds and would like to retire to my room.
-Yes, Ambassador.

With suprising ease, the six foot six tall bodyguard made his way through the crowd, looking for one of the Dominion higher-ups. Meanwhile, the walrus, Tronj, and the woman gingerly navigated towards a nearby wall and hopefully near the bar.

Pacci laughs softly and smiles at D'ron, shaking his head. "I've been out in the field too long, I'm afraid. And I thank you, LandCoordinator. Please, forgive my stumbling. This," he gestures with his hand, "socializing, it gives my head quite a turn now and then. Grazie - you are all most generous for putting up with this foolish old man. And yes - yes indeed," he says turning to LandCoordinator again, "for your offer of assistance. I ah ... il dio, the advances your race has made ... it boggles the mind, truly. I only hope that I have the pleasure of working with you myself should it all, well, come to fruition."

Gregor laughs softly. "Hardly foolish, Minister. I can't say I blame you - you and the PanNorm representatives have been all but swarmed, and I doubt most people would do as well. As for old, you don't look a day over fifty." This coming from a man who looks about twenty-three - which, given that he is almost twenty-three, isn't much of a surprise. In response to Tsume's remark, he then adds, "I would certainly be interested in the possibility of a joint station venture, especially out in the far reaches of the system. It would certainly be well placed to act as a transhipment point between sublight freighters and FTLs that need to be outside the solar gravwell to use their drives."

Smiling calmly Carlos extends his hand to the Prince-Consort and bows slightly. "Good afternoon to you too Prince-Consort." He replies and chuckles politely at the questions asked of him.

"Allow me to introduce to you my lovely wife Yvonne, a former resident of Treznor and now a permenant fixture in Iraqstan, and my heir and son Lidric." He says, pride obviously filling his voice when he pats his son on the head and smiles at him. "How did you find out mutual friend's ascention into the realms of royalty just now?" He asks conversationaly his hand slipping once more around Yvonne's waist.

"It certainly suited her - minimal useless ceremony, with a subtle reinforcement that she's the one in charge. I wish all of these functions could be as short and to the point. And, of course, the food. Did you notice the plates are edible?" Tarvi grins. "I didn't realise that you were married, you, um, fuhrership? I'm sorry, but I'm not all the good at remembering all the correct forms of address, even in my own nation."

He hunches down a bit to bring himself to eye level with Lidric. "I hope you're enjoying yourself. I suspect you'll like the masquerade once it starts." Tarvi looks back up at the parents. "We left our own son at home - I can't say that little Marcus Ivan would enjoy all this, being almost a month old. I practically had to drag Gregor away from the nursery to get him here."

Agwene stares at the Admincoordinator, puzzled. "I am not sure I understand what you are saying. I am no scholar and it has been many years since my tutor gave me rudimentary instructions in physics but I do remember some. The movement of the rock is simple or so I was taught. Throwing the rock is violent motion as is the movement of the cart. Falling is a natural motion but the falling rock is still effected by the violent motion of the cart. But what do these physics have to say of the causes of things? I can see a basis for the materiel cause, an efficient cause, perhaps even a formal cause. But what do you know of final causes?"

Agwene pauses a long moment, tilting her head at the Admincoordinator. "This might be hard for someone from your background to understand but we are literally made from human dreams. Our bodies are things of solid dreams themselves. At any event, it explains the great magic of our beings and all our top scholars seem to agree on the matter."

Maile smiles to Pat. "That does sound rather wonderful." She then turns her attention back to the three heads of state.

""Our bodies are things of solid dreams themselves. At any event, it explains the great magic of our beings and all our top scholars seem to agree on the matter."
While well versed in every science of the panNorm, the AdminCoordinator is quite deficient in Aristotlean theory. In a rare moment, she silently taps her antennae together. "If..." she begins slowly, "understanding failed to be transmitted, then at least it is a mutual fault." The voice is politely ironic, capping the statement with a soft chuckle. "And... made of human dreams? Magic? I can see that we probably have a great deal to learn from each other."

She makes a mental note to ask Alpha about this 'Aristotle' as soon as she gets back.

Agwene inclines her head. "Indeed, we do have much to learn from one another. Unfortunately, I am not the one to ask. I know little more of our nature than I have told you." The Princess glances away, her eyes lost briefly in thought. "We have always believed that it is our differences which make us strong."

Piazza San Bernardi, Devras, DLN

Lesley smiled at the TechCoordinator, whom, though she refrained from mentioning it, she thought was rather cute. The deep red of the LandCoordinator nearly matched her hair, though was somewhat darker. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, TechCoordinator, LandCoordinator.” She kept her voice down to not interrupt the main conversation as she offered her hand to the smaller panNorm, taking care not to damage it, though she was not sure if she actually could or not.

When the larger panNorm mentioned Beta Hive, which D’ron knew was on Venus, he smiled. “I’ve heard Venus is a nice place, in its own way. Hopefully one day I’ll be able to visit. Maybe once we get our own colony established, I’ll be able to come see it.” He nodded to the LandCoordinator. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

Dante’s Inferno
Club

Since man began sailing the oceans of earth, shore leave became synonymous with two things...bars and wenches. Even in this age of intersteller travel, these two things remained a constant.
Often these two we accompanied by another old tradition, bar fights.

For Lt. Wallace's gunnery crew, these constants remained unchanged. Indeed, the group was somewhat notorious for their shore leave activities. As Sgt. Myers once suggested, "It's not that we were looking for trouble, it's just that the other guy's face was stupid."
Normally Lt. Wallace was able to keep the crew out of trouble...normally only occuring about 5% of the time. The other 95% of the time was spent in search of man's immortal quest...poontang.

The music was loud, deafening even. Lt. Wallace sat in a rather plush booth, alternating between watching the gunnery crew, who were stationed at the bar, and this cute little brunette on the dance floor.
So far the brunette was winning his attention, he even swore she winked at him.

During the Coronation Ceremony those from the Drakonian Imperium made sure to seat themselves as close to the front of the audience as was possible and polite. Of the most important of these was the Royal Couple, Heads of State and figurehead for the nation. Augustus Drake, Praetor of the Imperium, sat wearing what was clearly an expensive black dress shirt and matching black dress slacks. He was of a tall build, standing (when he did) at six foot four, yet for his build he did seem slightly thin, something those that knew him well would be able to note under careful observation. He was a stark contrast to his wife, who sat next to him, with his short mixed brown hair and piercing violet eyes.

His wife, Jolené Sutherland, Queen of the Trinidad and the Imperium, definitely contrasted her husband. Her skin was a light chocolate brown, to his light tan, and her hair was a long, wavy, and shining black. She wore simple, yet elegant, bright white dress that accentuated her curved features well. Standing (or rather sitting at the moment) she was barely shorter than her husband, only approaching a couple of inches petite of his height, yet with the high heels she now wore they stood perfectly even.

As she watched the people and took in her surroundings before the ceremony her eyes sparkled an amazing shade of amber. Every now and again, as they sat waiting, she would lean over and whisper a comment to her husband or to the woman on her left.

Diana Minerva, Director of the Drakonian Diplomatic Corps., would reply in turn, comment on something else to her friend. She was slightly older than the beautiful woman in her late thirties, and it was clear when comparing the two. Diana might be aging with grace, but the Queen seemed to age with youth. Something surprising about the Royal Couple was just that, they seemed to be timeless. Even though both were in their late thirties, in form and face they look as though they were ten years younger.

Diana Minerva, herself was of a middle age, yet she was still considered attractive. Blonde hair and a pale skin (an anomaly among those who live in perpetual tropical sun), were accented by her friendly face and blue eyes. She wore a conservative, but still expensive, women's business suit with a white blouse and black skirt and jacket.

The group had arrived the day before the Coronation and upon arrival had immediately retired for the night. Their health still recovering they needed the rest after the traveling and before the events of the morrow. Nevertheless they had appeared for the coronation ceremony early and took their seats waiting for the service, much to the annoyance of their personal security. The Praetorian Guard, had become quite paranoid about the security of the Royal Couple as of late and Recent Events (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=334486) had definitely given them much reason for such a stance. Some, including the Emirate News Network, which was among those stations covering the event, even said that the rulers of the Imperium had the unfortunate luck of being protected by now the most paranoid security force in the world. After two incidents involving the Royal Couple, the Praetorian Guard was taking no chances and indeed on the way to the Piazza San Bernardi it had nearly caused a car crash. Fortunately, it had not.

In their full dress uniforms, a Guardsman sat on either side of the Drakonians, with four others having taken seats behind them. They were rather impressive in their obsidian black military uniforms, accentuated with violet, and trimmed in gold. At their sides hung the traditional short swords, excepting the officer who sat to the left of the Praetor who had an ornate, yet well-crafted long sword. Those taking careful note, or checking the registered weaponry would note the automatic pistols that counter-balanced their swords. A couple of others of the Praetorian Guard watched from elsewhere around the Piazza San Bernardi, clearly visible in their uniforms.

As the ceremony started, it could be seen (barely though the Guardsmen) that the Drakonians rose although, among the Royal Couple, Augustus Drake leaned significantly on a black-shafted cane with a golden dragon head. His wife was leaned on his arm. They sat back down with the audience and watch with close attention to the proceedings.

At the mention of a "line of succession", Jolené Sutherland leaned over to her husband and whispered, "That won't be easy. She's thirty-three, unmarried, and has no heirs."

Augustus Drake purple eyes fell to his wife. He had caught something in her sentence. Was it jealousy? He knew the context from which she spoke. They had their own problems at producing heirs and the recent extremely short and failed pregnancy of the Queen had been painful for her. And himself, he amended eye falling to his cane before rising again to watch the Dread Lady, he caught a glint of metal. "Easier than one might think," he replied shortly, and in reply to the look she shot him. "I will tell you later."

The ceremony proceeded and soon was finished. As again the crowd rose, this time giving standing ovations, again the Drakonians rose with it; the Praetor leaning on his cane and the Queen on him. It seemed a short ceremony to them, but impressive nonetheless. Augustus was reminded of when he, and his newly wedded wife were crowned and a glance to her showed that she as well was remembering those happier times.

With the formalities of the coronation concluded and the crowd mingling and dispersing to see the sights, the Royal Couple started toward their room. They noted some of the major figures present, but somehow missed seeing the representatives from the Five Kingdoms, a crowd having gathered around said representatives. But with in seconds, the Praetorian Guards had formed a protective perimeter around the couple, moving off the couple (and their host of bodyguards) left Diana Minerva, chief diplomat, with only one Guardsman, to mingle with the other national representatives.

Dante's Inferno, Devras, DLN

Jason Cusbetti leaned against the bar, and tossed back another drink. He was no longer clear how many he had had so far, and neither was Jack Thomas, who was at the bar with him. Jack had had considerbly less, and had watched Jason descend steadily into incoherence, watching a girl on the dance floor.

Suddenly, he piped up. "Hey, that guy over there is watching my girl." Jack blinked slowly, turning as Jason lurched into motion.

'Whaa?" He reached out to catch Jason, but he moved fast for a drunk guy. "Jason, you don't have a girl. And that girl's certainly not yours."

"Shiztoo." His words were slurred slightly as he stumbled across the floor, and slapped the girl on the ass as he moved towards the guy watching her. "Hey, you, retard. That's my girl you're watching," he announced proudly, and drunkenly, and quite loud enough for everyone in the most empty club (it was the middle of the afternoon after all) to hear.

It was completely against the six months of training he had recieved at Camp Fozzie so far. Everyone in the club from the school, about ten of them, for the most part, male, stared at him, shaking their heads at his idiocy.

Dante's Inferno, Devras

The place wasn't exactly hopping just yet, no, but the music was pumping, the booze was flowing, and the natives were most definitely restless.

Nine levels of curved dance floors, private booths, and at the five sub-basement levels, discreet private rooms tucked away here and there, accessable only by payment to one of the employees, made up the place. The main bar itself was on, as might be expected, the main floor, with smaller auxilliary bars on each of the others, all in the same general location with a system of mini-lifts in the walls behind them for easy delivering and sharing of supplies when needed, among other things.

It might be shining outside, but here, it was seductively darkened, especially in corners, often hazy from smoke - not always of the tobacco variety - with the warm colored lights simulating flames to go with the overall decor, lighting up the place here and there.

Gina didn't care that the Inferno wasn't packed yet. She had the day off, and she'd started early. The crowds would come. And besides, there were plenty of foreigners on account of the occasion, and they were always fun to play with. She'd already caught the eye of at least one ... make that two, from where, she had no idea. It didn't matter. She flashed her winning smile at both of them now and then, her little black tank top showing off part of the oriental dragon tattoo on her back, the little diamond-drop belly ring. A very short black 'schoolgirl' style skirt did little to hide the bright red thong she was wearing underneath - not the way she'd been dancing at any rate.

When the one boy started trouble with the other, though, she started rethinking ...


Other folks in the club looked on with mild interest, some already a bit too busy to notice, still others just not caring. Fights were common enough, after all. Several other women watched as well from different parts of the level they were on, they and some of the men already taking bets.

vonKarma stifled another laugh as he looked at Cleric Preston, adorned in a bright red duster, completely outside of the Cleric's normal range of blacks, greys and whites.

"Preston, you should wear that more often. Really brings out your eyes!" vK laughes at the Cleric's less-than-obvious discomfort with his bodly spiked hair.

"Sir, this coat stands out too much to be of use in my line of work. I don't really see what the color of my eyes has anything to do with...."

vK almost falls over in a fit of hysteria. "We really need to let you out more often."

"If I would have known you wanted to borrow my uniform sir, I would have arranged to bring anot...."

"Preston, this is an order. Lighten up. Have some fun. Live in the moment. And don't take your eyes off that one," vK takes a slightly more serious tone as he notices Alkanphel.


They wade their way through the crowds eventually finding Minister Calabrese.

"Ahoy there Calabrese!" vonKarma makes with the pomp and circumstance, laying it on thick for the masses, "I hear you are the man to talk to for an audience with Her Majesty?" He nods to those nearby respectfully, but does not introduce himself.


________________________________________________________________

Hideki had seperated from vonKarma and Preston earlier, seeing some guests he had a keen interest in meeting, again, and for the first time. He walks up to the adminCoordinator and offers a slight bow.

"Greetings adminCoordinator. I do not know if you recognize me, but I am one of the humans who made initial contact with Alpha. I trust the panNorm is well?"

He adds, in the radio-frequency language of the ants, "I believe I still remember how to speak somewhat in your native language, if you prefer?"

Pat, being a bit more versed in international politics, whispers conspiratorially. "Unless I am horribly mistaken, that would be Lady Sirithil, leader of Menelmacar, and a very long-standing opposition to our warlord here. Given the occasion, I very much doubt anything will come to violence... which works to our benefit, as annoyed men often could do for the soothing of a lady's touch, yes?"

It's rather difficult for the Warlord to ignore this comment, as his nature gifted him with a somewhat augmented capacity for perception. He grins slightly, and pulls the two of them closer to him, his arms slipping around their waists. "Quite," he says simply, tilting his head slightly as he winks at Pat.

He shifts his weight slightly, alternating his glance between the two of them for a moment, gauging their responses. He clears his throat, and turns once more to Mephet'ran. "I'm terribly sorry, my good friend, but I've got some..." he purses his lips and his eyes shift once more from side to side, "business to attend to." He grins, and bows his head a bit. "Good day."

Without waiting for a response, he turns and departs, meandering once more through the crowd in the general direction of the Doges Palace.

Without waiting for a response, he turns and departs, meandering once more through the crowd in the general direction of the Doges Palace.

Pat giggles again at Alkanphel's arm around her waist. "Oh my... quite forward, aren't you, m'lord?" She winks at Maile. "And here you thought you wouldn't get any treats tonight. Oh... and the night is still quite young!"

The redhead gracefully dodges through the crowd without being seperated from the warlord, doing a surprisingly good job of keeping up for a woman presumably wearing high heels under the billowing expanses of her skirts. Her body feels surprisingly firm beneath her gown, and not overly warm for all her running about thus far- for all her frills and giggles, Pat is obviously not a lady who neglects her body, apparently in excellent physical shape.

"M'lord and my fellow lady-" Pat smiles winningly at the warlord and Maile. "What do you think of non-standard uses of... kitchen implements and perhaps desert items?"

"That went rather well, I think," Rene remarked, as they emerged once more into the bright sunlight of the Piazza. "She seemed quite affected by it." the Arkhora was not, herself, an emotional woman, and she felt quite gratified at how happy Nathicana had been to receive the gift.

Ktoriach nodded. "It is the first time klrsukali have ever been given outside the nation, my lady. Twelve hundred years is a long precedent; quite rightly the Imperatrice should feel honoured. It is an honour."

"She is an honourable ally, and deserving of it," Rene replied, "And how many times could that be said of our allies in years past. She is happy, I am happy, master smith tsaSzeran will no doubt be most happy also ... are you happy, ralVenadt?"

The Operations Commandant gave her a cheery smile. "Of a certainty, Arkhora. Who could not be, at such an event?"

"Probability suggests that there will be some at some point during the evening." That was Kjathen-Yseult, practical as all the Communion. Rene hoped she'd get into the spirit of things - the Ea might or might not be happy (who knew?), but the Ea being her usual mathematically precise self could easily make others unhappy. Not out of malice, certainly - but the Communion had all the personality of a calculator, and calculators were not renowned for dancing (neither was Rene, for that matter, but she'd been brushing up in preperation for the Masquerade this evening).

"Well," Rene said, "Shall we not mingle, then? Opportunities abound."

OOC: Dark Blue for Sekhel, which is probably incomprehensible unless you have some kind of Babelfish in your ear canal. This post probably sucks; an hour's nap really isn't a very good substitute for a solid eight hours sleep. I'm an idiot sometimes, I really am...

Calabrese doesn't flinch - he's at least that good. But there is a slightly guarded look in his eyes as he turns to face vK, smiling as pleasantly as ever. He puts two fingers to the small device over his ear for a moment, then nods.

"Aparently, word of your arrival has preceeded you, my lord," he says in all seriousness. "It would seem you're expected (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=7079753&postcount=60). Government offices, first floor - you know the one, yes? That nice little room just down the hall there. Greetings to her ah, 'flight instructor' are to be passed on?" he asks more than states, one brow arching up.

He doesn't have time to ponder too long, as a rather large, and dangerous-looking man approaches him with a purpose. Sharp blue eyes that show a quick wit and steady demeanor look Calabrese over before the man speaks, requesting an audience for the Vrakian representatives.

This takes him a moment to place the names, then he nods in understanding. "But of course! I do hope the ground floor level rooms have been to the good Ambassador's liking? It was recalled how on his previous visit we were ill-prepared, and so tried to choose a room more suitable to his needs and stature."

Cesare glances back and forth between Lord Windmere and Karlo, his suspicions confirmed quietly over Spook. "The honorable Landgrave Wittelbach sent word to meet with the Lady as well. Would it be acceptable to your Ambassador to meet with her either with, or directly after, the representatives of Alcona and Hubris?"

vK smiles and nods, thanking Calabrese before moving off for the appointed destination with Preston in tow. He raps on the door once, before flinging it open, and marching inside. He approaches the Dred Lady, and bows deeply.

"I thank you for the audience, Your Majesty! It is in honor to be in Your presence once again! My sincerist congratulations on....for...." he stands, shit eating grin on his face, "what was this little hootinanny all about again?" The outburst draws a raised eyebrow from Preston, who gives a short bow.

"Don't mind Cleric Preston back there, I thought he could use a little vacation after the whole Suunto ordeal." Preston turns and acknowledges Jas with another nod, before reaching into his pocket and tossing him a small item wrapped in cloth. "Anyway, Your Highness," vonKarma continues, "big-time congrats from all of Karmabaijan. Here." He hands nathi a small, plain wooden box, with a hinged lid, "I think you will like this."

"Incom--" Massetti starts to say, just as the door bursts open in a flurry of, well ... vK. Nathi jumps slightly in surprise, moving much more quickly than a human has a right to, reflexively taking up a defensive stance with the two klrsukali in her hands - as silly as all this looks in her formal dress. She breaks out in a broad grin, carefully setting the blades aside, taking a moment to reassure the little wolf pup who stands bristling and growling protectively before accepting the box, and promptly giving vonKarma a big hug. She steps back, nodding and smiling at Preston as well. "A pleasure, Cleric - I hope you find the Dominion's hospitality a welcome reprieve."

"Damn your hide, old man," she says, turning back to vK and chuckling. "You certainly know how to keep a lady on her toes. Thanks for coming - now cut the crap with the titles already, eh? And you of all people should know you didn't have to bring anything - not that a lady doesn't like to recieve shinies ..." Nathi gently shakes the box, arching a brow as she opens it, revealing a small optical chip sitting atop red velvet.

Jas, meanwhile, snags the cloth-wrapped item without blinking - or removing the cigarette from his lips - and unwraps it after nodding to Preston in turn. He barks out a short laugh as he turns the item over in his hands, then flicks his thumb across the top of it, calling forth a steady flame from the lighter (http://images.antiqnet.com/thumbnails2/EKR7635lal848.jpg) it just happens to be.

"Where in hell did you manage ta find this, ya sneaky son of a bitch?" he asks with a grin, smoke trailing up around his face as he exhales through his nose. "Thought sure I'd seen the last of this baby back on Titan there. In all the mess there and all ... Christ on a cracker, man. I owe ya one."

"It certainly suited her - minimal useless ceremony, with a subtle reinforcement that she's the one in charge. I wish all of these functions could be as short and to the point. And, of course, the food. Did you notice the plates are edible?" Tarvi grins. "I didn't realise that you were married, you, um, fuhrership? I'm sorry, but I'm not all the good at remembering all the correct forms of address, even in my own nation."

He hunches down a bit to bring himself to eye level with Lidric. "I hope you're enjoying yourself. I suspect you'll like the masquerade once it starts." Tarvi looks back up at the parents. "We left our own son at home - I can't say that little Marcus Ivan would enjoy all this, being almost a month old. I practically had to drag Gregor away from the nursery to get him here."

Nodding Carlos smiles "Yes, I agree. The show fit her aura and demeanor well, infact the only reason Lidric is here because of a previous request made to both her and Devon." He adds off handly as he chuckles at the man's inability to address him.

"Carlos will suffice, if you have to be formal then Führer will do as well." He says and laughs as Lidric nods "Yes, I so can't wait for that!" Lidric shouts his voice cracking slightly with excitement. "Boys, eh? So hard to contain." Carlos says with a grin.

"I do hope your son too will have a bubbly and innocent look on life your highness." He says as Yvonne smiles and rests her hand on the man's arm. "I do hope he has the same or more of the character you have sir, it would fit him well." She says before turning back to watching her son.

Andreja Lucas, reporter for Serconija TV, was wearing a very ornate necklace, that concealed a camera. Her programme, 'Celeb Report' never followed media guidelines. She wanted to get up close and personal with the revellers.

She'd walked past the security with a personal letter from President Tuomas, who'd wanted to go to the party, but had a bad back, and was now in Piazza San Bernadi. Her two companions were wandering around the city, filming.

She found D'Ron.

"Excuse me, what's your name?"

"Greetings President Solis, If I may be so bold as to introduce myself; I am Ambassador Adam Tyson, offically representing Iuthia in this glorious event." Adam started, though he felt he had sounded a little too... official for his liking.

Victor glanced over at Adam, almost briefly sizing him up. The Hyperborean lived up to the regal appearance of his ancestors, carrying himself with the self-assuredness of an Elf, but without the pretentious overtones; likely it was because Hyperboreans weren't common enough to have stereotypes about them. He smiled thinly, nodding his head in a slight greeting, "Hello, Ambassador Tyson, it is good to meet you. This is Marcus, my Ambassador to this fine country, and this is... ah..." He turned to his right, looking around before turning back to Adam with a grin, "Well, it seems that Ms. Channings and Lazarus have left to... mingle."

With a slight shrug he turned to Marcus, whispering something to him in some unknown language. Marcus nodded, bowed slightly to Adam, "Please forgive me, but I have other duties to attend to." He wandered off, carrying a box. Probably looking for the Lady herself.

Victor turned back to Adam, "Again, apologies for seeming so rude, but this is a corination, and certain customs must be obeyed." Grabbing a flute of wine from a passing waitress he pondered for a moment, "Ah, yes, I remember why Iuthia is in the forefront of my mind. Your nation recently applied for admission into the Non-Democratic Alliance, did it not?"

All three Austarians had yet to properly mingle, for they had been enjoying the company of each other for the small time. Thankfully, the Dominion had provided an assortment of refreshments, including the national favorite, Port. It was a drink favored by so many within the Federal Republic, including the President himself. Unfortunatly, he was not in attendance.

Scanning the crowd, the three men recognised some people from across the universal scale. It was unlucky that the men from the Austar Union were not exactly the most famous, however it would of course provide some kind of exposure; not that exposure was the aim of the game. They had all come to enjoy themselves, while making contacts from across the universe. So far, they had been unsuccessful.

Winking at the other two men, Mr. Etherton, the national President of the Assemblies of God church decided to peel off;

"If you must excuse me Gentlemen, I intend to have some kind of meeting with Lady Nathicana. I wanted to congratulate her on the achievement, and to let her know that she has the support of the church. Perhaps even, she may be able to provide us with some contacts within the Dominion, so that we are able to build the kingdom of God together, more efficiently."

With that, he turned, and dissapeared into the crowd. He would be heading to the main information center, for he wasnt exactly sure on how to gain an audience. Nevertheless, he was sure to find out soon, and he would be presenting a gift which the President himself had decided to supply, to represent a brighter and stronger bond between the two nations, even though little, if any, diplomatic contact had been made.

After Etherton had left, Mike Prodestan and Richard Henderson were left alone, although Prodestan wasnt really much company. He was spending most of the time watching the walls and admiring the security measures taken by the Dominion security teams. With interest, he wandered through the crowd toward an area he saw that interested him, and not watching where he was going, almost walked into a random person. Aplogizing, he turned and actually did walk into the almost legendary Warlord Alkanphel. Looking down with embarressment, Prodestan realised that he had just wandered directly into a very dangerous man indeed.

With an attempt to cover up his mistake, he extended his hand toward the Warlord, "My apologies sir, let me introduce myself. My name is Mr. Mike Prodestan. I am the head of the Presidential Security Team from within the Austar Union. Here, in a sense, I am representing my nation on a diplomatic level; however that is merely by default, for I am the only government staff member here in the Dominion. But my true intentions here are to gain added information as to boost my own team's security."

Chuckling, he continued, "But I suppose none of that really matters to you. I suppose you could only count me as just a diplomat; if that means any more to you..."

The Ambassador didn't seem to mind that the President was leaving, understanding that the man had a duty to attend to business. He at least got to meet the man and now he remained with Victor, the Ambassador to this the Dominion.

“Again, apologies for seeming so rude, but this is a coronation, and certain customs must be obeyed.” Grabbing a flute of wine from a passing waitress, Victor pondered for a moment, “Ah, yes, I remember why Iuthia is in the forefront of my mind. Your nation recently applied for admission into the Non-Democratic Alliance, did it not?”

Ambassador Tyson nodded. “Yes, I believe talks are still underway with representatives of the NDA, though I hear that the talks are going well. Though I’m not really privy to the details.” Adam replied, grabbing a small glass of wine for himself, he would have to lay of these things for a while after this one. “I imagine it’s just a matter of discussing Iuthia’s place in the UnAPS alliance and coming to a solution that works for both the Lord General and the NDA, though I hear that the Lord General is quite keen to be accepted, the direct benefits are clear enough to all of us.”

The Ambassador smiled and took a sip from his wine before continuing. “So tell me, Ambassador; how goes The Most Glorious Hack recently? We hear little news from your nation.”

Victor nodded, "I cannot say that I am terribly familiar with your standing on the process for joining the Non-Democratic Alliance. We do not really have a vote," he chuckled softly at the irony, "and I have not been keeping up with the current events, that is more the perview of my ambassador there, a Mr. Calvin Drzka. I am sure you will meet him at some point."

After a brief moment of contemplation, he continued, "Ah, my country. There is still a certain degree of... unrest in Grafton's Isle, but I am sure that has reached your newswires." He sighed softly, "I cannot go into much detail, of course, but things are looking up." He smiled a little, "Other than that... not too much to tell. Just the day-to-day nonsense of running a country." He grinned, "Of course, the island creation business is moving smoothly. Not too many customers, but then, we do not need very many."

Dante's Inferno
Devras

Wallace slowly moved his gaze away from the entincing girl on the dance floor, winking at her one last time before confronting the young man standing in front of him. He looked him and his friends over quickly before beginning to speak, judging them to be college students and therefor a few years younger than he.

Simultaneously he raised his left hand slightly, stopping his crew, who had already left the bar, and were dangerously close to the group before him.

He set down his drink and began to speak, just loud enough for the girl to hear, but not loud enough to be obvious about it.
"Pardon, young man, but I think it's clear she belongs to no man. The notion that any man could own such finely crafted beauty is absurd, and your claim of dominance unwarranted. Now apologize for your behavior and go home, I fear you've had too much to drink."

Piazza San Bernardi, Devras, DLN

D’ron was about to turn at the interruption to his discussion with everyone to answer the rude question, when the voice in his head said, Don’t turn around, Mister President. The voice was commanding, from his Guardsman. She’s not in my database, and I’ve got an unexplained EM power signature on her. Which of course screamed out ‘bomb’ to the Guardsman.

I understand, Andrew. He remained listening to the others in his discussion group.

At the same time, Andrew, who, even in dress boots, could move silently, had walked calmly up behind the woman, already returning from getting himself a drink and a snack. He tapped her on the shoulder and said softly, “He is Lord Protector of Dor Lomin, First Minister of the Commonwealths of Peitha and Sentient Peoples, High Governor of the Dominions of Vanderhill and The Halo, Governor-General of the Colonies of Sentient Mars, Sentient Venus, and Sentient Bloom, High Marshal of The Peoples’ Military, and by the will of the Peoples, The Imperial President, D’ron Christopher Smith, winner of the Sentient Star, Combat Cross, President’s Thanks, and Field Marshal of the Ground Forces of the Federated Commonwealth of Sentient Peoples, Retired.” He smiled somewhat harshly. “My turn to ask a question.” A gentle press of cold metal on the reporter’s neck was enough to enforce his opinion of the situation, a physical threat shielded by both bodies from view.

“Who are you, what do you want with the President, and what in hell is that power signature around your neck?”

Dante's Inferno, Devras, DLN

Jason hiccupped, and then walked right up and got in Warren's face, raising his finger. "Can't go home. Here for a week." He drunkenly chuckled, letting rank, alcohol laden air blow up in the man's face.

"And I said she's mine, cause she is, cause I said so." He looked immensely proud of his drunken logic as Jack buried his face in his hands, expecting the worst.

"Damn your hide, old man," she says, turning back to vK and chuckling. "You certainly know how to keep a lady on her toes. Thanks for coming - now cut the crap with the titles already, eh? And you of all people should know you didn't have to bring anything - not that a lady doesn't like to recieve shinies ..." Nathi gently shakes the box, arching a brow as she opens it, revealing a small optical chip sitting atop red velvet.

vK glances down at the little pup. "New addition to the family I see? Cute little guy, he have a name?" He gestures to the box and removes the optical chip. "As for this, Your Highness, this is the "keys" to your "new car" as it were, for a Queen should have proper conveyance! She's waiting for you up at Valhalla, a brand-spaking new, red-trimmed, obsidian, vK-Special-class Loki." A tap on a hidden button in the box activates a small holo of the ship. He grins, "Don't say I never got you anything, Your Emminance. Oh, and I took the liberty of having the inside spruced up a bit, those Scolopendran designs really are lacking in the finer things in life sometimes. Speaking of Valhalla, you really must make it up there, they have this garden deck that would rival some of the stuff you have down here, but complete with a great Earth-view."



"Where in hell did you manage ta find this, ya sneaky son of a bitch?" he asks with a grin, smoke trailing up around his face as he exhales through his nose. "Thought sure I'd seen the last of this baby back on Titan there. In all the mess there and all ... Christ on a cracker, man. I owe ya one."

Preston moves closer to Jas so they may speak without interrupting the others. "I found it on the evac ship as the techs were picking over it for their reports. And as for owing me one, I believe this makes us even now, if I am not mistaken."

Cesare glances back and forth between Lord Windmere and Karlo, his suspicions confirmed quietly over Spook. "The honorable Landgrave Wittelbach sent word to meet with the Lady as well. Would it be acceptable to your Ambassador to meet with her either with, or directly after, the representatives of Alcona and Hubris?"

Karlo broke into a grin and replied.

"The Ambassador passes on his utmost thanks Minister Calabrese for the accomodations," here a nod and a wink to Windmere, "and we respect the fact that our Alconian friends are before us. After is fine, since we do not wish to intrude upon their time with the Dread Lady."

Karlo stands at ease and clasps his hands behind his back.

Among all the people crowded in the piazza was a Syskeyiapolis journalist named Susanna Yusoh.

She was a woman of moderate height, black hair (with the slightest hint of blond highlights) and mid-tone brown skin. Her facial features clearly marked her as an Oriental women, though only God knew what her complete racial mixture was. A necklace with a cross adorned her neck, and she was brilliantly clad in a maroon tissue sari. [See OOC thread for detials]

She was a journalist for one Syskeyiapolis' top newspapers, but she carried no cameras or microphones. She did carry a small notebook and pen, though right now she kept them discreetly hidden.

Not that she really needed them, though. In fact, one of her top assets was the fact that she had a photographic memory. Which was also more like a "microphone memory" in the fact that she could remember the exact words of any given conversation as well as she could recollect the exact "pictures" of a scene.

Which made her just the person to cover such an event.

She was assigned to cover Nathicana's coronation and the events following it. She had stayed in her seat and watched Nathi as she took her oath and declared herself to be Imperatrice of her Italianite Dominion.

Amongst all this mingling and socialization, it would be rude to thrust microphones and interviews among people, and Susanna knew it. Not that she needed such things, given her memory. No, she would simply talk and be merry, just like everyone else. While in this social reverie, however, she would be aware of everything and take note of it.

---

The ceremonies had gone off without a hitch, and Susanna was glad for it. The mingling therafter was a different occasion. She had originally planned to talk with Sirithil and her entourage, but with the verbal spat between her, the emperor of the C'tan, and Melkor's emissaries, she thought it best for her to take a different route.

Making her way through the crowd, she made her way toward Renate von Saucken.

"We have always believed that it is our differences which make us strong."
"Difference can be either a strength or a weakness, depending on the mindsets involved. While it does allow for much greater efficiency and versatility when different elements work together, there is also an unfortunate tendency for separate histories and separate goals to..." The synthesized voice pauses momentarily, offering a soft hum instead. "...conflict. Such conflicts needlessly drain resources and capability vital for other projects and applications."

Finally reaching the table where the LandCoordinator and TechCoordinator stand, she chuckles softly through her metal box. "It appears that they were not so bad at diplomacy after all."

She kept her voice down to not interrupt the main conversation as she offered her hand to the smaller panNorm, taking care not to damage it, though she was not sure if she actually could or not. <snip> “If you don’t mind, of course.”
The TechCoordinator accepts the tip of an index finger with one manipulator-hand and a shortish bow. "Agreed, wife Lesley of the Federation of Sentient Peoples. If there is anything you wish to know, then please ask us to relate it."

The LandCoordinator nods to D'ron. "It's easier for humanoid endoskeletals to move around on the surface because they only have to cover their breathing orifices--the fact we have spiracles almost over our entire bodies at the major thorax, abdomen, and head plate joints is a disadvantage in this case. As it is, we have several more years of atmospheric scrubbing before we can go out without full environmental gear--you're still welcome to visit whenever you choose to do so, comrade," she says to D'ron, "barring anything happening to change the situation."

"Greetings adminCoordinator. I do not know if you recognize me, but I am one of the humans who made initial contact with Alpha. I trust the panNorm is well?"

He adds, in the radio-frequency language of the ants, "I believe I still remember how to speak somewhat in your native language, if you prefer?"
The AdminCoordinator politely excuses herself for a moment from Agwene, bowing to Hideki. "But of course I recognize you, honored peacemaker between our ancestors. The panNorm thrives, thanks in no small part to your intervention." Returning to full height, she falls into standard diplomatic protocols as is appropriate. "Agent Hideki of the Karmabaijani Special Projects Agency, this is Princess Agwene ni Gwydion of the Resurgent Dream, speaker for her people. Princess Agwene ni Gwydion of the Resurgent Dream, this is Agent Hideki of the Karmabaijani Special Projects Agency, one of the party of explorers that solved the problem of the Norm Succession for my people four hundred years ago."

She taps her antennae together momentarily. "The seeming disconnect in perceived time lapse is one of the qualities of this multiverse we have yet to explain fully."

So I see. Are you well, Agent Hideki? You appear healthy for being four hundred years old, relatively.

As I said, it is a rather intimidating organization, our government ... that is to say, a large body of individuals. Should I see any others, I'll be sure to point them out to you."


The Landgrave noted and tried to memorize the names and faces of each individual. It did wonders in the insular world of commodities trading. Wittelbach took careful note of Pacci, Calfa for future conversations. The mention of di Medici caused the peer to almost stop in shock.

It can't be really, can it…those Florentine vagabonds have risen again, here? Well perhaps it is a completely different family or a far flung cadet branch…actually he looks a bit English in all truth, not even the arrogant di Medici nose.

The nobleman decided to drift back into comment.
"Ah, well governments tend in that direction, I think my niece referred to it as the entropy of bureaucracy. But I do not have an physics degree or engineering degree to know what entropy is myself." He shakes his head and makes a soft sigh.

"But it is quite nice that so many of the Ministers I would like to speak with are about."

They stop at the refreshment table, the Landgrave turns to Jill on his arm, "Ambassador, what would you like to refresh yourself with?"

******

"Of course, my lord. I am sure she would be quite honored. Our relations with the FKC have been few and far between, dare I say, nearly non-existent on any official level. It is a pleasure to be able to play host to yourself and the Landgrave. Let me see now, as for the 'when' ... I believe there is only the Federation of Sentient Peoples' delegation before you, if you find that suitable."


The young Lieutenant nods and seems to be considering something. Actually his hand was in a pocket of his uniform for a moment. After the obvious fast tracking of one diplomat and the interruption of the Vrakian he finally speaks. "Ah, unfortunately we decided to leave the gifts at our rented villa, they should be here within say thirty minutes if that is a convenient time?"

He then looked at his fellow Klatchian, and in Vrakian added,
-Might I ask to be present during the Ambassador's presentation? We do not want to give conflicting signals do we?

Jas' demeanor grows serious, and he nods sharply with a grunt that sums things up for the gruff man. "Had this trinket with me for years, now. You know how it is," he murmurs quietly, not one for a lot of sentimentality, and certainly not about to share the story behind it, regardless. Some things are simply not spoken. Such is the case as well with the events in Suunto. He claps Preston on the shoulder "Yer a damn fine man in a pinch, Cleric. Were situations different, I'd be pushin' hard to recruit you an' a dozen o' yer boys. Good to see you still up an' kickin."


In another part of the room, Nathicana is left momentarily speechless at the over-the-top gift ... but then, this is vK, and he's not one known for doing things small.

"What in hell you mean, 'never gave me anything'. Sweet Jesu, man, you're the one got me flying in the first place with my Tempest!" Her eyes do however light up at the prospect as she examines the hologram, having had the opportunity to jack into his personal Loki and fly before, nevermind the fact that she'd been less than 'on her game' that day. "It's too much, truly. And I thank you, sincerely for it. Too damned gracious for your own good, you know. That sort of thing can get a man into trouble."

She reaches back to soothingly stroke the cub, nodding in answer to his previous question. "Yes, a fine gift from the Taraskovyan - and if I'm not mistaken, a rather rare one at that. I think I've found myself a new hunting companion, though I've not yet thought of a proper name for him" she says with a quiet smile. "I'll make an effort to visit Valhalla once all this hooplah is done with. If not for ... " She pauses, unsure of how much to say right now, figuring in the end, it'll all be out soon enough. "From what I've seen, it sounds marvellous - and you know how I like getting away when I can. Perfect excuse for a test drive, yes?" Hugging him impulsively again, she kisses his cheek lightly, then draws back, smiling.

"Grazie, mi amico. Once again, it is far more than I could ask. I'm just glad you were able to come, and I hope you'll enjoy the festivities while you're here."

“Island creation? What will they think of next…” Adam politely sipped his wine, considering the alien idea. “I imagine that there must be some call for it; we’ve always just made do with the few uninhabited islands on the coast of our nation.”

Finishing his small glass of wine, he noticed a waiter passing by and politely placed the empty glass on the tray before changing the dry subject he had started. To be honest Adam was better with the observation then he was with the interaction.

“I’ve got to hand it to the Dominion; it looks like they have got an excellent turnout for the coronation. The atmosphere is absolutely buzzing with excitement. I’ll have to congratulate the Dread Lady Nathicana later for such a successful event.” Adam smiled before continuing. “I do hope that none of the representatives get too hot-headed… though it would be interesting to see how well enemies react to one another in such an environment.”

The young Lieutenant nods and seems to be considering something. Actually his hand was in a pocket of his uniform for a moment. After the obvious fast tracking of one diplomat and the interruption of the Vrakian he finally speaks. "Ah, unfortunately we decided to leave the gifts at our rented villa, they should be here within say thirty minutes if that is a convenient time?"

He then looked at his fellow Klatchian, and in Vrakian added,
-Might I ask to be present during the Ambassador's presentation? We do not want to give conflicting signals do we?

Karlo replied.

-Ah. We thought that you perhaps wanted some time alone. But, we shall go with you. I shall inform the Ambassador. He did leave us with a fair degree of latitude. It'll probably be safer together as well.

The walrus, by now, was working on his tenth glass of punch and exclaimed a bit loudly,

"This is lovely punch! Make sure you get the recipe, Tronj."

"Grazie, mi amico. Once again, it is far more than I could ask. I'm just glad you were able to come, and I hope you'll enjoy the festivities while you're here."

"I plan to, Your High-Emminance-Ness. Think I shall go chat up our old friend Alkanphel...hope you have an eye on him." He returns the hug. "I'll leave you to the queening, give me a ring when you can make it up to pick up your present. Congratulations, again." He turns, "Ah, this must be Jas. Thanks for your help in Suunto, Preston speaks highly of you. You are always welcome in Karmabaijan." vK offers his hand before turning to stride out of the room.

Maile grins, practically hanging on the warlord and nuzzling into his arms as she walks with him. She walks easily, clearly fit as well, though, unlike Pat, her 3' black heels are themselves visible. She smiles at Pat. "It's true. I didn't. Unless you consider sleeping on a cot outside Princess Agwene's room to be a reward. Now, if she was Fiona...then it might be a rather different matter. But none of those names means much to any of you...do they?" She blushes slightly, having forgotten she was outside her homeland for a moment.

Agwene inclines her head graciously to Hideki. "It is a pleasure, Agent." A delicate, alabaster hand is extended, palm down. "This is my first trip to the Dominion. It is rather an amazing place, is it not? So cosmopolitan."

Meanwhile, Cheops is having a hushed conversation with Datima. The servants occassionally crowd around, trying to overhear, but Cheops waves them away impatiently. After a few minutes of this. Datima trots off, heading towards Lady Siri and the Ctan Emperor.

Alkanphel is visibly annoyed as the Austar Union delegate crosses his path. Feigning interest, he removes his arm from Maile for a moment to shake the man's hand, slipping it around the woman's waist again a moment later. He clears his throat. "Indeed. Well met Mister Prodestan. I must say it's been rather... alarming how my reputation has seemingly preceeded me. I had anticipated I'd spend most of my time here in relative solitude but fate has proven me wrong," he notes, with a cursory nod to his two companions. "As such, unfortunately, I don't exactly have the inclination to remain here and converse, as I've just extricated myself from a potentially harrowing situation involving Emperor Mephet'ran and Lady Sirithil." He shudders. "Not the most pleasant of experiences."

With a slight nod towards Prodestan, he starts off again. "If you'd like to discuss anything on a State level, I left two Marshals by the Appetizer table. Feel free to take up any inquiries with them. But alas, I must be off!"

As soon as they were clear, de Vere could be seen whispering to Mephet'ran, “My lord? What precisely was all that about?”

“Well,” the yngir replied, “our not so scary maia friend over there thinks that my aim was to put that pair off him.”

“I see,” the augmented human replied, “That’s certainly what I thought too…”

“Well, as you can tell, they’re both cuddling up. This is where the fun bit comes in.”

“Oh?” asked the other. Mephet’ran started into his eyes for a moment and the middle aged looking smiled, his lips curling up and his eyes practically lighting up with malicious amusement, “Oh yes, that’s very good,” he said, his words edged with barely suppressed laughter, “hilarious. Some demigod…”

The Emperor smiled too, “Right, I suppose you guys can go off on your own now,” he said, “Enjoy.”

Hideki takes the offered hand with a short bow. "A pleasure to meet you Ma'am. And yes, The Dominion is a wonderful place, plenty for an explorer like myself to get lost in. Nothing quite like Alpha, if I do say so myself, but intriguing indeed."


"That's due in no small part to the augmentations, but yes, I am well. 400 years you say? Never could quite grasp the fractured space/time myself, however, it has allowed me to see the fruits of our harrowing little expedition, which is very exciting to me.

Agwene smiles graciously at Hideki, though she does arch a brow faintly at the 'ma'am'. She starts to say something before Cheops gives her a glance. She does speak shortly. "The pleasure is all mine, I assure you." She casts a brief glance to the other panNorms that proceeded her company here, smiling.

Datima continues her trot over to Mepehet'ran and Siri. The satyress takes a deep bow and does not speak before being acknowledged. Contrary to mythology, she is not a nymph or dryad or anything like that. She is a female version of a satyr, long-haired, goat legged, and barely covered by a small garment over her chest, leaving shoulders and torso bare. A blonde being, she is pretty but not superhumanly so and her furr covered legs are blond as well. Must be her natural hair color.

Maile pouts faintly when the warlord's arm is withdrawn and then smiles when it returns to her waist. She gives a polite nod to the representative from the Austar Union, pleasant but impatient. Meanwhile, half-way across the plaze, Cheops watches, murmuring under his breath. "She is so fired."

Winking at the other two men, Mr. Etherton, the national President of the Assemblies of God church decided to peel off;

"If you must excuse me Gentlemen, I intend to have some kind of meeting with Lady Nathicana. I wanted to congratulate her on the achievement, and to let her know that she has the support of the church. Perhaps even, she may be able to provide us with some contacts within the Dominion, so that we are able to build the kingdom of God together, more efficiently."

It isn't terribly hard to find someone who can give the appropriate directions to President Etherton, and they are only too happy to get him where he needs to go - towards Chancellor Calabrese, currently engaged with the representatives of Vrak, Alcona and Hubris, and at a distance, Slutbum Wallah.

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

Gina wasn't the only one to see trouble at a glance. The kid was looking to get his ass handed to him by the older man, no two ways about it. The drink and the hit of Ecstasy she'd had earlier had her feeling more bold than usual however, and the idea of two men fighting over her was suddenly rather attractive. It was already nice not to have papa's men keeping such a close eye on her, what with the big meet and all, and she was revelling in giving the one guardian she'd been assigned the slip. This added entertainment just sweetened the deal.

Time to throw some gasoline on the fire.

She saunters up with a practiced sway of her hips, pleated skirt swishing softly against her smooth, tanned thighs. One hand traces from the small of Jason's back up along his spine, across his shoulder and down his arm, even as she leans over the table to boldly steal Wallace's drink, winking slyly as she takes a slow sip, then licks her lips teasingly.

"Something wrong, boys?" she asks in a voice seemingly made for seduction, gracing each with a warm, inviting smile.

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

Security had noted the reporter accosting D'ron, and the brief hand signal Pacci gave to one of the servers only clinched it. However, his guard seemed to have the situation well in hand at present, and subtlety in a crowd like this, was a must.

One of the obvious security agents made his way slowly towards the Guardsman, from the front, maintaining a casual demeanor.

"Can I be of assistance, President?" he quietly asks D'ron, his eyes on the reporter and Andrew.

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

Calabrese smiles back warmly. "I'm glad to hear they've worked out," he reassures the large man. "We're pleased the good Ambassador chose to visit again, indeed, our guests have done us a great honor by their attendance. I can't remember the last time we had such a wonderfully diverse gathering of such distinguished leaders and representatives. Truly, we are humbled. Consider the arrangements made, mi'lords. If in the interrim there come to be others who can be seen briefly, may I assume you would not take it amiss?"

He politely paid no attention to the Lieutenant's hand - security was after all, keeping a sharp eye out for him - nor did he seem to notice the quiet exchange of foreign words. To draw undue attention would be rude, of course, and things had so far been running so well, he found himself in rather good spirits overall.

Well, all except his concerns over Butah, whom he heard was being bodily restrained by his underlings. That man was trouble, no two ways about it. Still, he hadn't been able to resist baiting the fellow a bit.

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

Battista was quite happily oblivious to the effect the di Medici name had on Landgrave Wittelbach, having grown up around such people all his life, and knowing well enough that their more (in)famous cousins were a distant branch indeed. Such subtleties and uses for namedropping were not his style at any rate, and so he often missed it in others.

"It is an unfortunate, in my mind, effect of a long-standing system, yes," he replies thoughtfully. "If I gather the thrust of your comment there, that is, though perhaps I ought to stick closer to my own areas of expertise, and leave the governing to the ah ... professionals."

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

Nathicana thwaps vK playfully on the shoulder as he goes. "Cut the titles, dammit!" she says with a mock glare, then a wink. "I'm going to have enough of this shit to deal with here on out without my friends taking it up. And please ... please, for the love of God and all his Saints ... don't push more than the Warlord's ego can take. He's ah ... had it battered about a bit lately, and truth, if he goes apeshit again, there's only so much my people can do about it. He's a guest, Xeruyu - same as everyone else here. I'd take it amiss if said 'sanctuary' were broken."

Jas nods respectfully to the man as he makes his exit, smiling around his ever-present clove cigarette. "S' an honor, President," he says, giving his hand a firm shake. "Feel the same 'bout your man there. Offer appreciated. And you, Cleric - keep it sharp, boy. Fortitudine vincimus."

Karlo replied.

-Ah. We thought that you perhaps wanted some time alone. But, we shall go with you. I shall inform the Ambassador. He did leave us with a fair degree of latitude. It'll probably be safer together as well.


-Troubled times sir, both our allies and adversaries congregate at this function. I think showing a face of unity to the new Empress would be wise.

By the time the disaster waiting to happen had ended Lieutenant Chen had returned with their beers and they were all sharing a subdued chuckle. Stefan turned to the Captain and said, "It appears that we are even Ludvig, does it not?"

The tall Nordic man nodded and replied, "Yes, it does, Prince. A shame, I had hoped that I would be up at least some money."

Imogen cleared her throat and said, "Love, do you think it is time to present the Imperatrice with her coronation gift?"

"Yes, that would be a good idea. We don't know if she will participate in the masque and it would be incredibly tough to find her once it starts if she does participate," Prince Stefan took out a relatively flat device and pressed an area of the pad that activated a small hologram and then began to speak to the device. "Sergeant Major, would you please bring the present for Lady Nathicana?"

The holographic representation of another Imperial soldier in another place nodded and said, "Yes sir, please allow me half an hour to arrive."

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45 Minutes Later (Can't have things going smoothly, can we?)
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A man of about 5'10, considered a tad undersized by anyone from the Imperium, and wearing a uniform exactly identical to those of Lieutenant Chen and Captain Sabel joined the group of Scandavians. However, what was interesting about the Sergeant Major was that he was carrying a large and, from the slight strain showing on his face, heavy package. It was wrapped in cloth of gold and done so in a manner one would normally associate with wrapping clothing in for Christmas.

When Stefan saw the non-com approaching with the package he stood, took it from the senior NCO, and said, "Let us go to the palace and arrange a meeting with the Imperatrice."

The three bodyguards formed a quasi-skirmish line and with as much politeness and gentleness as possible began making a path through the packed courtyard. After another half-hour of maneuvering they finally made their way to Chancellor Calabrese. When the guards noticed the FKC contingent they stopped the Prince and the Princess-to-be short and Major Sabel went ahead in their stead. However, he did not interrupt Calabrese's conversation with the Klatchians, he merely stood at a respectful distance away from the group but still within the Chancellor's line of sight at parade rest while carefully maintaining a neutral expression despite his proximity to people he would have words with on an exceptionally good day.

Strolling around, sharing the odd word or nod with other delegates and other distinguished guests, Lord Stratton picked up two glasses from a passing waiter and handed one to Angelina, who took a sip instantly, her mouth dry and her mood no better than when the ceremony had ended. Both let their eyes scan the crowd, looking for people of interest, and generally picking up any hints and signs played out between the other people present. Reading body language was an interesting tool, and one that greatly interested the Empress’ cousin, as he played a silent game of guess the story.

Angelina was also staring at the crowd, but she was playing no such game, she just liked to watch people, for no other reason than she found their behaviour amusing. It always made her smile watching people interact, especially when they were trying to be diplomatic at the same time. She let her gaze travel over the groups; watching as people juggled glasses and hand shakes. Continuing around she glanced at the facial expressions as ambassadors for countries tip-toed around each other, making sure not to start an international incident.

Just about to pull her attention back to her companion, her eyes fell upon the face of a man, who seemed to be looking in her direction. Unsure whether that was the case, she looked about herself slowly, checking to see whether anyone else was paying attention to him; then realising that she must be the object of his interest, she turned back to face him, in time to see him walking in their direction.

As the man came near enough, he had caught the attention of both Stratton and Angelina; both listening to his introduction with mixed interest. Val nodded his head in response to the salute and broke their silence, making their introductions. “I am Lord Stratton, official representative of Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Gehenna of Tartarus.” He presented his hand and shook the newcomer’s firmly, before indicating his companion. “And this is Angelina Ormond, my assistant.”

Angelina returned the smile of the man before her, and following Val’s lead, presented her hand to Iuthn. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Stratton smiled at the young man, then looked between him and Angelina. “I certainly have no objections. Angelina?” He turned his attention to the woman beside him.

Smiling with more pleasure than Val, and delighted to have an excuse to remove herself, however temporarily from her boss, Angelina nodded and answered in the affirmative. “I would love to join you.” Another smile, then she turned to Stratton and inclined her head slowly, before turning back to Iuthn. “Please, lead the way.” She slipped her arm through his, and turned her back to Val.

Before they were even out of sight, Stratton had his attention already focused on another group of people, as he made his way through the throng.

The winds of freedom.

Ithun shook Stratton's hand.

- It is an honour to meet you, Milord.

And then immediately proceeded to kiss Angelina's hand.

- Most delighted.

He gave her a smile as he lead her away, holding her arm, into the area for dancing. The orchestra was playing something classical. Ithun frowned a little. He was raised in a noble family and actually had the title of Leib-Count, he listened to classical music even before he learned to walk. But well, he shrugged quickly and led the dance. It is, of course, clear that due to his noble heritage he also knew how to dance even before he knew how to walk.
And while they moved majestically among other pairs, he gave her a smile.

- Well, Milady does not seem overly saddened by the fact that I stole her from her Superior.

<snip> it has allowed me to see the fruits of our harrowing little expedition, which is very exciting to me.
We are glad you approve. It has been... difficult at times, as you can probably understand from being caught up in the Succession Wars. That is the primary reason why our weapons technologies now concentrate on disabling rather than destroying outright...

The AdminCoordinator quietly watches the conversations surrounding her, but with the compound eyes, it can be difficult at times to know who exactly she may be looking at...

Datima continues her trot over to Mepehet'ran and Siri. The satyress takes a deep bow and does not speak before being acknowledged. Contrary to mythology, she is not a nymph or dryad or anything like that. She is a female version of a satyr, long-haired, goat legged, and barely covered by a small garment over her chest, leaving shoulders and torso bare. A blonde being, she is pretty but not superhumanly so and her furr covered legs are blond as well. Must be her natural hair color.

Mephet’ran turned and smiled at the newcomer, thinking to himself, now this is new, he extended a hand regally, I think I’ve heard of something like this creature, he thinks, while quite extraordinarily speaking at exactly the same time, allowing none of the curiosity he feels to surface in his words, expression, or mannerisms, “Greetings…” he said, “I don’t recall having met…”

Datima shakes her emperor's hand, smiling. "Greetings, Your Imperial Majesty. My name is Datima. I'm with the delegation from the Empire of the Resurgent Dream. I was just worried that Miss Carey, the young woman with the Warlord, might have offended somehow. I assure you, she does not speak for the empire. She was only here as a personal attendant. She can socialize with whom she wishes. She is a free citizen, of course. But I didn't want her personal choices to be confused with the policies of our government."

Meanwhile, another servant, one Theresa Baer, leaves the small group around Agwene on a whispered order from Cheops. Theresa searches the crowd with her eyes, looking for the chancellor or some other representative of the Dominion government. The time of the masquerade grew near and the Princess still had to present her gifts to the Dread Lady. Hopefully, Theresa could find the chancellor and arrange an audience.

Cheops, no longer engrossed in the conversation, trots a short way off and takes out a small notebook. The satyr begins to rapidly jot down his observations, occassionally glancing around to confirm some forgotten detail.

Mephet'ran smiled once more, “Oh you needn’t worry about that,” he added after a short while, not seeming concerned in the slightest, “I pity the poor girl. I would of course be interested in hearing more about your empire…”

((Arg. Too short!))

Datima frowns a little. "Pity? Your Imperial Majesty, you don't think he'd actually hurt her, do you? I mean...physically." She sighs and then looks back to him. "Cheops might know magic to teleport her back if necessary. Then again, he might not. I don't know exactly what he can do." She looks after Maile, Pat, and the Warlord for a long moment. "So what would you wish to know about my homeland, Your Imperial Majesty? We are a confederation of six kingdoms and three semi-autonomous grand duchies. We have somewhere between one and two hundreds of millions of people. We have roughly a hundred races though only ten of these have any significant population. I am a stayr, myself. Five of our six kingdoms and all of our Grand Duchies are governed by the Seelie Code: Death before dishonor, beauty is life, love conquers all, and never forget a debt. The sixth kingdom, Wintermore, is governed by somewhat...different standards." She pauses. "Perhaps, given Miss Carey's apparent taste, she would have been better off in the service of Queen Eleanor ni Ailil of Wintermore. Would you wish to meet my lady? I am sure she would love the opportunity."

We are glad you approve. It has been... difficult at times, as you can probably understand from being caught up in the Succession Wars. That is the primary reason why our weapons technologies now concentrate on disabling rather than destroying outright...

"Well, your species has shown itself to be highly adaptable in the past, I am sure you will adapt again." Hideki ponders for a moment. "Just a word of advice from..heh..a 400 year old man who has been around the 'verse a few times, you may not want to give up on all your old weapons technology so quickly. It is a confusing 'verse out there, and you never know when someone may take offense at the simple fact that you were bor...hatch...that you exist."

He smiled, “Oh I doubt she’s in immediate danger. Alkanphel’s tastes differ from the rest of the denizens of Angband… err, Hell-of-Iron, capital of the five kingdoms… in that area, he’s often quite the gentleman. Just not a bad influence on people.” He smiled and listened to the explanation. He glanced at Sirithil for a moment before returning his gaze to the satyress saying, “We would love to.” Putting his arm through the elf-queen’s again, they headed off.

((Yep, she gave OOC consent for that.))

Datima grins. "I'm sure she'd love to meet you both. She's right over there with the panNorm." Datima gestures in the general direction. "You do not need to speak discretely of such matters for my sake, Your Imperial Majesty. I am, after all, a satyr and our reputation in these things is quite well and unabashedly earned."

"Finally," sighs Alkanphel as he leads the two women down the corridor leading to the Palazzo Ducale courtyard. "As a general rule I tend to aovid social functions like this.. perhaps that's why," he muses, rolling his eyes. Slowly he grins, pulling the two of them closer. "Now that we're away from the crowd, I suppose we've got ourselves a handful of options here," he says, raising a brow as he eyes the small orchestra playing in the courtyard.

Gradually he comes to a stop, surveying the building from the centre of the courtyard, probably trying to remember just where his room was. "So where to?" he asks absently.

Maile leans up and kisses the Maia lightly on the cheek. "Wherever you wish, Your Lordship. Right, Pat?" She gives a conspiratorial glance to the other woman, winking.

Maile leans up and kisses the Maia lightly on the cheek. "Wherever you wish, Your Lordship. Right, Pat?" She gives a conspiratorial glance to the other woman, winking.

Pat giggles again, not a bubbly titter this time, but a slightly deeper chuckle of anticipation. "I have heard tales about Devras being a particularly... interesting... place for certain kinds of... exploration." She winks at her two companions, her wide skirts shifting just so for a brief glimpse of her toes, presumably encased in surprisingly shimmery silver shoes. "Perhaps we may find someplace in the city, quiet and away from all these stuffy diplomats that seem to be out to make m'lord's evening unpleasant?"

"It is an unfortunate, in my mind, effect of a long-standing system, yes," he replies thoughtfully. "If I gather the thrust of your comment there, that is, though perhaps I ought to stick closer to my own areas of expertise, and leave the governing to the ah ... professionals."


"I think my thrust was more that any nation of the Dominions size was going to have a large, sprawling bureaucracy unless severe steps are made to keep in check. As for leaving governing to the professionals…that leaves a whole array of questions. Considering they have a Minister of Religion I would suggest being cautious in any endeavors outside your expertise. After all, my aforementioned niece is the overall military commander for the entire Federation, and yet has a Ph.D. in nuclear physics. However, she almost started a war because she couldn't bite her tongue and let an innocent insult pass without comment."

He shook his head as they stopped in front of the punch bowl. Raising his hand with a finger pointing upwards to indicate he would return to the matter in a moment.

He asked Jill, "would you like some punch?" After getting the ambassador her drink and waiting for the Archbishop to get a drink he continued. "In all one can have hidden depths, but sometimes our strengths in some situations can become our weaknesses in others. But enough of this, we should make a toast on this happy occasion."

****
Lord Windmere nodded to the Chancellor and said. "Of course, I think both of our respective primaries are at the refreshment table.

****
An ageing palazzo near the Scuola di Brunellesci was the scene of five alconian marines stepping out of a doorway directly into a motor launch. Two of the marines had a large case that they carried between them. A third marine carried in her arms a large package down to the boat. The final two marines were acting as guards.

A few moments later the motor launch, with a wooden upper deck and a white hull pushed off for the Piazza san Bernardi. The FKC naval jack flashed in the wind off the stern.

"It is a confusing 'verse out there, and you never know when someone may take offense at the simple fact that you were bor...hatch...that you exist."
The AdminCoordinator chuckles aloud for no apparent reason, antennae gently waving like thoughts in the breeze. Trust me, friend, we are well equipped in that particular aspect of diplomacy as well. Such offense is so much easier to right when those who hold it are somewhat... lacking in the ability to do much about it, which is part of our intent.

There is one particular aspect of our "old technology" that we are keeping and that you would have quite the interest in... simply making it more versatile and a bit less unwieldly, but it still serves the purpose. Rest assured that we will not use it if we do not have to.

The Soldier Red looks around curiously, honestly--albeit not obviously to humanoid eyes--bored out of her mind. All of this talking and greeting and talking and nothing to do, surrounded by potential threats and yet restrained from action... bored and extremely nervous at the same time. Snatching up another sugar fruit, she munches on it idly--Mmmm, sugar--before deciding that she could best serve by scouting out the area a little bit. Silently taking her leave, the Red skitters off, trying to get out of the crowd and its high density of meaty endoskeletals with rifles. Leaving the Piazza, she decides to wander the streets a bit.

"Pfft." Alkanphel starts for the stairs, then pauses for a moment considering the.. rather radical proposal. He starts again, then stops shortly thereafter, suddenly conflicted. He knots his brows. "A...worthy proposal," he notes, lifting his brow again. "Though I suppose the Dominion's penchant for constant surveillance wouldn't afford us much privacy. I imagine I'm being watched very closely nonetheless..." he trails off, looking after a moment down to Maile. "Your thoughts?"

Finally, the tears came to an end. Inflamed, puffy eyes could no longer stomach the seemingly endless torrent of emotion that flooded, and marked tracks of red where such sadness and sorrow had fallen. Annika continued to cough, her breath spluttering as she struggled to regain her composure. She could rely on no kindly word, or supportive shoulder, in this strange and uninviting place. Suddenly she saw through the brightly coloured banners and song. She realised the terror that crept upon her soul beneath the facade of the party atmosphere. She hugged herself without conscious realisation, shuffling her feet.

Slowly, she stood, her small feet struggling up the drop from road to pavement. She stepped forwards, totally unsure of where now to move, or go. The Thunderbird waited, as always back in the hanger complex, yet she saw no reason to return. For now, she had no home and no posessions other than something she had to all intents and purposes stolen, albeit at the risk of her life ending had she remained alone from the wonderous craft. She caught sight of a relatively uncrowded bus pull from around the corner, and approach her. Quickly, she looked around, and located a nearby stop. She doubted they would take her charge card, and began to step away, resigned to being stuck here, until she spied the destination stop.

The plaza, where the Coronation had been held, and where the celebration was in full swing.

She stepped into the small throng of people waiting to board the transport. She successfully managed to push onboard, and avoid the attentions of the driver, who was far too concerned handling the cash literally thrown at him by dozens of busy and hostile commuters. She quickly dropped into a window seat, and pressed her face to the cool glass.

The bus pulled away, and Annika watched the carnival that had sorrounded her but moments ago recede into the distance. She dropped her hands into her lap, and allowed her forehead to press against the window once more. She sniffled slightly, but vowed not to cry in front of these other, faceless people. She would not see others gain satisfaction from her hurt. And it was as that, the transport made a speedy way, to along its route, towards the bustling centre of the party.



She stepped down from the platform, or more accurately, was pushed. She looked round, her features twisting in anger, but could not find the culprit, who had disappeared into twenty faces she did not recognise, splitting into many different directions, and paths. Finally finding stability on the pavement, she took a glance around. The crowd had swollen considerably, and the atmosphere louder and more carefree than the downtown centres she had been in previously. She slowly made her way forward, conscious of a small but steady stream of well dressed individuals exiting, and entering a small area to the far north of where she stood. Making her mind up quickly, she broke into a short run, bunching up her dress to avoid dragging it along the ground, she closed on the rear of the line. In front, stood a regal gentleman in a black, creaseless suit. His lady friend was the picture of elegance, her dress so long and flowing Annika had to step back for fear of tredding. As she glanced round the couple, she became aware of stoney-faced, yet efficient man, dressed an ominiously official uniform. He seemed to be ensuring the identity of peoples, as they passed through, and Annika acted quickly.

When the guard reached what he believed to be the end of the line, he exchanged brief pleasentries with the Ciristoran Delegates, and checked their papers for discrepancies. As he took a step forward, he heard what sounded like a muffled yelp, and immediately took a quick look to the right and left, puzzled. Looking down,and seeing that the long, billowing dress of the female delegate had become tangled in his boot, he stepped back, apologising for his mistake. He moved onwards, and continued checking.

Annika followed under that dress for as long as they remained outside the square. She quickly threw it upwards, and darted into a small crowd to the left, avoiding the strange look cast back by the Lady in question as she questioned where the sudden gust of wind had travelled from. Slightly out of breath, the young girl leaned over, her knees slightly bent. Having steadied herself, she glanced upwards, and took a sharp intake of breath. All around her well dressed and dashing gents courted their equally stunning dates. Sprinkled through this, the strange and intriguing were present.

her eyes widened, as she caught sight of what looked like... a bug. A very, very large bug. She gasped audibly, backing away even though she was a healthy distance from the creature. She felt an annoyed cough against her neck as she backed into another partygoer and disrupted his enjoyement of the evening. Annika rushed an apology, and pushed ahead, amazed at the various peoples and races that seemed to grace this event. She gazed from here, against what at first she thought to be Nathicana herself. She wore an elegant dress whose very threads seemed to shine, and sparkle against the air around. Her skin, alabaster and smooth, showed not a flaw, or a crease. Her make up tastefully applied and agumenting only her natural beauty, Annika stepped slightly closer.

But where, she expected normalacy, the strange peeked a head. For, on those most mundane of things, her ears, betrayed a gentle but noticable differentation. They were not rounded, as Annika's, but slightly pointed, upwards. The young girl gasped, wondering if these were the people that populated her story books, of living in glittering forests, of turning trees into entire cities in the canopy of green. Who were gentle, and caring, and loving?

She caught a name, beautiful, but meaning sadly nothing to her. It seemed to confirm the shining, simmering beauty before her, "Sirithil". Annika felt decidedly ordinary, and unpleasing beside this slender and attractive women. She slowly began to turn, and walk away, casting a final glance at this spirited person, whom held her attention so vividly. She wondered in awe how fantastic the Princess Nathicana must be, in relation to this... Sirithil. She mingled, amongst strange creatures, and normal humans. For each face she saw, she remembered, and revelled in that in her ordinary, uninspired self, she mingled with greatness.

Butah, Walters and Tolkingham stood in a rough line, contemplating the vast, meandering que of courtiers awating a personal interview with the new Imperatrice. There were dozens of them, laden down with a dazzling array of gifts, from the grand and spectacular to the small and personal. Walters could swear he'd spotted one go in with a small animal earlier. The opulence and wealth on display was enough to fill a goldmine.

Tolkingham coughed quietly and ran a hand through his hair, "Did we ah... did we think to bring anything for the coronation, General?"

Butah slowly and carefully produced his hipflask, unscrewed the cap and took a long swig, grimacing as the strong liquor his hit throat.

Walters straightened his tie and brushed an invisible speck of dirt from his suit, "I think that answers your question most eloquently, Edward. As such I think it would be a good idea if we kept a low profile for the next few hours at least."

"You'd think the crown would be enough for the woman." Butah grumbled. Beside him, Tolkingham produced a small paper bag and began rooting through the contents.

"What on earth have you got there?" Walters asked, briefly looking around. "Answer quick, the security guards all just turned to glare at us."

Tolkingham extended the bag to Walters, "Bonbons. Would you like one? I got them from a shop not forty-five minutes ago. Something to tide me over in case the ceremonies overran." He smiled and popped one of the round sweets into his mouth.

"You brought bonbo..." Butah began, then sighed. "You disgust me, do you know that?"

"Save them." Walters commented, "Gives us something to present to her Ladyship if we run into her." He looked around again, checking to see that the guards had calmed down. He paused. "Honestly, these fashions get more outlandish every year."

"What's that?" Tolkingham spoke around the bonbon.

"I swear I just saw a woman come in here with a girl underneath her dress. Bizarre." The crowd parted for a moment and Walter's caught Annika's eye. He waved cheerily, and winked.

"Oh calm down, man. It's probably just an assassin or similar." Butah scoffed, offhandedly. "Come on, lets find the bar."

The Ambassador, working on his 20th glass of punch was beginning to feel lightheaded and quite gregarious. He kept on about getting the recipe for the wonderful punch and, remarkably enough, did not spill a drop yet. Tronj managed to keep the innocent from being accidentaly squished while making uncomfortable smiles with nearby partygoers as if to convey "Ah well. A slightly tipsy two ton walrus who is also my boss. What can a guy do?"

Karlo came back and discreetly whispered into Jur's ear. The walrus nodded and the contigent began to make their way back to Calabrese. Unfortunately, Jur noticed the Scandavian States delegation and loudly said,

"Blow me down! It's the Scandavians! See any pirates anywhere?"

Jur mimicked looking around the room and, feigning an unsuccessful search, then said,

"Maybe they will be at the masquerade."

Maile shrugs lightly. "Perhaps we can just go somewhere private and get to know each other better?" She smiles winningly, shifting a little enticingly. Her own dress hikes up a little, the split showing one well formed thigh.

Datima continues to walk alongside the Emperor and the Lady. "For my own part, I am afraid I know very little of the elven nations. Perhaps you could enlighten a humble satyress? There is a measure of curiosity regarding the subject back in the Empire."

Agwene holds a slight hand up to her current company, smiling. "It was lovely to meet you, Agent, Admincoordinator. However, I do believe my advisor is about to drag me into further introductions." Agwene glides over, moving to meet the returning satyr with a grin. Politely, she curtseys to the two she doesn't know. "Greetings, m'lord, m'lady. I am Princess Agwene ni Gwydion, here to speak for my mother, the High Queen Corrina of the Resurgent Dream. I am, of course, honored to make your aquaintance." She extends a hand, palm down.

Piazza San Bernardi, Devras, DLN

Andrew looked up at the approach of the Dominion security guard, and merely palmed the knife, making it vanish up his sleeve, sliding it through the strap holding his second pistol, as D’ron motions subtly with his head, directing the guard back towards the two frozen in tableau.

He smiled tightly at the guard, still speaking quietly to not disturb the leaders. “This nice lady here has got some sort of EM device in her necklace. When she just approached the President out of no where, I thought I would take action.” His gaze shifted to look at her out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve still not found out anything about her.” The Guardsman’s gaze shifted back to the guard. “Perhaps you can do better.” He took a step away, letting the security man in, to do whatever it was he did.

The purple haired EI avatar arrived just in time to see the reporter being led away. Cortana was carrying a fairly large flat black box under her arm, and even as strong as she was, appeared to be having a bit of trouble merely because of its awkwardness. She approached the group, and reached out with her free hand to tap D’ron on the shoulder, having previously alerted him to her return.

Winding down his piece of the conversation, D’ron bowed slightly to those he was conversing with. “I’m afraid we’ve an appointment with an Empress now, so if you’ll excuse us…” Lesley inclined her head similarly, and smiled brightly. Meanwhile, D’ron extended a stack of datachips to the Emperor, Tsume, and to the TechCoordinator. It was the equivalent of a business card, with some light diplomatic encryptions on it, and ways of contacting the Federation, even in emergencies.

Bowing again, they moved out of the circle, and as the foursome formed up again, Andrew snagged another cookie, with his knife this time, then returning his knife to its sheath on his sash.

A few minutes later, they all entered into the Dread Lady’s receiving room, and except for Andrew, bowed deeply. Instead, he directed a friendly gaze at his opposite numbers, the eyes of expert running over both of them, then settling on Jas as the most dangerous person in the room.

“Saluti, Nathicana D'Aquisto, Imperatrice del Dominion. Lungo potete regnare.” D’ron’s Italian, while technically perfect, is completely accentless, as if he were speaking through a mechnical translator, as he straightens, smiling, along with the two women who had accompanied him. He reverts to his much more comfortable English, and his face brightens. “We come bearing gifts. Fortunately, we’re not Greeks.”

Lesley stifles a giggle at her husband’s poor, poor joke, as Cortana and Andrew suppress grimaces.

Dante’s Inferno, Devras, DLN

Jason shivers at the touch along his spine, and grins lecherously at the young lady, raising his hand and putting it on her shoulder, before turning his gaze back on the older man. “See? What did I tell you?”

Jack hurries up to him, and tries to pull him away, but Jason pushes him back, surprisingly strong for someone’s who’s quite drunk, as his grip tightens a bit too much on the girl’s shoulder.

"Milady, I think we've missed the coronation."

Sandrine White's young shoulders sagged, then straightened again. "Oh well," the young Landgravine replied, "It was just some lady putting on a crown. Probably wouldn't have been interesting anyway, yai truth."

Ingrid Anderssen congratulated herself on once again resisting the urge to throttle her young charge. I was never so mindless, at that age.

"Sandrine, for the blood of the Lord of, you're the representative of your father of here. Please try not to make a war before you've even reached the County Stone, I cry you. I'm supposed to stop foreigners from making holes in you, not help them."

"Yai, yai. You'll manage fine, bond-Knight Anderssen," Sandrine replied airily - and was off into the crowds of the Piazza, rapidly disappearing from view.

Jehovah, Maria and Jesu the Lord Anointed! I am never having children, I swear.

Ingrid looked down at her watch, and found the light of the little radio-tracker there dark. Ai, Lord. That girl will make my hair as white as an Aldermann's.

"Excuse me!" she called, pushing her way through the crowds, "Don't mind me, I cry you - just passing through..."

Eventually, she ran straight into Walters.

"Oh! Very sorry, milord - I'm looking for a young woman, about such in height" - her hands indicated five foot four, five foot six - "With white hair, wearing a blue dress. Have you seen her?"

~~~

Meanwhile, Sandrine was also moving through the crowd. The Reeve's daughter was a young and cheerful specimen of humanity, especially when out from under the wing of her grim and stuffy bond-Knight. Right now she was searching for the bar; she might be only sixteen, but her white Aldermann's hair made her look older, which she was counting on.

What she found, before coming across the bar, was a girl in a red dress, who looked about the same age as herself.

"Hi!" Sandrine said brightly, extending a hand. "I'm Sandrine White, who're you?"

Maile trails one finger gently over the Warlord's hand. "I do hope I am making a favorable impression, sire. Especially if I'm the first girl you've met from the Resurgent Dream. My lady did tell me to be on my best behavior." She smiles enchantingly at him, glanceing briefly around the crowd. "It has been months since I've had a night out with such a handsome man and never a man so handsome and in such a cosmopoliton city. Why, I don't think I've ever seen such a crowd. Do you know all these people?" She looks over at Pat and seems to drift off into thought briefly. "Pat, where are you from? I can't believe I never bothered to ask that. You are quite charming. It's nice meeting a young lady like yourself, I think. Are you an ambassador?"

Pat grins. "Indeed... surely there is somewhere is this vast city where a lord and his ladies might have a quiet snack and revel in eachother's company."

"As for my duties... I am technically part of the Diplomatic Corps... but I believe my impolite escort has that duty well in hand for the Shogunate, so I have the evening to myself. Sadly, the Corps fails to recognize my talents, so I have yet to be promoted to ambassador." Pat pouts cutely for a moment.

She twirls a lock of her red hair about idly. "And my earliest question about the kitchen implements was not rhetorical. There is a wonderfully diverse array of things one can do using chocolate sauce and stirring whisks." She winks conspiratorially. "Truly fascinating things."

Maile nods a little. "Maybe there is. Still, I think we'd need an actual room for that." She shurgs, looking up at the Warlord, waiting for his word. "Honestly, whatever you two want to do is fine by me."

The Piazza

"Travel well and thrive, Princess Agwene ni Gwydion of the Resurgent Dream. Hopefully we can speak again on things." The AdminCoordinator bows shortly and waves mildly with one manipulator hand, which quickly diverts to accept the high-tech buisiness card. "And you as well, Imperial President D'ron Smith of the Federation of Sentient Peoples."

"See you on Eärendil, comrade," the LandCoordinator offers in parting.

I shall have to find Chancellor Calabrese soon if I am to speak with Imperatrice Nathicana D'Aquisto about important matters. Agent Hideki, if you will excuse me... With a short bow to those in attendance, she scuttles off in search of the Chancellor.

Dante's Inferno
The Soldier Red wanders in, its antennae immediately assaulted by human activity pheromones--a disconcerting experience, but not necessarily a bad one. Now this may be more my speed.

Agwene smiles to herself as she parts company with the panNorm. They were a strange race and more alien than any she had met, yet she felt that there could be friendship with them. Their appearance was not as strange to her as hers to them. There were similar beings in the Resurgent Dream. She just had to keep reminding herself these were not insectoid pooka. The attitude and approach to life were wholly different and that would be a rather serious mistake. Still, when one lived with the diversity of the fae, one was hard to shock with appearances alone.

Cheops walks behind her, deep in thought. The details of the panNorm play a more complex game in his mind. They were certainly friendly and he felt confident they would deal fairly. Nonetheless, Cheops was aware that the Resurgent Dream had considered a world view like that of the panNorm and rejected it for a reason. They truly were beings of a wholly different nature. Strength could come from that but friction as well. He was sure Queen Corrina would know how to best interact with their race.

Rihdadw, one of the Keepers of the Goddess Blades, mills about the crowd aimlessly, finding himself particularly fond of the walls. If one of us had to attend, why did the Elder not send Oduh, or Luceh, or perhaps Vumacetajij? He should know I have little patience for these things. The brown and grey scaled Keeper grouses to himself.

He probably makes a very striking visage to look upon, though perhaps not nearly as out of place among all the non-humans present. Since modern formalwear would not fit well on his half-human frame, he had opted instead to wear the traditional armor of his clan, burnished metal plates strapped to his draconic legs and along points of his tail, a decorated chestplate adorning his chest, while not interfering with the motion of his wings. Similiar plates are lashed to his forearms, and he wears a traditional battle headdress, all feathers and beads and intricate metalwork, the finlike structures of his ears seemingly blending into the headpiece, which overall has the semblance of a great flaming wolf. His sword, Jneht ev Nubadw, lies in a sheath on his hip, the weapon peacebonded. (Much to his annoyance, but he also knew that if something were to happen that required violence he, like all the Keepers, were far dangerous without even using a sword.) At a glance, the Keeper would appear to be in the prime of youth, perhaps 25 or so. A longer look would reveal a sort of agelessness, his eyes with a depth that comes only from long life, an unsettling contrast to his youthful features. Rihdadw is not the youngest nor the oldest of the Keepers, but he is still over 2,000 years old, having already been alive for nearly three centuries when Najoedo convinced the Keepers to go into hiding two millenia ago.

With a long-suffering sigh, he snags a glass of wine from a passing servant and sips at it, surveying the crowd. Honestly, what am I supposed to do here? The modern land is already well-represented, so what am I to do? Socialize?

Datima bows as her lady greats the emperor and the lady. The satyress moves back to speak quietly with Cheops while the dignitaries speak. After a few moments conversation, a look of faint alarm crosses the female's face. Cheops seems to calm his fellow satyr with a light pat on the shoulder, however.

Meanwhile, one of the servants approaches the chancellor, curtseying deeply. "I beg your pardon, m'lord. I know you are rather swamped in conversation at the moment. However, my lady asked me to seek you out. She wishes to present gifts from her nation to the Imperatrice, if it please Her Imperial Majesty. I'm a messenger for Princess Agwene ni Gwydion of the Empire of the Resurgent Dream." She lowers her eyes to the ground, silent now as she awaits the chancellor's response.

Meanwhile, yet another servant departs to fetch the gitfts proper and another to do the task Maile was assigned and abandoned. This makes four serving girls from Resurgent Dream wandering loose in the Piazza.

"I know some of them," he begins absently, answering Maile's query as he steps off the stairs and starts to double back down the corridor. "And you're doing just fine," he asserts almost breathlessly, affording a slight chuckle as he pulls her closer. "A wonderful first contact, to be quite sure," he continues. He stoops down slightly and offers her a kiss. "Come now, lets find somewhere where we can sit and socialize for a bit. I'm sure there's a host of places within a short walk from here that would have us." He winks at Pat, and hikes his chin towards the street. "It shouldn't take long."

Maile kisses back, fiercely, passionately, pressing her body against his before lowering again with a grin. "Good. That is part of my purpose here." She smiles slightly. "But enough of that for now. We must find somewhere to have fun." She starts to move again, grinning. "Not for too long though. We have other things to do. There must be a cafe or something similar around here, maybe an inn. Do you know anywhere, Pat?"

A sluagh peeks from the crowd, watching all of this. He smiles, a truly wicked smile, as he watches the progress. The sluagh banishes rapidly back into the crowd, slipping away into an alley. Pulling a pen and parchment from under his black cloak, he scrawls a hurried note and then gathers a few spare bits of leaves and wood on the ground. Striking up flint and steel, he sets them ablaze and drops the letter towards the small fire. Before it strikes, the letter vanishes with a flash. Smirking, the toothless, pale, flexible, silent creature kicks out the fire, walking off down the alley. The first three parts of his lady's idea were all going according to plan. He only hoped they continued to move along as they were.

Tsume bobs his head in greeting, exchanging handshakes with the latest arrivals. "The finishing touches are still being put on the Fifth Mobile Reactionary Fleet, but after that, I suspect Xoulod station will become the next big project. Perhaps the Shogunate will finally expand into some of the Triumvirate extrasolar colonies instead of just Dosei on the Ring." The drake chuckles. "It's either build a whole new station, or look into expanding Tengoku and Makai stations. But I ramble. How has everyone else been doing? Your studies going well, Minister Pacci?"

"Oh, its mainly been business as usual. Adjudicating disputes between districts, hearing petions on every odd little problem, birth of my firstborn," Gregor tells the drake, before pausing to think. "Well, I suppose the last isn't business as usual."

Nodding Carlos smiles "Yes, I agree. The show fit her aura and demeanor well, infact the only reason Lidric is here because of a previous request made to both her and Devon." He adds off handly as he chuckles at the man's inability to address him.

"Carlos will suffice, if you have to be formal then Führer will do as well." He says and laughs as Lidric nods "Yes, I so can't wait for that!" Lidric shouts his voice cracking slightly with excitement. "Boys, eh? So hard to contain." Carlos says with a grin.

"I do hope your son too will have a bubbly and innocent look on life your highness." He says as Yvonne smiles and rests her hand on the man's arm. "I do hope he has the same or more of the character you have sir, it would fit him well." She says before turning back to watching her son.

"Call me Tarvi, then." The young man grins. "Well, as I was saying, I had no idea you were married, Carlos. How did you meet? State function, arranged alliance marriage? I can't imagine that being Fuhrer of Iraqstan leaves a lot of time for a private social life." His cheerful voices doesn't betray the thought that continues on, 'what with the paranoid security measures and the time needed to run a proper genocide these days.'

Pat pouts as the other two share a smooch. "Aw, now I feel left out." It's hard to tell if the comment is aimed at Alkanphel for kissing Maile, or Maile for kissing the warlord.

She tips her head in thought at Maile's question. "Sadly, I don't know the local sights, but surely there must be some suitably classy cafe where a lord and his ladies may refresh themselves. And after that, where should we go? Unless I am horribly, horribly mistaken, we are all three in the mood for... certain pleasures... and there must be someplace private for obtaining such." She cautiously plants a cool kiss on Alkanphel's cheek before blowing one to Maile. "Don't you agree?"

"Oh, its mainly been business as usual. Adjudicating disputes between districts, hearing petions on every odd little problem, birth of my firstborn," Gregor tells the drake, before pausing to think. "Well, I suppose the last isn't business as usual."

Tsume chuckles. "I seem to recall hearing about that. How is the youngling, to borrow a somewhat dated term, faring thus far? For that matter how is the mother's patience holding up? I hear all sorts of colorful horror stories about kids and their antics."

The reploid glances about, noting that the Ardan warlord seems to have left, and relaxes slightly. At least until some further thought strikes him and the end of his tail starts to twitch slightly. "Certainly an interesting evening thus far... I'm amazed at the lack of violence, given the attendance."

Alkanphel laughs as the three of them continue back towards the Piazza, returning Pat's kiss. "I should think so, yes," he notes. "We'll just walk north; we'll find something before too terribly long," he affirms with a nod, taking an immediate right once out of the corridor so as to circumvent the crowd. Where possible, he uses subtle methods to deflect the attention of nearby bystanders elsewhere; an ability not quite so overt in it's effect as to permit the three to pass completely unnoticed, but it would take a conscious effort to seek the party out, should some other person wish to do so.

"We should probably head to the Ale Tagliate, just around the corner over this way," he suggests, with a nod towards the south end of the Piazza. "It's still fairly early so there should be ample time to return before the Masquerade starts." He purses his lips. "Or maybe not," he adds, lowering is voice as he cocks a brow towards Pat. "We'll see."

***
Sudani and Hattori stand at the appetizer table, quite content to graze, chuckling amongst themselves at Alkanphel's apparent success.

"And here I thought we'd get nothing but scorn and derision," notes Sudani, stirring his cocktail. "Aside from Emperor Mephet'ran's rather tasteless display, things have aparently gotten on rather well."

Hattori snorts, tossing back a generous amount of vodka tonic. "Well, for Alkanphel at least. Looks like we got stuck with the bitchwork."

Sudani laughs and claps his companion on the back. "That's what being a Marshal is all about, my good man. Why do you think we sort friggin mail?"

Battista simply nods, taking careful note of those nearby, helping himself to a simple glass of wine. Once everyone seems to have a drink, he nods and smiles.

"To the continued success of our respective nations, and to new beginnings," he says fervently, raising his glass in salute.

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

"Excellent," Calabrese says with a polite bow to the representatives from Vrak and Alcona and Hubris. Jur himself was attracting a bit of attention, yes, but not in a negative manner it seemed. Rather, the locals at least were terribly intrigued with the idea of a sentient walrus, and being in such a celebratory mood to begin with, found his gregarious nature rather charming - not to mention his creative baiting of the Scandavians ... witty challenge was a skill appreciated here, after all.

Calabrese addresses first the representatives from Scandavian States, excusing himself as politely as possible from those he has been discussing things with, and bowing briefly.

"Gentlemen," he says, taking their measure in with a practiced once-over. "By looks, it would seem you wish to speak with the Lady as well, yes? If you don't mind, please accept a position directly following the delegates from the Klatchian Coast, here. I apologize for the wait and any inconvenience, but it would seem several in attendance have wished to visit with her prior to tonights festivities. Please, in the meantime, accept our hospitality."

He is greeted next by the arrival of LandCoordinator, to whom he also makes a polite bow, smiling pleasantly. "Greetings, LandCoordinator," he says, thankful again for the steady flow of information over Spook provide by his earpiece. "If I am not mistaken, you also wish for a quiet moment to speak with Nathicana? If it is not too much trouble, I am attempting to keep the order somewhat organized, so as to allow everyone ample time to at least meet with her, and make further arrangements from there. These distinguished gentlemen here have a place just before you on the list, if that is acceptable?"

He again makes his apologies, bowing, taking the lady's hand and kissing it briefly, every inch the image of the charming Dominion native many had come to expect.

"Please, my dear lady, convey our compliments to Princess Agwene ni Gwydion, and our thanks for her atendance. If it please her highness, a spot will be made available directly following the panNorm representatives. In the meantime, if there is anything we can do or provide to make the time pass more pleasantly for your Lady, please do not hesitate to ask. Tis an honor to be of service."

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

Pacci comes out of concentrating on the potential problem with the reporter with a start, blinking, and looking back to Tsume and Gregor in surprise.

"O-oh yes. Studies, yes," he stammers, then his face takes on a more guarded expression as he gathers himself again, becoming calm and cool at an alarming pace. "The usual, really. Overseeing the Ministry and its branches overall, working on a small dig site out on one of the islands - old city, one of the more in-tact ones we've stumbled across. Nothing out of the ordinary so far, but it is work I enjoy."

This is not a man accustomed to lying, and the slight twinge around his eyes at 'nothing out of the ordinary' gives it away, for those who know what to watch for. Otherwise, it could just be a touch of nerves from earlier ... perhaps an unsettled stomach from all the excitement.

He moves quickly onto the newer topic with enthusiasm. "Firstborn, you say? Congratulations, your Majesty! Ah, a joy, that I would imagine. My dear wife - god rest her soul - and myself were never so blessed."

As an aside to Tsume, he murmurs, "And God willing, the lack of violence is a trend that will continue."

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

The nameless Dominion security agent simply nods, gently taking the reporter by the arm, and beginning to lead her off towards the Gianfigliazzi building, albeit via a smaller entrance further to the west. "Perhaps if you wouldn't mind explaining your device, and why it isn't registered with us ..."

Once inside the building ---

Nathicana smiles warmly, inclining her head in acknowledgement, and laughing lightly at D'ron's joke - poor or not.

"Grazie ... bene grazie. Truly, I dont deserve such recognition as all this. Please, my friends, I am simply happy that you could be here today, and I hope that you find your stay pleasant. If I may be so bold, I had hoped Bruce might join you. It seems forever since we were able to speak face to face. He truly does your nation proud, if I do say so myself. A good man, there, and I thank you for having sent him when you did."

Massetti, Pascali, and Jas as usual, quietly observe while pretending not to be there at all. At the challenging look - friendly though it be - Jacobian nods slowly, one warrior to another, a long stream of clove-scented smoke trailing from one corner of his mouth as he exhales slowly, unblinking. The cigarette never leaves his lips.

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

Gina winces, then tries to jerk her shoulder away from Jason's grip. "Che cazzo!" she exclaims, green eyes flashing angrily. "Let go, dammit, you're hurting me!"

The appearance of the panNorm denizen at the Inferno is something of a surprise, even with the rather tense situation. The bartender pauses long enough to start to offer the alien creature a drink when he hears Gina's yelp.

"Oh fuck ... why her?" he mutters, walking quickly over to where his shotgun is concealed under the counter.

Maile looks a little curiously at Pat, catching the kiss and looking at her hand. "I've heard a few stories about foreign women doing things...together. I don't know what to make of it. I'm open minded but things like that are unheard of back home." She moves along, hanging on the Maiar's arm. "There's a lot I want to tell you of, m'lord."

Datima blushes as the Chancellor kisses her hand. "Of course, m'lord. She will be most honored. I do not believe we are in need of anything before the meeting. Her Highness seems pleasantly enough occuppied. However, we satyrs are not so fit for diplomacy as our lady. Perhaps if you could direct us towards somewhat wilder revels." Translation: Where's the booze?

Throne Room of Doges Palace, Piazza San Bernardi, Devras, DLN

D’ron chuckles at that. “I am given to understand that he and Arthur quite enjoyed their stay here. And we bring you things cause we’re happy for you. Cortana, what exactly is Bruce up to at the moment, anyways?”

The EI smiled. “Well, at this precise moment, give what time it is at home, he’s probably eating lunch. But other than that, he’s working on the Project.”

D’ron blinked. “Right.” He smiles at Nathicana. “Not supposed to talk about the Project.” His voice is light, almost as if he’s laughing at himself. “And anyways, here is our gift to you.”

Cortana shifted the package under her arm, and carefully extended it, Lesley taking the far end, and holding it in front of both Nathicana and D’ron, the box between them.

The box was intricately carved teak wood, decorated in an extremely detailed pattern of swords and stars, further stained so dark it was nearly black. But compared to the icon atop it, it might have well been white.

The stylized raptor which adorned the top of the box might have been recognized, as it had originally been intended, as the Black Eagle of the Federation. In polished Vanderhillian onyx, it gleamed with wings spread in flight, a piercing gaze of gold looking outward. After a moment to examine the box had passed, the Imperial President reached over the top and undid the line of eight gold fasteners along the front of the case, each one bearing a small etched flag of the Federation or one of the member states.

The first thing visible as the box opened was the rich, dark red velvet, upon which was embroidered a pattern of raptors, actually falcons, if one knew the differences to look for, in black and silver. But the skill of that work was far surpassed by what rested upon the velvet.

Four bladed weapons of matching design rested inside, clipped down to prevent motion as swords should be. Two were swords, with blades a meter long, and two were daggers, a third the size. All four blades were sheathed in gleaming platinum scabbards, wrapped around blades that were deadly sharp. The hilts, again platinum, were in the shape of screaming falcons, with the blades emerging from their open beaks, spread wings forming the guard, body and tail forming the grip. All four falcons bore black diamond as their eyes, and were detailed in gold and a dark red stone or metal, it was hard to tell which, so thin it was.

Two scabbards, one sword and one dagger, bore the Seal of the House D’Aquisto, in a pattern of precious stones, and on these two, the red metal in the hilt seemed to nearly flow around it. The other two weapons bore the Seal of the Dominion, again, detailed in precious stones, and on these, the red metal in the hilts did not quite seem the same.

D’ron smiled as he pointed to the two bearing the House D’Aquisto seal. “These blades, once you draw them, can never be drawn by someone not of your direct bloodline, nor can they be wielded by any such. So make sure you draw them before anyone else does.” He grinned. “All four blades were made by the son of the Elven craftsman who made Kánomegil,” he touched the sword on his belt, “and bear that families trademark. Whenever you should draw blood with these blades, resheath them while it still runs hot, and they will remain forever strong and sharp, and no one of that blood line will ever be able to get past the sword again in combat.”

Calabrese grins slyly, nodding to the table some distance off to the side, then to the ristorantes beyond.

"Well, my dear lady, there is some refreshment to be had here at the Piazza for starters. Although," he says, tapping one finger along his upper lip thoughtfully, "If you are looking for these 'wilder revels' however, there are several clubs and pubs about the city - New and Old. In fact, just down at the north-east corner across the way there, in that old building along the canale past a little giardini ... there's a nearby spot I hear folks find intriguing. Ale Tagliate – Broken Wings. Copious amounts of spirits, if I recall."

He pauses for a moment, looking her over and smiling. "I hope you take no offense, but your race is strongly reminiscent of our own mythology. I am put in mind of Pan and wild Bacchanalias and folks running free and naked through the woods whilst quite frankly, tanked."

Datima laughs heartily. "Oh, it is hardily offensive. In fact, it's true. In polite society, we're normally referred to as the greatest musicians in the empire and that's...well, almost true. There are the nanehi. But really we're the best lovers and we hold our liquor best. We are the dreams of carnal pleasures and we're in charge of getting everyone else to loosen up once in awhile. Not that it works on Princess Agwene. Lady's waiting for marriage and that's that. Still...we do have our powers." She grins, apparently not in the least abashed at her blunt words. "We're also less than subtle."

Asami Tsukada quietly weaved her way around the room, glancing around at all the guests that had gathered for the ceremony that had taken place earlier. She searched around for familiar faces, hoping to recognize someone she knew doing her foreign affairs thing or at least find her escorts that had abandonded her. Having failed in finding her group or anyone that she could recognize, Asami let out a deep sigh, gently shaking her head. She made her way to the appetizer table, checking it out as she passed by it. Food wasn't very appealing to her at the moment though.

"Thanks guys, ditch the foreign affairs gal. Big gatherings like this are just too much for me to handle alone. Maybe I should just head back..." she thought to herself as she walked past the table. "Yeah... heading back sounds good. Nice party and all, but I just can't do this alone."

Asami took in a deep breath and slowly let it out before deciding to make her way for the nearest exit. As she turned and started to walk, she collided face first with something quite hard and made of metal. Stumbling back a few steps and shaking off the initial shock of the collision, Asami looked up to see what she hit and found herself looking at a large mechanical dragon, recognizing it as Tsume.

"Eeek... Tsume! Gomen nasai!" apologizing, Asami nervously bowed before Tsume and tried to hide the look of embarassment on her face, as well as the redness from when she hit Tsume with it. "I wasn't paying attention!"

"Oh God, I must look like an idiot in front of everyone! I hate being alone at big gatherings like this!"

Alkanphel is visibly annoyed as the Austar Union delegate crosses his path. Feigning interest, he removes his arm from Maile for a moment to shake the man's hand, slipping it around the woman's waist again a moment later. He clears his throat. "Indeed. Well met Mister Prodestan. I must say it's been rather... alarming how my reputation has seemingly preceeded me. I had anticipated I'd spend most of my time here in relative solitude but fate has proven me wrong," he notes, with a cursory nod to his two companions. "As such, unfortunately, I don't exactly have the inclination to remain here and converse, as I've just extricated myself from a potentially harrowing situation involving Emperor Mephet'ran and Lady Sirithil." He shudders. "Not the most pleasant of experiences."

With a slight nod towards Prodestan, he starts off again. "If you'd like to discuss anything on a State level, I left two Marshals by the Appetizer table. Feel free to take up any inquiries with them. But alas, I must be off!"

Nodding, Mr. Prodestan allowed the warlord to pass, and breathed a sigh of relief. Never before had he actually thought he would just randomly run directly into any kind of military leader, let alone a warlord such as Alkanphel himself. Nevertheless, he could see that the man didnt want to discuss anything with him, and being the respectful man he was he didnt exactly force the Melkor General to converse.

Thinking to himself, he decided that the President himself would indeed be pleased if he made some kind of contact with Melkor Unchained, despite the nation's affiltilation with Lady Sirithil and Menelmacar. So with his chin high, he weaved through the crowd and spotted the two Melkor marshals standing together. Smiling, he breathed deeply in preparation and began his approach. Nearing them, he offered his hand to one of the two; "Hello, my name is Mike Prodestan, and Im from the Austar Union. I have heard about you and decided to come over to say hello."

***

In the meantime, Mr. Mark Etherton was taken aback when the helpful informant called called him President. He didnt want to be addressed that way, for he himself was close friends with President Grove himself. And he wasnt in the habit of stealing the names of others. Whispering to the Dread Citizen as discreetly as possible, he corrected them, "Apoligies, but I am not the President..."

Looking up, he saw Calabrese standing with a few different men. Waiting his turn, he was careful not to interupt before finally introducing himself;

"Hello sir, I would like to congratulate your nation on its achievement. My name is Mark Etherton, and I was wondering if I could have an audience with Lady Nathicana herself. I wanted to meet her and congratulate her myself."

The Kionash are known as a Decedent peoples to those not of the Keigh, amongst the Keigh they are thought of as restrained and controlled. They live a life of denial, yet this life can often get too much for the Kionash. They need a break, a chance to experience the single addiction all Keigh face, emotion. The Keigh experience things to a degree far more powerful than humans can comprehend, to allow this they have even developed a path in life, the ‘Path of the Outcast’ it is a dangerous path. Not just for the Keigh but for those around them, for the Outcast seeks to experience everything, and they are free.

A Kionash Outcast might go from being the cruelest tormentor to the most generous Philanthropist. All in the space of a few minutes, in short there are few things more chaotic, and there are even fewer things that should be more observed when they are bored. Milanthoris was an Outcast, and he had been bored for a many months, his attention then had drifted to the tales of a Party, a celebration on the streets of Devras, to celebrate some Mon-Keighs Crowning or some such. The reason was unimportant; the chance was all that mattered, the distraction.

So it was he found himself on the streets of the city as the day began, he strolled with the walk of one supremely confident in his right to walk these streets, as one who expected as his due others to make way for him. He was impressed through, a small part of him had to admit, these Mon-Keigh had impressed him, and he breathed the scents in and watched the sights. The only real consideration the man had was a simple one, what should he experience first?

Tsume manages to look as sheepish as a six foot long combat machine can. "Ah, Tsukada-san, my fault entirely, I should have been more mindful of the crowd." He returns the bow. "I didn't realize anyone from Sneaky Bastards was going to be attending tonight. Are you the only one representing?"

The drake casts a careful look around before whispering to the other delegate. "Admittedly, I'm not the only one here for the Shogunate, but I was unable to bear the company and... ah.. made myself scarce. But now it would seem that said company has disappeared and is likely to cause an international incident before the night is through."

Pat chuckles. "Oh, you poor girl, you have absolutely NO idea the fun you miss by being limited strictly to one-on-one relationships with the other gender! Truly if no one in your home nation... explores new territory-" Pat's tone leaves no doubt just what kind of exploration is the subject of discussion."-romance must truly be boring! No offense intended of course, but I find that the more open one is to trying unconventional... practices... the more fun one has with it. It is quite liberating to try things with multiple people, or find new uses for otherwise mundane objects. I've used duct tape and motor oil to stunning effect myself."

Pat leans close to the warlord, leaving little doubt as to intent, lightly stroking his arm. "Wouldn't you agree, m'lord?"

"--until you've got to get a doctor to come around and pull it out again."

Sudani stops, and blinks at the Prodestan. "Oh hello," he says with a polite smile, taking his hand and shaking it.

Hattori eyes the man with an arched brow, taking the opportunity to polish off his second vodka tonic. "'Ello," he offers simply, before turning to investigate the libations.

Sudani sips his cocktail and grins. "Heard of us have you? From where, if I may ask? Some horribly biased news source, I trust?" he asks, casually grabbing a treat from a passing waiter's tray. Before Prodestan [or for that matter, probably Sudani] can make out what it is, it's down the Marshal's gullet.

He swallows the food, and washes it down with another sip. "Or did you bump into Lord Alkanphel, perhaps?"

Hattori returns to the Southron's side, a new vodka tonic in hand. He nods simply to Prodestan but says nothing for the time being.

"Eh heh... sadly it appears I am the only one representing. My escorts seemed to have gotten bored and ditched me, and it looks like Major Kojima joined them." Asami lowered her head and shook it side to side. Looking back up, she put on a small smile, making her look of disappointment vanish.

Oh are they gonna get a nice long lecturing when I get back to the hotel...

Reaching up a little, Asami patted Tsume on the shoulder. "Well, I hope your said company doesn't stir up too much trouble for you tonight, or for the rest of your stay. An international incident is one mess we could all do without right now."

Looking to change the subject, Asami quickly searched her brain for something to talk about. "Soooo... what's new back home in the Shogunate?"

Tsume chuckles. "Oh, the usual. Firefury-sama wants to inflict grievious bodily harm on one of the other guests here tonight-" He nods slightly in the direction of Carlos."-which is why she's not here. Military's all good, nothing too servere aside from Iraqstan on the international radar, yadda yadda. Have you heard the rumors floating about an extrasolar space station? I was discussing it earlier with the panNorm and some of the other diplomats."

He sighs heavily. "As for that international incident.... I'll not worry too much about it... I imagine we have enough deniability if anything untoward does happen."

Pat chuckles. "Oh, you poor girl, you have absolutely NO idea the fun you miss by being limited strictly to one-on-one relationships with the other gender! Truly if no one in your home nation... explores new territory-" Pat's tone leaves no doubt just what kind of exploration is the subject of discussion."-romance must truly be boring! No offense intended of course, but I find that the more open one is to trying unconventional... practices... the more fun one has with it. It is quite liberating to try things with multiple people, or find new uses for otherwise mundane objects. I've used duct tape and motor oil to stunning effect myself."

Pat leans close to the warlord, leaving little doubt as to intent, lightly stroking his arm. "Wouldn't you agree, m'lord?"

Alkanphel furrows a brow, shooting his companion a slightly incredulous look. "Agree with what?" he asks suspiciously, shifting towards Maile as he unhooks his arm from Pat to push open the door. He gestures for her to step inside, taking one glance over his shoulder at the gardens they'd just passed over before plodding into the dark, almost foreboding club. The music was quite loud, of course, though perhaps not obnoxiously so.

"If you're asking about my use of 'motor oil and duct tape,' I'd have to say no, I don't," he admits, his voice somehow just as audible with the music as it was outside moments before. "I can't say it's ever occured to me, as a point of fact," he notes, taking a look around the establishment, taking particular care to note where the rooms were.

Walking the three of them to the nearest unoccupied booth, he snaps his attention back to Maile as if suddenly remembering something. "What was it you wanted to tell me?"

Maile arches a brow. "Duct tape? That sounds more for restraining someone than love making. So where is this bar?" She continues to walk north with the Warlord, starting to fidget a little, eager and a atd impatient, not sure why they need to go to a bar in any event.

Maile looks Pat over, smirking faintly as she thinks. "I don't see how it works. The parts just don't fit. It seems Dana must have made us to fit together a certain way. Do you two believe in Dana?"

Maile slides into the both, leaning against him as they sit. "Not here, m'lord." Curisouly, she slips one foot from her heel, stretching it under the booth to run it over Pat's ankle, smiling contentedly. "So what are we having?"

"Heh... can you really blame her? Some of the things I hear about his mess that he's making... its awful what he's doing to those people." Asami glanced over in Carlos' general direction for a brief moment and frowned. "One day he'll get what's coming to him, then nobody'll have to worry about him anymore."

She turned back to Tsume and put on a small smile again. "As for this 'extrasolar space station', I thought I saw something on the Major's desk about it, but I don't know anything more about it really. Care to fill me in on some of the details?"

Pat smiles and settles into the booth on the other side of the warlord. "Dana? 'Fraid not... the popular religion in the Shogunate is Shimekism- the balance of chaos and order. We were made to fit together in one way, true... but no gods that I stake any faith in forbade playing around. Terribly sorry if my blunt comments about my... ah... creative antics... caused any offense, m'lord." Pat's head tips in thought. "Certain unconventional elements can work to surprisingly pleasant effect though."

Pat grins at the touch of Maile's foot, and winks. Once past the considerable obstacles of skirts and underskirts, Pat's ankle would feel surprisingly cool and smooth to the touch, and very firm. Pat returns the favor with a little footsie as well, though it would seem Pat hasn't removed the shoes like Maile had.

Tsume nods solemnly at Asami's comment. "Indeed. When his karma catches up to him, I only hope that he doesn't take millions to hell with him."

He shakes his head, coming out of the somber mood quickly. "But yes, the station... sadly, there aren't many details about it yet. It will be designated Xoulod station- "Heaven" in Keeperspeak. Seems Queenie wants to involve some more ancient culture in naming conventions now. It's little more than a rough idea... most likely a near-Sol System hub for interstellar shipping, and likely a home port for the Fifth Mobile Reactionary. That's a fleet I wouldn't want on my bad side, either, more so than the Fourth Fleet, even. Fast response and enough firepower to put the hurt on somebody from orbit... you'd think Firefury was compensating for something, almost."

Alkanphel shrugs. "I'm probably not going to eat anything," he admits, eyeing a menu suspiciously. "Not hungry," he says with a shrug. Slowly, he grins. "I'm just here for a drink or two, I suppose. It's all up to you two," he says with a nod. "I suppose when the time is right we can find ample privacy in any one of these rooms," he observes, gesturing to the rear of the building where apparently, the club's proprietor had seen it fit to offer hourly rooms for... well, for just the sort of thing they intended to use them for.

The Maia flags down a passing waiter, somehow directing his attention to the table with only the slightest of gestures. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a few bills, pulling Maile closer to him with the other hand. "Gin and tonic. Tall glass, on the rocks.. And one of those rooms," he says with a grin, holding up a pair of fingers. "Two hours."

He winks across the table at Pat, then looks to Maile. "What'd you two want?"

"Mead, please." Maile says easily to the waiter. She leans into Alkanphel, pressing her body right up against his as she returns to the subject of religion. "The four main dieties in the Empire are Dana, Odin, Olorun, and Balor. The open worship of Balor is only allowed in Wintermore though. I guess you could say it's the only place in the empire with real freedom of religion."

Asami nodded to Tsume. "It sounds like an interesting project. If the Shogunate needs any assistance with construction, resources and materials, or anything else for the station, we'll be glad to help out in any way we can."

Asami cast a quick glance around the room once more. "I don't know if you heard about it, but the Dosei colony is gonna have new neighbors pretty soon. We're organizing the missions now to move colonists into our space on the Ring. Once the Green Noa's return to Earth from moving supplies out to our Uranus bases, we can start loading them up with passengers. We still have yet to name the colony though."

Victor smiled proudly, "Ah, but there are times when simply grabbing pre-existing islands just won't do. Especially if there is not one where one is needed. Or if it does not meet specifications, et cetera, et cetera." His smile embodied the capitalizt nature of his nation, "If you are ever in need, feel free to contact my Foreign Affairs Department. I am sure we can work out a reasonable price."

He nodded vaguely, "I am less concerned about security, in all honesty." He started pointing to seemingly random non-descript people, "Those are security guards, and there are cameras scattered about. There is one over there, for instance. Also, when you consider the international backlash one would receive from disturbing such an event... well... I am sure that only a complete and utter fool would breech decorum." He smirked slightly, "Then again... judging by some of the nations here, perhaps you will get to see some... 'sport', after all."

"--until you've got to get a doctor to come around and pull it out again."

Sudani stops, and blinks at the Prodestan. "Oh hello," he says with a polite smile, taking his hand and shaking it.

Hattori eyes the man with an arched brow, taking the opportunity to polish off his second vodka tonic. "'Ello," he offers simply, before turning to investigate the libations.

Sudani sips his cocktail and grins. "Heard of us have you? From where, if I may ask? Some horribly biased news source, I trust?" he asks, casually grabbing a treat from a passing waiter's tray. Before Prodestan [or for that matter, probably Sudani] can make out what it is, it's down the Marshal's gullet.

He swallows the food, and washes it down with another sip. "Or did you bump into Lord Alkanphel, perhaps?"

Hattori returns to the Southron's side, a new vodka tonic in hand. He nods simply to Prodestan but says nothing for the time being.

Standing with the three men, Mike glowed with embarressment;

"Well actually, I did bump into Alkanphel. Of course, that can be done in more ways than one. He suggested that I talk to you all if I am interested in a discussion on a state level. As the only government staff member, I could be considered a diplomat from the Austar Union."

Chuckling, he elaborated, "Actually, Im not even a diplomat, but the President of my nation appears to want me to act as one. Strange isnt it?"

A waitress came around and he selected a refreshment. Sipping it carefully, he continued with what he had been saying prevously, "Anyhow, its nice to meet all three of you."

***

In the meantime, Richard Henderson was tired of being alone. With the knowledge that Lady Sirithil was quite the capitalist, he thought they would get along well. What capitalist wouldnt get along with another capitalist? Weaving his way through the crowd, it was easy to spot her head bobbing above the crowd. Like many elves, she grew more beautiful with age, so it was easy to find something to say in greeting.

Finding her, he bowed slightly, and kissed her hand gently, "Lady Sirithil, it is an honor to meet you."

"Call me Tarvi, then." The young man grins. "Well, as I was saying, I had no idea you were married, Carlos. How did you meet? State function, arranged alliance marriage? I can't imagine that being Fuhrer of Iraqstan leaves a lot of time for a private social life." His cheerful voices doesn't betray the thought that continues on, 'what with the paranoid security measures and the time needed to run a proper genocide these days.'

"well, actually it was an unpredicted meeting around the start of the whole happy three leader circle Nathi, Devon and I formed a while back. We were on an official visit to an Iraqstani space station as part of an official tour by those two heads of state.

Yvonne was Devon's security head at the time and things just went in directions one cant possibly imagine without a packet of headache pills beside them." He says laughing and giving his wife's hand a quick squeeze. "It was really a surprise for us both at the time and now...well the results are obvious." He says once more gazing proudly at his son who continues to stare at all the guests around him.

I see the reploids are having their own little get together. He thinks to himself as he spots Tsume talking with a group of people. "Tell me Tarvi, I'm not entirely familiar with all the members of the triumverate of Yut but your nation is a member yes?"

The Vrakian slight was blatantly, if with some difficulty, ignored, as if to say the mass of blubber wasn't worth the effort it would take to eve acknowledge the comment. Instead Captain Sobel nodded at Calabrese and said, "Thank you, sir, we shall do as you direct."

At a signal the group came forward and cued up behind, if at some distance, the Klatchian delegates and patiently waited for their turn. While they were anxious to meet the Imperatrice, but the wait was wearing even on them.

[Sorry for the short post, but I couldn't think of anything else to write.]

Battista simply nods, taking careful note of those nearby, helping himself to a simple glass of wine. Once everyone seems to have a drink, he nods and smiles.

"To the continued success of our respective nations, and to new beginnings," he says fervently, raising his glass in salute.


The Landgrave raised his glass at the toast and took a sip of the punch. However he was distracted by the sudden outburst of the Vrakian Ambassador and Lord Windmere appearing and whispering into his ear.


"If you will both excuse me? I am afraid that it seems the Vrakian Ambassador is becoming a bit tipsy. Unfortunately I've had many experiences with dealing with intoxicated wal-vrak the past few years." He gave both Battista and Jill a short bow and strode through the crowd over to the Vrakian.

-Good Day Ambassador, I hope you are prepared to see the Empress soon?

Lord Windmere with polite gestures and a few clever jokes herded the group of Klatchian dignitaries towards the entrance of the audience chamber.

****
The motor launch reached the Piazza san Bernardi. Four of the five marines stepped of the craft with their packages and made their way into the square. As though following a beacon they turned and joined up with the Alconian and Vrakian party.

The Piazza

"These distinguished gentlemen here have a place just before you on the list, if that is acceptable?"
The Blue returns short bow, antennae waving slightly. "But of course. As it is your nation, I am here wholly by your leave and any reasonable order you wish to impose is acceptable to me."

Dante's Inferno

The additional carapace idly waves off the offered drink--alcohol tends to burn and sting--scanning the area for the center of the disturbance. The excitement literally in the air is a pleasant change from the subdued and much-too-varied olfactory cues back in the Piazza; it is also indicative of the sorts of things about to happen that the Soldier was quite literally born for and thus enjoys a great deal.

She really does hope someone pulls a knife. Then it could be time for some real self-defense.

"Oh! Very sorry, milord - I'm looking for a young woman, about such in height" - her hands indicated five foot four, five foot six - "With white hair, wearing a blue dress. Have you seen her?"

Walters coughed on the bonbon at the impact, set his face in an apologetic smile and turned round. "I do apologise, it was.." he began, and coughed himself into a fit at first sight of the beautiful creature who had ran into him. He stepped back, waving a hand apologetically as he tried to regain control of his lungs.

Tolkingham swept back his hair, passed the paper bag to the doubled-up Ambassador desperately gasping for breath and slipped in front of Ingrid, a charming smile plastered across his face. "You'll have to excuse Ambassador Walters for a moment, my dear. His nerves have been reduced to an atrocious state bye recent events." He half turned to address Walters, "Try your pills, there's a good boy."

He turned back and leaned closer to Ingrid, "Now pray tell, madam." He purred, "What was it you did desire from us?"

Putting herself totally at Ithun’s command, Angelina allowed herself to be guiding in the dance, more than a little surprised that he carried himself so well. She berated herself for assuming that someone in the army would not be proficiently able to dance the classics. She had undergone extensive amounts of dancing lessons, not only at her mother’s insistence in her youth, but as part of her job, she was expected to be able to step into any situation, including a Polka, Waltz or Foxtrot.

Angelina looked into his eyes and smiled, before casting a look at the vacant spot she was not that long ago occupying. “The idea of diplomacy is to extend the hand of friendship and meet new people, I already know Lord Stratton.” She grimaced slightly, then laughed. “And I am most pleased that you stole me away. I like to dance and I like to meet new people.” She let her gaze take in his features, her eyes lingering a little too long, as she realised she was staring, and quickly lowered her eyes, and looked about her.

“It was a lovely ceremony, did you not think?” She quickly changed the topic to hide her embarrassment. “I like coronations. It’s one of the best ways to witness a nation,s traditions, even if it is the first one.” She began to feel more comfortable again.

Ithun noticed her litte moment of embarrasement and smiled, as he whirled her around himself. He glanced over at the people that came into sight behind her.

- Yes, Coronations are a very enjoyable event. And sometimes, they are even more so not by the tradition, but by the attendance.

He smiled again as he made the concealed compliment. He allowed himself to
look her face over, her delicate and gracious traits, her magnificent eyes. When the dance was finally over, he bowed to his companion and, upon yet again adopting straight vertical stance, inquired.

- Have you ever been to Devras before? This is actually the first time a Taraskovyan delegation visits this corner of the world... so I wonder what mysteries lie beyond the frontier of guards and checkpoints, in the hidden shady mists of the darkened streets!

He put on a mask of extreme seriousness on his face for a moment as he spoke in a grave tone about the adventures and then looked back at Angelina, grinning with the corners of his lips.

Angelina smiled again, looking more than a little flattered at his words. She brushed a few stands of hair from her face, as she let her eyes wander around her surroundings before once again meeting his gaze with hers. “I have never been to Devras before, in fact, I have never been to the Dominion before.” She lowered her hand, and clutched at the bad she was carrying, little more than a purse in size. “It does seem a shame to come all this way and not see a little of the city.”

She looked briefly back at Lord Stratton, who was deep in conversation with some delegate she did not recognise, then she turned back to Ithun and matched the looked he had given her; her smile lightened up her face, as her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Are you suggesting a breakout?” Her tone indicating she hoped this was exactly what he meant.

Ithun shook his head and sighed.

- What I suggest is a tactical reconnaisance of the area in the intent of conducting entertaining operations awaiting the Carnival ball.

He pondered for a second.

- Yes, well, technically, this is a breakout.

With that he offered her his arm and glanced down on her purse-bag-thing.

- And of course the Taraskovyan National Defence Forces fund all of the aforementioned operations. That decision hereby is irrevokable.

He grinned with mischief, a wild fire in his blue eyes, and led her away towards the security checkpoints on the sides of the Piazza. Having broken through the defensive perimeter after boldly and courageously presenting their ID cards, the two now face an other problem - where to go? Ithun blinks a moment and then stares at Angelina.

- Now, euh... have you heard of any place around here where there is a lot of noise, drinks, music and fun? I must admit I did not really read the Guide To Devras, was overly busy with getting acquianted with something else...

Trying her hardest not to laugh, Angelina shook her head and smiled, silently wishing that she had had the foresight to add a sightseeing agenda to her itinerary. She frowned for a moment as if trying to recall anywhere interesting that they had passed on the way here. “I admit to having the same problem.” She looked at him then and smiled. “But we are adults, we are intelligent, and are more than capable of finding somewhere that fits all of the above.”

Looking about her, she checked out the sights before her, as if weighing up her options. “First decision: left or right?” She indicated two routes ahead of them. "Or should we rely on Fate and toss a coin?” Raising her eyebrow questioningly, she gave him her most charming smile, as her eyes searched his for a response.

Ithun chuckled as he looked into her eyes.

- I am not the one who leaves my life to fate. I say we go left and then see what comes out of it! After all, we can always catch a cab. Or interrogate some local as of the local landmarks...
Or raid some tourist stand for some carrier of topograhic information on the city, also known as 'map' or 'guidebook' in civilian language.

With that, not wasting a moment, he led her through the streets of a city he had never been to before. In front of them was fun, booze, noise, booze, noise, fun and a great variety of other interesting things! Behind them was diplomatic chatter. As such, not a step backwards would they make!

Standing before him, Angelina blinked several times in quick succession then laughed. “Well, today, Mr Ithun.” She teased. “You are going to really let your hair down and put yourself in the hand of Fate and Angelina Ormond.” She slipped her hand into her bag and pulled out a coin. “We are going to go wherever the coin leads us, and we are going to have a good time.” She leant close to him and whispered conspiratorially. “And if anything bad happens, Fate is our scapegoat.”

She laughed as she pulled away, and pointed towards to the routes ahead. “Head is left, tails is right.” She cast him a mock serious frown. “And no arguments.” She threw the coin up in the air and caught it, her other hand covering the answer. Looking into his eyes with a wild excitement, she remained just staring at him unsure if this was the right thing to do. After all, it was not every day she headed out into the streets of an unfamiliar nation with a complete stranger. For a moment she could here her mother’s warning off old echoing in her head, about going off with strangers, but she brushed it aside as quickly as the thought had arrived.

Eyes first looking at her hand, then into her companions eyes. “Now is the moment of truth.” She opened her hand and revealed the coin with its head dancing. “It seems we are going left.” She slipped her arm into the crook of his. “And if we don’t like what’s that way, we can always come back and go right.” She giggled to herself, as she once again pointed to their destination. “Let’s go.”

Annika had now dived underneath a generously laid table. She felt the white tablecloth tickle her nose, and she made to sneeze, calming her twitching nasal passage with a stifled wrist. She peeked her head outwards, for the most part managing to remain at least unannoying amongst the dozens of delegates and important persons. Annika swore she could almost feel the elegance, the charm and the sophistication oozing from the guests. Never before had she even been to the base parties without supervision, and never for more than an hour. Stifled, semi-funeral like affairs that boasted none of the carnival atmosphere she soaked up here. She allowed her eyes to drift once more, her face twisting into a grown as she saw the massive bugs. She stuck her tongue out, making a most immature face, before almost falling back to avoid its return gaze.

She remained on the floor for a further minute, until she was sure the creature wasn't going to make her its next meal. Slowly, she pushed her head out slightly, so as not to attract attention, but to take a better view of the pary ahead. Again her attention was focused back, to the animated form of the beautifully dressed, wonderous women she had seen earlier. Annika felt her mouth open slightly as she took in the amazing features of this unique person.

"Sirithil", as Annika was sure her name was, seemed elegant beyond any human terms. Even as she did something as simple as walked, from one delegate to another, she did not seem to step, but glide and with an unnatural element that cried out some hidden talent the young girl could only guess at. Long flowing locks of a near-golden blonde cascaded around smooth, slender shoulders. A deep purple robe smattered with delicate trim that almost matched the hue of the hair completed a most captivating picture. Atop her head, a delicate crown sat, and Annika gasped loudly this time.

Was she a real princess? Like her story books and pictures had sown her? Had what her Mother dismissed as pathetic stories of fancy actually as true and real as the young lady who read them? She gazed at the pointed star, a deep, ruby red, and longed to be allowed to touch something as expensive and awing as this. She thought of her own toys, and collections. Only a homemade crown of cardboard, and glitter, for her parents would never allow such foolishness in a child of theirs. Annika watched, how enthralling Sirithil must be, as a small group seemed to hang on her every word, seemed to laugh almost before the joke had been made. Her smile was dazzling, as though with a simple grin, she could wipe out the problems this Earth suffered from.

Annika looked down, and felt foolish in her own dress. The colours and patterning she had loved, and been so proud of only an hour before now made her feel a lie, a fake. She was no beautiful princess, like Sirithil, or Nathicana, she was a lonely and sad little girl, who had only the stories of castles, and subjects, and Queens to stave off rigid fear of the unknown. She felt tears sting her eyes, and chastised herself for being so upset again. She had tried her very best, oh how she had tried, to forget the trauma of the past twenty four hours. But they would not leave her be, invading her tired mind with images of despair, and hurt.

A stunning necklace, of the finest cut precious stones, glinted around the alabaster features of the dainty, serene princess. Annika had seen these stones only once before. Deep within her Mother's dressing counter, locked in a box with a key that Annika should never know existed, lay her wedding jewellery. Never worn again, and collecting dust. Yet Sirithil wore a bracelet that left the necklace as an ancient and worthless family poessesion, let alone the wonderous thing around her neck.

Annika felt mild jealousy, yet nothing so rude or nasty. She had once posessed a watch of plated silver, which she had taken care of almost religiously until an untimely fall had shattered its precious face, and along with it her only adornment. She felt now like she entered one of her own story books. She stood already in the grounds of a castle, with servants and guests and friends around for as far as her eyes could see. She saw the princesses mingle with royal practice. She was amazed, and utterly entranced.

She had not realised that unconsciously, to gain a better view of the princess Sirithil, she had shuffled almost out from under the table. Yet she did not care, she might never get a chance again for the rest of her life to see the sights that presented themselves. For now, she would watch, and be amazed by this story unfolding, as though she herself had written, and now starred in the very same thing.

Pat chuckles a bit nervously. "I wouldn't want to impose, m'lord, but if I must..." Pat regards the wine list, settling on a glass of a popular Dominion vintage. "Two hours, hmm? Ample time to... shall we say, 'discuss' things indeed."

Pat looks thoughtful for a moment at Maile's commentary on religion. "Freedom of religion... certainly a worthwhile thing, isn't it? Personally, I find that people tend to take the word of whatever deity they prefer and twist it to serve their own juvenille needs. I mean, honestly, what deity would give half a care about what mortal sleeps with who, or the often temporary empires that rise and fall in their name? Honestly..."

Maile shurgs lightly. "Some say the gods no longer care what happens in our empire. However, at least half our monarchs claim direct descent from the gods. Supposedly, the gods have a familial interest in our lands. Nonetheless, most scholars believe that they've left. Supposedly, the four races of the gods warred with one another in the time before time and the world was broken. According to theologians, they left the world behind to make room for their children to live and grow. Some say they'll come back and fight again, however." Maile sips her mead as it arrives, grinning. "We're getting off on a tangent now, though. I don't think any of us came here to talk about religion."

Jill looked thoughtfully at Wittelbach's back as he walked away. Then she turned to the Archbishop. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Archbishop Battista. I had best speak with Cesare before I get too involved in the festivities. Addio, Sua Eccellanza." She curtsied before him and strode purposefully through the crowd toward Chancellor Calabrese.

Seeing that he was engaged with the satyr, Jill stood at the edge of his vision, sipping her drink. She took pains to make sure it was evident that she wished to speak with him, but that she did not mind waiting. She had been 'raised' by Guanyans, after all, and longlived species tend to have a great deal of patience, especially in comparison with humans.

Alkanphel clears his throat, eyeing Pat as he lifts the glass to his lips. "No, I don't suppose we did," he answers with an arched brow, judging it prudent for the time being to spare any mention of his own nature. "But then again we did come here to talk, at least in part," he continues. He can't help but snicker. "And that's what we're doing, no? Tangents are the essence of conversation."

He lowers his glass, chuckling slightly as he shifts against Maile. "Without them we'd ultimately get nowhere." He shrugs. "It's how people get to know each other, in a sense. You start talking about all sorts of different things and then presto," he snaps his fingers. "You've got at least a partial understanding of how they perceive and deal with the world. It's a crucial part of interaction, these 'tangents.'"

Sudani lifts a brow. "The Austar Union, eh? State business? He really said that?"

Hattori crosses his arms, his expression hardening. He remains silent.

The other Marshal looks over his shoulder at the tall Easterling, then turns back to Prodestan. "Interesting you should choose to talk to us, in that case," he notes, taking another sip of his cocktail. "But then again, we've found many odd things about this evening. Tell me, did our good friend the Warlord have two women hanging off him, or did Emperor Mephet'ran actually manage to drive them off?"

Maile smirks faintly as she drinks. "My lord, I'm not sure you're not just trying to make a silly girl feel less ridiculous. It is sweet of you though." She leans up and pecks him on the cheek, laying her head on his chest."So why was that guy giving you such a hard time back there? Pretty inappropriate for the situation." She snuggles a little into the warlord before sitting back up so she can take another drink. "This isn't half bad. I wonder if any other foreign visitors are going to show up in here."

Alkanphel sighs. "Emperor Mephet'ran is something of an old enemy of the Five Kingdoms. It is my belief that hostilities between us started when myself and a group of five or so Orcish demolitions men stormed the C'Tani carrier Killing Time. Peace negotiations were underway at the time to resolve a situation in the Dominion of the One Ring--a...colleague of mine--and the C'Tan saw it fit to launch a cruise missile strike on our good friend Sauron from the ship. Ironically, the conference was taking place on that very vessel. Seemed like a stunning display of contempt for the notion of peace." He shrugs vaguely, gesturing with his glass as he raises it once more to his lips. "Hence, his comment about kamikaze escorts. He's probably still pissed off about it. As well he should be."

Maile shrugs. "People will be hypocrites." She downs the rest of her mead, smiling a little. "I could tell you a lot about hypocrites. We have quite a few back home." She crosses her legs towards Alkanphel. "That's why I'm content to be a humble serving girl. Which reminds me..." Maile looks to Pat. "I don't think we've pestered you for what you do for a living, Pat, love." She pushes her bare foot further up the other woman's calf, smiling as she sinks down a little in her seat.

She turns back to Alkanphel. "My lord, what are orcs like? They are not a race we have in our country. We're mostly human but there are a great diversity of other intelligent beings. Most of them seem to only exist there, too. At least, I don't see any other examples here...here being the whole event in the Dominion. There's some I think you'd like, others you might not."

I really do not have time for this. Still, one got used to being hit on.

"Very sorry about that, yai truth," she said, "I'm Ingrid Anderssen, bond-Knight to her ladyship Sandrine White, Landgravine Qumenat - who I'm looking for, you ken? She's gone of on her own" - Ingrid's tone indicated that this was not an uncommon event - "And I need to find her ere she does something truly drastic."

The Maia ponders for a moment. "Orcs are.. well, an interesting race to say the least. They used to be Elves, at one point, until Melkor saw it fit to rearrange their psyche and appearance. Not everyone will admit that the change is for the better, but they're much easier to deal with than Elves. They're more or less a slave caste, as their intelligence leaves more than a little to be desired." He sips his drink again, now nearly finished. "As does their appearance. They're very warlike, of course, and are very prone to infighting." He shrugs. "But they've still got their uses."

"You shall excuse us - there is someone we wish to speak to."

Rene nodded, and Kjathen-Yseult wandered off, pushing through the throng towards Samara Neja of the C'tan delegation.

"Vicereigne Neja?" the Ea asks, "We are Kjathen-Yseult ea Seingult, Communion Representative in the Greater Ascendancy. You do good work on Mars, or so the Arikhenikh Communion informs us."

Meanwhile...

I do believe that's one of the Keepers, Rene thought, remembering the report of Researcher-Commandant Kiranz Sche'daya on the events in the Valley of Dragons in the ArPean colony of Aquamarine. The poor man had descended to the depths of Nova Reio to catalogue pots after that, and hadn't been above-ground again for some time.

"With me, ralVenadt."

With that, she made her way through the crowd towards the draconic Keeper.

"Greetings! You are one of the Keepers of the Blades, are you not? Rene Seingult, Arkhora of the Greater Ascendancy. Very pleased to meet you - we had a man in the Valley of Dragons dig."

Nathicana arches a brow curiously at the mention of this Project and Bruce's involvement in it, but tactfully nods and lets it pass. Secrets, after all, were secrets - and something perhaps for Pellegrino to look into later.

The box itself was a rich treasure alone, and would not be out of place among the national treasures currently on display in some of the museums (and tucked quietly away in protected vaults). The swords resting inside it however, bring a gasp of surprise. As D'ron explains, her eyes flicker between him and the truly stunning blades, an expression of disbelief on her face.

"Dio caro, D'ron ... Non so ciò che dire. Perché ... come l'ha fatto ... Jesu dolce, how in hell am I ever going to repay you for this? And the crest - you're the first to recognize it. I only had it registered last month with the Ministry, and ..."

She knows she's rambling, but the pressures of the day, the preparation leading up to it all, and the overwhelming support and honor she had been shown by so many had her feeling both emotionally wired, and quite humbled.

Nathicana bows deeply, keeping her eyes however, on D'ron and Leslie, her right hand lightly placed over her heart, using the archaic form not often used in the Dominion in these modern times.

"Please accept my humble thanks for your gift. I'm afraid I lack the words to properly express. They are, one and all, kingly gifts, and ones I will be proud to pass on to whatever generations may follow, God willing. The craftsman who forged them - per favore, send him my thanks and appreciation of his labor. They are exquisite blades."

Recalling what he had said, she opted to take care of one detail where she had witnesses, and before anything could happen to delay her. Carefully taking up the sword bearing the D'Aquisto crest, she draws it from it's scabbard, admiring the obvious artistry, and marvelling at it's balance and weight. She quietly resheathes it and place it gently back in the case, repeating the process with the dagger and shaking her head softly in amazement as she realizes how accepting she has become of the odd abilities and mystic qualities so many of the nations she now associated with, having seen too much to dismiss even if she lacked the understanding. The fact that the swords would do just as he said had never been questioned. There was a time not so long ago, she would have laughed out loud at the claims.

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Calabrese can't help but laugh as well, shaking his head. "The more we see and learn, the more questions of our perception of the world and what is and is not seem to spring to mind. I hope that you find the revels you are looking for tonight. No doubt once the sun goes down, and more masks come on, you will see perhaps some of the less subtle side of the Dominion as well. It is I suppose no surprise your people hold places in our myths. We have always been a rather passionate people."

Bowing slightly, he smiles apologetically. "Perdon, my lady, but I am afraid for me, it is to be business before pleasure. At least for now. Please - our city is at your disposal, and I hope that you and your mistress will enjoy it to it's fullest. If you will excuse me, I believe this gentleman requires my assistance."

Turning, he nods to Mark Etherton of Austar Union, still smiling pleasantly. "Ah, Mr. Etherton. A pleasure - and thank you. This lovely lady's Princess from The Resurgent Dream I fear is ahead of you for such an audience, but I see no reason why we can't make the arrangement. It may be a bit of a wait, I'm afraid. There are several even ahead of her. If this is a problem, I'm certain other arrangements can be made, especially if you plan on staying the night - she has informed me she intends to keep her schedule clear for the next few days on account of her guests, and a desire to 'catch up' with folks while they're here."

"Grazie, gentlemen," he responds to the Scandavian delegates, with another slight bow. Intel was still rather tense over the proximity there, but as it seemed everyone was behaving, it was kept simply to Spook. "And my thanks to you as well, AdminCoordinator. "It is indeed our nation, but you are our honored guests, and we hope that you are able to enjoy yourselves while here. Please, if there is anything you require, don't hesitate to ask."

"And," he says apologetically to those he's been conversing with, "If you will excuse me, I have yet another to attend to."

He makes a quick bow, turns on his heel, and steps towards Jill confidently. "My dear Jill - it's good to see you!"

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"Of course," Battista says, nodding respectfully to the Landgrave and to Jill in turn. "It was a pleasure meeting you both. Potere l'orologio di Dio sopra lei.." And, taking another sip of his wine, he melts into the crowd, pausing now and then to speak with folks as he goes, simply enjoying the ambiance of it all.