NationStates Jolt Archive

Jill smiled at the Chancellor. “And you, my dear Cesare. I trust everything is going well? Apart from the multiple aneurisms among the Imperatrice’s security people when planning this event, of course. I’m most impressed with the foresight shown in using this Piazza for the ceremony and festivities.”

(Calabrese’s response here…sorry, want to get this in one post.)

“As much as I would love to assuage your ego by saying I approached you merely for the delight I take in your conversation,” Jill said, laughing lightly, “I’m afraid I do have an ulterior motive. Though I’m sure her Imperial Majesty’s schedule is quite full, I would be most appreciative should I be able to get a moment to convey my Emperor’s greetings.”

A short, indefinably ugly man mounts the stairs of a winding stairwell in threes, ignoring the grunts and muttered complaints of his guard detail, slowly falling behind. In his left arm he holds a cylinder wrapped in a towel, in his right he fingers a small slip of paper.

Making sure the gift fits the occasion doesn't always mean it has to be pretentious.

I shouldn't have wasted so much time down there, but I couldn't help it. I had to make sure we hadn't missed anything.

He'd made sure to stay back throughout the ceremony. He would have liked nothing better than to stand in front to be the first to cheer the coronation, but they'd discussed the problem of public image. Enough folk of the Dominion whispered about his undue influence on the Dread Lady, even if he had once been one of them. On this day above all, it was important to avoid reminders of how the two empires were joined at the hip, sometimes literally. So he stayed in the back, quietly out of the way. He hadn't even been the first to applaud, and that had annoyed him. What annoyed him even more was who had beaten him to the punch. He'd quickly slipped away and spent a good deal of time down in E-3 to satisfy himself security had things well in hand.

Now he flees the basement, having reminded himself that the professionals know their jobs and don't need the oversight of a prissy emperor to remind them of their duties. In his impatience, he chose the stairs to take him back to the gathering, to the chagrin of his people.

For a moment he feels a twinge of sympathy for them, but it passes. He continues on unimpeded until he reaches the level he wants. Then he waits impatiently for the others to arrive.

"Well?" he demands, tapping his foot.

They're gasping and sweating. The captain nods as he attempts to catch his breath. "Nichols."

The shortest member of the squad stifles a protest and swings her rifle to the ready. The captain opens the door and she darts through, intent on flushing out any hostiles.

"Clear!"

"Thank you." The Emperor sweeps through the door and marches down the hall. Eventually, he reaches the apartment he wants and nods politely to the guards already on station, most of them dressed in Dominion black and red. He gestures to his own people. "Stay here."

He knocks gently, then opens the door without waiting and favours his Lady with a smile and a bow. "Desidera in tensione il Imperatrice!"

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http://www.pwfc.org/images/gallery/smtorso3.jpg
Emperor Devon I
Empire of Treznor
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Tsume chuckles. "Well, once more details are laid in stone for the station, I'm sure we'll be looking for some friendly help- I believe the concept calls for that station to enjoy the benefits of corporate sponsorship, likely through exclusive contracts or advertisements."

At the mention of the Ring, the drake nods slightly. "Ah, finally moving some folks to Saturnspace then. I will be sure Governess Rel-Kitani is informed." Tsume grins slightly, fangs barely visible. "With how large the Green Noas are, I doubt the extra hauling capacity is much needed, but as always, our Busu transports are on call should you require them.

--

Surprised at suddenly being addressed, Rihdadw jumps slightly, nearly slopping his wine from its glass and mouthing what is probably an impolite oath in his native tongue. "Wettojj'j mohso-!"

The mottled Keeper recovers quickly, adjusting his headdress in a quick grab for time to translate. "Ah... pleasure to acquaint with you, Arkhora... please forgive my poor language- I am still new-come to it." He pauses, unsure what to say next. "Ah... I am Rihdadw of the Drakon clan, Keeper of Jneht ev Nubadw." The Keeper bows neatly at the waist, with a slight sweep of his wings. "Things have become very alive since the Boofohj ev kxo Wettojj Rcutoj have been found and Xefo killed. We are learning things we did not know, to the thanks of the people on the 'dig'."

I am sorely not cut out for this sort of thing. Elder, why did you insist I go?

"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?"

"I got roped into this entire nation-representing thing when I met the imperial heir at the university, myself. And yes, we are members. We joined quite some time ago, just after Empress Alicia II's death. Things had already been growing by then, of course, through things like the New Auschwitz liberation and the Ring construction."

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."

"Not quite old enough for horror stories yet, although it took a while for Tarvi to beat it into my head that there's nurses and that I didn't need to get up every time Marcus Ivan cried in the middle of the night, every night. I expect there'll be stories soon enough. I can still hear my own mother's voice." Gregor's voice takes on a higher-pitched, slightly screeching tone. 'Gregor Miles Alastair Horatio MacIntyre Vetinari, just what in the nine hells do you think you and your cousin were doing?.' Gods, when she pulled out all six names, it was terrible." Then, taking on a thoughtful face, he adds, "What mother? We used a uterine replicator, just like everyone else. You couldn't get most women to go through a body birth with all the money in the Imperial Union. And we've got genetech good enough to fiddle around with some cells, so the old standby of a sister's egg isn't needed anymore."

At Tsume's glance and comment, Gregor looks over himself and shakes his head when he sees who's chatting with the Fuhrer. "Tsume, the night is young, and no one's had time to get really drunk. I'd be disappointed if there wasn't at least one shouting match tonight."

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."

"Perhaps after this we can all meet and discuss the possibility of a joint station in more detail. So, there's more Ring inhabitants on the way? The thing's going to get crowded. Well, as crowded as something best described as Jesus Christ Its Huge! can be." Gregor makes this comment with an appropriatey wide-eyed look and a snicker.

Maile smiles a little. "They sound something like our redcaps, my lord. Are orcs great consumers of flesh?"

Datima smiles to the chancellor, bowing as she trots off. Ignoring the available two drinks, she moves quickly to a bar in town and begins to order. The satyress drinks beer after beer, eyes rocing over the others in the bar.

Asami turned and chuckled at Gregor's comment. "Yeah, I don't really think we'll crowd it up too badly. Hopefully I'll get a chance to head out there and see exactly how huge it is with my own eyes once we get the first group of colonists settled in."

"Actually Tsume, we may need at least one Busu. From what I've been told, the cargo holds of the Green Noas will be full with personal belongings that the colonists will be taking with them, so there won't be any room for some of the other equipment that needs to be sent along. We'd appreciate it greatly if we could have one or two available when the big move is ready to begin." Asami said, turning back to Tsume.

-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.


Although Jur was working on getting sloshed, he was still very much aware of his surroundings and what Lord Windmere was attempting to do. So, he went along with it.

-Ah, Lord Windmere. Good to see you here. My office was informed that someone from your state would be here but I didn’t know it was you. Anyhow, I feel rather sorry for the Scandavian States people. They could not even come back with a witty retort. How like them, eh? Good at blustering but when it comes to a rapier wit, I fear that I have the advantage. Anyhow…

He turned his massive body around so as have his back completely facing the Scandavians and then he looked about.

-Don’t suppose you’ve seen those Drakonians around, have you? It would be good to rattle them as well. Perhaps it would be best to wait until after we offered our gifts. Will they be escorting us there shortly? I don’t see any aide about except for Minister Calabrese, and he is quite occupied…

Karlo and Tronj were glad that the Drakonians weren’t around. It was no accident that they were chosen to mind Jur due to their size. They both exchanged glances and an inward grin. It would be doubtful though, if they could even hold Jur if he was sufficiently angered – their training nonwithstanding. Off to the side but still close to the rest of the Vrakians, the elegantly dressed woman merely smiled at anyone who noticed her. She kept to herself and to the casual observer she would seem perhaps a bit distracted. In truth, she was probing nearby minds and would withdraw from a target if she drew attention to herself. She contemplated playing with the minds of the Scandavians but she was under strict orders not to do that.

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?"

Frowning, Mike responded with arms crossed, "Im afraid I didnt exactly catch to see exactly who was on his arm gentlemen. In fact, I was surprised to see Alkanphel myself, and was how do I say; in a state of shock. I really wasnt looking."

"Anyhow," he continued, "This night is turning to be quite different indeed. Nathicana's rituals took my interest. They were different to say the least. I havent heard that much from your nation all that recently. It seems that Melkor Unchained appears to go through activity phases on the international scene..."

***

Nodding, Mark was eager to meet the Dread Lady. He responded to the Dread Man quickly, "Yes, sir. I am more than willing to wait."

Taking a glance at the others, he noticed in particular a man from the Scandinavian States. He hadnt heard much at all from that nation, ever since his nation's discontinued role in UnAPS.

"Ah Jill, you have been a wonderful addition to this fair city, if I do say so myself," Calabrese said with a chuckle. "Well enough on my end, thank you. I trust we'll have the time to catch up a bit later, yes? I'm curious to hear how you've been adjusting to the Dominion. With all of the preparatins, I'm afraid I've been rather tied up. Of course we can get you in. Right ..." He pauses, going over the list in his head, assisted via earpiece.

"That should be directly after Mr. Etherton from Austar Union, according to my notes. I hope that will suffice."

He tried to keep an eye on the Klatchian delegates, listening to the constant quiet chatter over the comms, getting a feel for the bigger picture. For now it seemed that tensions, while existing, were going to keep themselves at the mildly-insulting level - things that could be overlooked in the interest of keeping the peace and one-upping each other in 'cool' factor - which suited him just fine. One did, however, stand out and it was she that concerned him.

Quietly excusing himself, he made his way over to the Vrakian woman, politely avoiding the conversation between Jur and Lord Windmere, which frankly he couldn't fathom past body language anyway. "Is there anything wrong, mi'lady," he asked politely, making certain he didn't stand too close, nor appeared threatening in the least.

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

Even as she lays the sheathed dagger back in the beautiful case, her eyes go to the door, hearing the knock, and for the briefest of moments, she expects the worst.

Seeing who it is who enters sends those fears flying nearly as fast as they had come, her face lighting up with a radiant smile meant just for him.

"Scuse ... scuse, per favore," she murmurs to D'ron, Lesley, and Cortana. "Please forgive me for but a moment ..." Realizing it would be rude of her to leave them standing there, she gestures to Treznor instead, holding her arms out in an inviting welcome.

"Ah, Dev, how I have missed you! Please - join me, come and meet these most excellent guests, and give me a kiss before I have to walk over there and take one," she says, slipping again into her native language. "Emperor Devon Treznor, may I present President D'ron Smith, his lovely wife Lesley, and m'lady Cortana of the Federation of Sentient Peoples - whom I believe I have yet to properly thank for their assistance in seeing you safely home during that Winter Ball fiasco." The last bit, delivered with a grateful smile to the three guests.

"Ah Jill, you have been a wonderful addition to this fair city, if I do say so myself," Calabrese said with a chuckle. "Well enough on my end, thank you. I trust we'll have the time to catch up a bit later, yes? I'm curious to hear how you've been adjusting to the Dominion. With all of the preparatins, I'm afraid I've been rather tied up. Of course we can get you in. Right ..." He pauses, going over the list in his head, assisted via earpiece.

"That should be directly after Mr. Etherton from Austar Union, according to my notes. I hope that will suffice."

He tried to keep an eye on the Klatchian delegates, listening to the constant quiet chatter over the comms, getting a feel for the bigger picture. For now it seemed that tensions, while existing, were going to keep themselves at the mildly-insulting level - things that could be overlooked in the interest of keeping the peace and one-upping each other in 'cool' factor - which suited him just fine. One did, however, stand out and it was she that concerned him.

Quietly excusing himself, he made his way over to the Vrakian woman, politely avoiding the conversation between Jur and Lord Windmere, which frankly he couldn't fathom past body language anyway. "Is there anything wrong, mi'lady," he asked politely, making certain he didn't stand too close, nor appeared threatening in the least.

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


She smiled politely and demurely answered while making a discrete handmotion to Tronj.

"Ah, everything is alright. Please forgive my absent manner, Minister Calabrese."

She idly fingered the gleaming pearl necklace.

The towering Tronj noticed Calabrese's advance however, and raised an eyebrow. Her wave indicated that things were fine. He merely nodded and then smiled politely at the Dominion minister, should he catch the exchange.

Rene bowed back, equally politely. "Eka ana za, Rihdadw" - she pronounces the name like "Rhidadtu" - "It is not my native tongue, either.

"What manner of things do you learn, then? Technological or thaumaturgical? I'm afraid Tsaraine has little experience with the latter, barring the events in the Valley."

OOC: Ack, short.

"Most excellent, mi'lady. I wouldn't think that you should have to wait much longer, and I appreciate your patience. I'm afraid my throat is a bit dry from all the coordinating I've been doing here - would you care for something as well?" Cesare asked, making his way towards the table, though slow enough to get a response without turning his back on the lady. If he or those he was in contact with noticed the hand signals, he gave no sign, maintaining a pleasant smile.

The Vrakian woman was actually flattered by the attention. Being somewhat unsophisticated, she thought it best to stay as close to her countrymates as possible without drawing too much attention. Privately, she wondered if that was wise since the Ambassador's mere appearance drew several looks, not to mention the fact that he was becoming more gregarious with each drink.

"Ah, no. Sorry," as she flashed a coy smile, "On duty. Unless you have something non-alcoholic?"

Time was passing, of that there was no doubt. And as the sun sank lower and lower towards the horizon, more of Devras came alive with masked revelers in grand, flmaboyant, and often surprisingly daring costumes. While the Dominion was certainly not a place one thought of as being a pillar of morality on most days, there was a certain level of decorum that was present, due much in part to the conservative nature of many of the residents, and the deeply-ingrained history involved. Nudity was not so much frowned on as simply 'kept where appropriate', such as the nude beaches, and private properties. And while a passionate people, drunken revels pouring out of the clubs and into the streets were not an every day occurrance. This, it would seem, was an exception.

As the afternoon slips slowly into early evening, it is not uncommon to see spontaneous dancing in the streets, or to have the neighborhood campo filled with people, food, and music. Strangers seem to be welcomed in with open arms at such gatherings, the feeling being, the more the merrier, as well as the traditional Dominion spirit of hospitality running high. This of course is not the only spirit so running. Alcohol is in abundance - mostly in the form of native wines, cordials, liquouers, and beer.

The action at the clubs is picking up, whether it be in the harder, darker establishments, or the many different themed places, ranging from traditional, to foreign, to pure class. Clothing becomes either more or less of an issue, depending on the track the revelers take, either dressing up, or ... dressing less, as the mood takes them. Lovers who normally would keep their attentions to more subtle tones are more and more often glimpsed quite openly displaying their affection, in perhaps less appropriate manners than some might think. Still, the night has not yet begun, and for the most part, the citizens in the streets are still more or less maintaining overall decency, though perhaps skirting the boundaries.

Over the course of the past hours, the Dominion representatives at the Piazza slip away, quitely excusing themselves from conversations, disappearing into various buildings and such. And as more costumed revelers join the crowd, so too do they, in their own masked regalia ( http://home.mchsi.com/~ketri/wsb/links/costumes.jpg), quietly blending in with the rest. All but it seems, Cesare Calabrese, who has business to attend to, and thus needs to be easily recognizeable, and Battista, who is content to mingle as is. Nathicana, for her part, is apparently still seeing those who wish a moment to send their regards.

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

"But of course! Anything in particular?" Calabrese asks, requesting a simple glass of juice for himself.

Dante's Inferno
At the Gina's cry of pain, Wallace stood and leaned toward Jason.
The darkness of the booth and the table had hidden his form until now.
Onboard the ship, recreation was limited, and Wallace and his crew spent most of their free time in the rec. room working out, and it showed. While not bulging with muscles, he was certainly fit. He didn't look happy.

"Unhand her...NOW!"

Lord Windmere, was keeping an eye out for a signal to enter the audience chamber.
A sudden thought popped into his head, hell I am actually useful now…

Landgrave Wittelbach, one of the few outsiders to actually own a Vrakian Car Company, Apollo Motors, appraoched and gave a formal greeting to the Ambassador.
-Ambassador Ratyuig how nice to see you.

It would be debatable if Ratyuig would like meeting the Landgrave. After buying Apollo Motors, the buisnessman had procceded to gut all but a few parts of the company and turn it into a division of Olympic Motors. Between his refusal to follow Vrakian buisness customs, the mass layoffs and his response to inter-corporate violence with cover corporate sabotage (usually well placed and crippling) he had not endered himself to many in the lands of the Walrus King.

After exchanging pleasentries, the Peer returned to the matter raised about the Drakonians.

-I think the Praetor himself is around actually. They have been avoiding us as much as we have been avoiding them at present.

He waved a hand off towards near the front of the seats, where the Drakonians had been seated.

-Also it appears that Sithirl herself is around, if you want to use your superior taunting abilities against her. Actually, brining up the insult of the World Court might do us more good than harm right now. The people here are known to hold grudges for generations, and likely would appreciate it seeing it in us.

Of course they all spoke in Vrakian...it made life soo much harder on the nearby spooks as they cooled their heals outside, waiting for the Sentient Peoples delegation to leave.

It was not long until the Royal Couple returned (with of course the host of Praetorians in tow). They had use the time to change into something more appropriate for the festivities and definitely more comfortable than their Coronation formal wear. Jolené looked very much the part of Caribbean Island Queen in a silky long skirt that ran down to her feet. It was full of vibrant oranges, yellows, and reds and it clearly matched her bright yellow turtlenecked-sweater, which left her arms free showing off her light chocolate brown skin, looking just as smooth and just as eddible.

"I find it interesting the difference in length between the Dread Ladies' Coronation and our own." Augustus converses with his wife as they move toward the shops in the Piazza San Bernardi. "Or rather a traditional Drakonian coronation," he corrects himself.

They stroll along, Augustus wearing the same brilliance of many bright colors as his wife, both looking very much like the Caribbean from wence they originate. In contrast to the Queen, he wears a bright sky blue silk overshirt adorned with the shape of dragons, under it is a plain blue shirt tucked into his white-gray cargo pants. The black metal shafted cane, adorned with the golden Dragon head, is still in his hand and as head walks he leans heavily at times on it.

Jolené half-smiles. "Well technicly you could consider this and the masquerade part of the ceremony, making it slightly longer than our own."

The couple moves toward the shops which line the far end of the Piazza San Bernardi. They look and feel much more confortable than all the more formally dressed national representatives, and if not for their outragously bright cloths they might have appeared to locals. Although, the host of bodyguards also leds some evidence of their true status.

This causes Augustus to wrinkle his brow before responding. "In that case, one might consider our wedding and the adjoining celebrations as an extension of our own coronation, making ours much longer." He smiles at his reply. "Possibly even including the honeymoon."

There is a raised eye brow from the Queen as she shoots him a glance, the half-smile returning. "One might, then again one might not."

Their (or rather the Queen's) intentions were clear, as they walked across the square. They (or she) intended to spend some time shopping, while she was in the Devras and what better place to start than the Piazza San Bernardi, hoards of foriegn nationals and locals aside, now was as an appropriate time as in. Besides they really were not that interested in discussing the latests in world events, that is why they had brought Diana along.

Her voice makes clear that the said events are not to be groupped together, drawing a shrug from Augustus. "Of course, ours was the cumulation of traditions that have grown out of millenia. Give it time and probably the Dominion's coronations will be just as long." He paused following his wife's gaze to the shops that lay ahead of them. "And just as boring."

Ithun only smiled as she tossed the coin and covered the answer. He, officer of the Taraskovyan Airborne, Hero of Tarasovka, Cavalier of the Order of St. Alexander, proud bearer of numerous military medals, was being ordered around by a girl. More than that – a civilian girl! But yet, his chauvinism just wouldn’t come up to his throat. In fact, he felt rather at ease, letting himself being carried away by the fate… that same fate that indicated left. Ithun sighed and shrugged. “It would seem that Fate thinks like me. Or I am Fate. I admit that the prospect does have a certain attraction… At any rate, off we go. Adventures beyond those known to mortals await us!”
Smiling, Angelina was a little surprised that he had agreed so readily to her terms, she had been expecting more of a battle, but she was glad that it had not come to that. “I have always considered fun to be the opposite of the way you react normally, and my normal is to have everything laid out in advance, so for me, spontaneity it fun.”

She grabbed his hand, and before he could utter another word, she began to pull him in the direction that the coin had chosen. Ithun only grinned to himself as he remained in place for a second, resisting her pull for, admiring her effort and then moved out, quickly changing the roles, becoming the one leading. As they got further into the city, masked and drunk people appeared. “Scusi, dove possiamo trovare… euh…” – Ithun desperately tried to establish contact with some overjoyed local, but to no positive result. The locals usually waved into every possible direction, saying: “A destra, a sinistra, a destra, poi dietro e dopo la seconda sinistra prenedete a destra…” Which, in other words, meant absolutely nothing. He glanced at Angelina: “The local population seems to be unwilling to cooperate and rather willing to direct us to nowhere. Any suggestions?”

Looking on impressed as Ithun spoke to the locals, Angelina was not surprised that everyone was far too busy having fun to be interested in wasting a moment of their fun playing tour guide. “We have a few choices. We can either follow the revelers to see what delights they lead us to, or we can jump in a cab and ask to be shown the best place in the city to have fun, or we can follow where our feet take us.” She smiled. “It’s that easy.”

Ithun pondered, while walking. “As the Russians in my country say – ‘Go where your eyes look!’ As such, I offer we walk around and if we see some local cab, we immediately confiscate it with the driver in the name of whatever reason we will come up with!” He looked back on her, grinning. She nodded and laughed, liking the sound of his suggestion. “Then I think we should begin with a dance, right here.” Taking hold of his hand and placing the other on his shoulder, she grinned then began to hum along to some music she could hear in the background. “This is a carnivale after all, and street dancing is a must.” She raised her eyebrows questioningly, waiting to see if he would agree, almost like she was testing the waters.

Ithun erupted into a joyful laughter as he took hold of her hand and put his other hand on her waist. “If a dance you wish, your wishes are my orders, Milady!” Giving her a grin, he leads the dance, among crowds of local people, whirling around in the middle of the street sending masked Devrasi… Devrasians… oh, what did he care anyway? He simply allowed himself to admire her face and her sapphire eyes. Angelina joined in his laughter, as she was swept around amidst the other revelers, trying to keep up with the tune, but her delight made her lose track of it. She looked into his eyes, once again surprised that he had capitulated to her suggestion. “This is the life. Good music, good company and dancing under the stars.” She let him lead her further into the dance, feeling heady with the excitement and atmosphere. Ithun smiled mysteriously, as if thinking… “Dancing under the stars…” He whispered it slowly, as if tasting each word. “To be free under the sky of stars is what they wish in my nation to those who leave for war… Freedom is what people value the most around there. And you never know whether they obey the government because they respect it or whether they are sharpening blades awaiting their day…” He shook his head slightly and then smiled back at her. “Sorry, got carried away there. This night is no place for politics!” With that he continued to lead her through the crowd, whirling around in excitement. Frowning slightly, Angelina looked at Ithun, her eyes looking sad. “I’m sorry, bad choice of words.” She berated herself silently for putting her foot in it, hardly a very diplomatic thing to say, she could already visualize Lord Stratton sighing under his breath. Yet within a heartbeat the situation was forgotten as they continued to dance on the street.

Stopping suddenly, Angelina took several deep breaths as she sucked in the fresh evening air, feeling it cool against her throat. “I cannot recall the last time I had this much fun.” Recently it had been all work, work, work, as she spent many hours and days, even weeks preparing for her visit here, researching customs, learning the names of possible guests. She thought her head would explode at one point. “And I love dancing. And you are a very good dancer, if I may say so.” She lowered her eyes, and smiled, wondering whether her remark was a little too bold. He only smiled gently as they stopped and she said she was enjoying her time. Yes, he was enjoying it greatly, too. And it changed dramatically from what he was through the last two years. He allowed himself to brush some stray hair from her face, slightly caressing her cheek in the same time. He pulled the hand back and looked her deep into the eyes. “Do not feel sorry, Angelina. And… well, to be a good dancer you must have a good partner. And you are maybe the best I have had so far.” He looks out into the streets and motions his head into a direction. “I see some foreign flags flying around in that direction. May be the Embassy District. Care to go wake some lazy Ambassadors up?” He grinned with mischief as he looked back at her.

Looking back in the direction they had just come from, or at least, where she thought they had come from, the swirling of the dance making her loose her sense of direction for a moment, as she tried to spot a familiar landmark. “Would they not all be that the Piazza?” She let her hand fall from his shoulder, but kept her other hand connected to his, for fear of being separated. “But we could just go and make certain.” She once again flashed him her most charming smile. Ithun only smiled back as he held her hand in his own, not really wanting to let go. Well, she didn’t seem to want to get free either. “I think you might have a point, there. But well, who knows? I think we better go and check it out!” And so the two vanished in the cheering crowds, heading for the Embassy District in order to conduct a field reconnaissance of the area in order to spot any lazy Ambassadors that are still not partying.

Datima and Cheops show up for the party in festive masks of green and gold. There is no rest of the costume. Not a single garment adorns either satyrs body besides the mask. Of course, from the waist down, most of the form is covered with fur. It is hard to describe a satyrs body. Beautiful is not the right word. They are no more beautiful than a moderately attractive human and most of the guests have a better claim to that title than they. No, a satyr's body is not beautiful but it is built for what satyrs are known for and it shows. Both satyrs have an animalistic musk, primally appealing to many mammalian species. Datima's trotting is a little less crisp and ordered than Cheops' is. After all, the female has been drinking all evening.

The human servant appear next, in a wide variety of costumes. One is a fairy tale princess, complete with conical hat. Another is a dashing buccaneer. Yet, a third is a witch, balanced out by a priestess and a cat. The only other recognizable costume is a girl dressed as a Viking. The other five have dressed themselves in t-shirts and jackets, sweaters, skirts, heels, and other articles most would consider modern clothing. For girls from the Resurgent Dream, these are costumes.

Meanwhile, Agwene remains in her state finery. She still awaits her meeting with Nathicana. Only afterwords will she change clothes.

Treznor leans forward to kiss Nathicana dutifully, then turns and bows to D'ron and Cortana. "Well met again. I haven't forgotten your kindness to me during that deeply unfortunate event, particularly in your willingness to allow me to contact my people."

He turns back to Nathicana and presents the object wrapped in a towel. "Delacourt, '98. From your own stock, I'm afraid. I simply didn't have anything appropriate in my own racks, and your people have been damnably stingy in recent months. Something about upcoming festivities. But this is from my own hand, for you at your leisure Imperatrice." He then offers the slip of paper in his other hand.

Pat smiles at the inquiry. "Well, 'fraid that I don't hold any position of great import, really. As I mentioned, I work for the Shogunate's Diplomatic Corps, but for one reason or another I fail to get a proper international assignment. Mostly the inglamorous busywork falls to me, things that are below the notice of official ambassadors."

Pat shoots Maile an amused grin and chuckles at the woman's discreet explorations. "My... we're still in public, m'lady. And we wouldn't want our dear warlord here to feel left out of the fun... we will, after all, have two hours." Pat gently strokes the nearest bit of Alkanphel within reach with a cool hand. "Mmm... a triple-layer cake of sorts. How delightful!"

Maile lowers her foot and works it back into her shoe. "Sorry. I'm just new at this." She glances down, a brief look of confusion about something. "And you have a better job than me. I'm a serving girl. No need to call me a lady."

Tsume blinks at Gregor's statement. "Oh.. my mistake. Such... ah.. technology... isn't in common use in the Shogunate- most couples I know of prefer to do things the rather old-fashioned way. In any case, it's good to hear the chibi is doing well. I hope your security monitoring is extremely up to par... I do believe we still have Shogunate researchers trying to puzzle out how a particular diplomat's three year old daughter has been able to slip past virtually any and every monitoring device we use... and the security at Camp R."

To Asami's comment, the drake nods slightly. "I shall see to it then that a couple of the Busus are made available for the move. I hope you don't mind ships with slightly less than graceful names." He chuckles dryly. "Given that 'busu' itself means 'ugly' or 'ugly old hag', the crews have dubbed their ships rather in the same vein. One Fat Mother-, Delayed Blast Flatulence, and Lecherous Old Man are just a few fine examples."

--

Rihdadw shrugs slightly, the motion more visible than it would be on a human by account of his wings rustling slightly with the shoulder movement. "There is much learning... the world now is different... much different from when the Keepers went into hiding. It is smaller, somehow. Coming here would be a journey of some days or weeks by air, even for the Elder in full form. But now the metal skyships make such journeys a matter of hours..." He sips from his wine glass in thought. "The ways are different. The..." He fumbles for the preoper wording for a moment. "The Red Blade is not the way leadership is decided anymore. Glory in battle seems to be a dying thing. The Elder is glad of it, but it is strange to me."

Tsume blinks at Gregor's statement. "Oh.. my mistake. Such... ah.. technology... isn't in common use in the Shogunate- most couples I know of prefer to do things the rather old-fashioned way. In any case, it's good to hear the chibi is doing well. I hope your security monitoring is extremely up to par... I do believe we still have Shogunate researchers trying to puzzle out how a particular diplomat's three year old daughter has been able to slip past virtually any and every monitoring device we use... and the security at Camp R."

To Asami's comment, the drake nods slightly. "I shall see to it then that a couple of the Busus are made available for the move. I hope you don't mind ships with slightly less than graceful names." He chuckles dryly. "Given that 'busu' itself means 'ugly' or 'ugly old hag', the crews have dubbed their ships rather in the same vein. One Fat Mother-, Delayed Blast Flatulence, and Lecherous Old Man are just a few fine examples."


"Once the technology was introduced, it was an instant hit. I can see the attraction, really. No need to haul a bloated body around for nine months, no odd cravings and hormonal swings, no morning sickness, no passing a human through a small bodily opening." Gregor shudders. "Anyways...security is fine. I was amazed to find out how much security I never noticed growing up. Imperial Security drawn from the marines, wards, security drones, automated defense networks both at the palace and the estates, EI-monitored cameras in the oddest places..." He trails off again, a hint of a blush on his face. "Let's just say that I was relieved to find out that it all goes into the archives and can't be accessed for ten years after my death, except in emergencies.

"Those are certainly interesting names. I'm half afraid of what will happen once our contact ships run out of decent names. Sometimes those EIs can be a bit - inventive."

Alkanphel snaps his gaze back up to Pat as she speaks. "Left out of the fun?" he asks slyly. "We can't have that," he adds with a nod of his head and a snicker.

"Though I suppose..." he begins, tossing back the last of his gin and tonic. ".. That the real 'fun' hasn't actually started yet." As if on cue, a man arrives at the table and places a key in the Maia's outstretched hand. "That's what this is for," he asserts with a mischevious grin. "When you all are ready, of course." He winks. "No rush."

Marcus had been looking forward to the masquerade portion of the celebration. He had contacted his favorite tailor to craft his costume, and the two had spent quite a bit of time working to make sure it looked like it was supposed to. He'd also spent no small amount of money to make it of the finest materials available. He wasn't sure what he'd do with it after the ball, of course, but he figured it could be put on display in his office, or something similar. However, that wasn't a concern for right now. For now, it was time to enjoy both the ball, and his Masque of the Red Death (http://www.ticketsconcertssports.com/red-death.jpg) costume. He moved about the Piazza casually, occationally talking to costumed Dominion citizens, and most anyone else who wanted to stop by.

Rebecca had opted for a similar time period, but more outlandish costume. She was dressed in a rather involved swashbuckler's costume; including the required oversided hat and its equally required oversized feather. A rather well crafted rapier hung jauntily from her hip, peace bonded, of course. She prowled about the Piazza and surrounding areas, looking as if she very much wanted to be swinging from a chandelier, yelling "What ho!" or something similarly silly.

Victor and Lazarus still hadn't returned to the festivities, not exactly being ones for dressing up.

Throne Room, Doges Palace, Piazza San Bernardi, Devras, DLN

When Nathicana drew the blades, the bloodstone, the dark red rock running through the hilts, glowed slightly, and briefly, its magical circle completed. The Dread Lady might have even felt everything in the room become sharper, time slowing slightly, while she held the blades.

The only time Lesley had held Kánomegil, she had called it ‘bullet time’, referencing the old movie The Matrix. It was nowhere near that much time dilation, but the effect was very similar. But Nathicana might not have noticed, for she held the blades for a very short time.

All three of them smiled at the Empress’ thanks, and D’ron shook his head slightly. “No thanks are required, Nathicana, but I will convey your words to the craftsman.”

When Emperor Treznor arrived, each of the nodded as Nathicana turned to him. While D’ron and Lesley’s spoken Italian was atrocious, they understood it near perfectly. Husband and wife turned and grinned at each other at Nathicana’s words, while Cortana politely averted her gaze for a moment, glancing about the room as the two greeted each other, giving them almost the illusion of privacy. Andrew merely became slightly tenser as Treznor’s presence caused the Federation party to be outnumbered.

Andrew, get over here and the box so we can greet Treznor properly. D’ron directed silently.

Andrew protested, as was his job. Sir, we’d be outnumbered, and my hands shouldn’t be occupied.

If they wanted us dead, we wouldn’t be armed, or they’ll hit us with enough force to take us anyways. So shut up and soldier, Andrew. D’ron made it an order, and the Guardsman moved and took the box, careful not to let it shut.

After Nathicana and Treznor were done, D’ron stepped forward, speaking first to Nathicana. “No thanks are required, Dread Lady. What would the world come to if we did not do what good we could, when we could?” Then, smiling, he turned his gaze upon Treznor, offering to shake hands.. “You don’t look nearly as cold as I remember. It’s good to see you again, under these much more delightful circumstances.” Lesley stepped forward at a slight motion of D’ron’s hand, and smiled at the Emperor. “May I present my wife, Lady Lesley? I don’t believe you met her when you were visiting the Federation.” A moment later, as the introductions concluded, Cortana stepped forward and offered her hand, merely nodding politely in lieu of words.

Dante’s Inferno, Devras, DLN

Jack started forward again at the girl’s shout, but stopped suddenly when he saw the panNorm soldier. I must have more to drink than I thought. “Jason, let her go,” he said at about the same time as the older man said basically the same time.

It was not clear if he heard either of them, or neither of them, but Jason let go, mostly because he was not coordinated enough at the moment to hold onto her and lean towards the older man. “Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?” Then he muttered something under his breath, the words not intelligible, but the tone clearly that of a fairly nasty curse, obviously directed at the man he was confronting.

Maile grins a little wryly, dowining the rest of her drink. "I'm ready now, honestly." She briefly pulls away, starting to stand. "What about you, Pat?" She winks, a faint upturn of one lip.

Meanwhile, Datima and Cheops, the naked masked satyrs, trot up to Marcus and Rebecca. Cheops speaks first, a grin on his face. "Those are simply great costumes, and very period too. How did you get the idea?"

Datima remains silent, wrapping her arms around Cheops from behind and nuzzling into him. Her goat tail waggles slightly as her hooves shift upon the ground with a light clomping sound.

Pat smiles again, a bit nervously. "I'm... ah... ready whenever you are, m'lord. I must confess... it's not often I score on a first date for... numerous reasons."

With another giggle, Pat carefully rises, seeming a bit flustered from anticipation while smoothing the billowing mass of ballgown. "Shall we then? When we're in private... I have a little secret to show you." Pat winks back at Alkanphel. "T'is not every night you get the chance to... pleasure... one of the most powerful men in the world, after all."

Alkanphel's eyes narrow as he leads the two of them back to his room, slipping his arms around Maile's waist as he stands, and Pat's as they clear the aisle. "Surprise?" he asks, scanning her closely. "Color me dubious," he says in the appropriate tone, cocking a brow as he maneuvered the party through the writhing crowds to the rear of the building where the Rooms of Ill Repute lay.

Slipping his left arm off Pat, he reaches into his jacket pocket and retreives the key, snickering as he slides the key into the lock, he pushes it open a moment later, gesturing for Pat to enter while he extricates the key from the lock.

Once everyone's inside, he closes the door with a click and tucks the key into his jacket pocket. "So," he starts, in a somewhat skeptical tone. "What's this 'surprise?'"

Asami blinked a few times and stood there silent for a few moments before responding to the reploid dragon. "Eh heh... interesting naming scheme... whatever works for them I guess. There shouldn't be too much problem with the ship names. We'll probably hear some stories about the bridge crew's responses to them though. When we get back home I'll try and get some more info on the exact details of the move for you."

Asami glanced down at her watch. "Time certainly does fly when you're having fun. I have to wonder where the major wandered off to though..."

Rene nodded. "The Ea would tell you that decreased travel time does equals not decreased size but greater speeds, but yes, I understand your meaning. Like climbing up a mountainside - one can see further from higher up.

"It's hard to glorify war when it has become so bloody, I suppose - when one can destroy entire nations from so far away you can't even see their borders, war becomes an impersonal thing. Nuclear weapons might not have stopped war forever, as they hoped back then, but at least they make us think twice. To glory in war, these days, is usually self-destructive."

(Aaaand fast-forwarding to the Masquerade!)

When Rene had learnt of the Masquerade, she'd sought out the best (or at least the most acclaimed) designer in Tsaraine and the Border States. Who she'd got was Terin Hsu, who had previously come to her attention when a little slut of a Hyazinari shuttle pilot had nearly created a diplomatic incident with the Endless Crimes delegate wearing one of his creations at the Treznorikh Midwinter Bloodfeast.

She'd told him she wanted something showing less skin than the works she'd seen elsewhere; Hsu had complained bitterly about the cramp in his artistic vision, but he hadn't said he was the wrong one for the job; Rene was paying rather to princely a fee for that.

Eventually, he'd produced a garment she was happy with (and another, altogether less respectable version to satiate his "muse", which Rene had quietly relieved him of - it might be useful some day, you never knew).

So what she was wearing was a rather nice slim dress of some iridescent green silk-oid fabric, weighted at the hem with copper beads in various stages of oxidisation, and a light jacket of similar fabric, heavily embroidered in gold. And the mask, of course, also in green and gold. The green was not a colour she often wore, but when you had variable-colour irises, anything could bring out matching shades in your eyes...

---

In the room next door, Ktoriach puckered his lips at the mirror and carefully applied lipstick. He'd tried to get a dress out of Terin Hsu (and unlike Rene, he didn't mind Hsu's lean towards the indecent end of the spectrum), but the Ekatorik designer had flatly refused. Well, Ekatorik were stupid horse-shagging barbarians, and there were plenty of Tsarainese designers willing enough.

So Ktoriach had got his dress, and was quite happy with it - the maroon and gold went quite well with his skin tone (or so one of his boyfriends had once said), and it never hurt to have a little extra padding in the chest region when you were so naturally flat-chested. A little makeup, a little work with his hair, a bit of corsetry around the waist, and Ktoriach made quite a good woman. The rest was just walk and talk, and he had plenty of practice at that.

He didn't regard himself as a transvestite as such; he was a guy, he liked other guys (and, occasionally, other girls), he liked dressing as a woman, and that was enough definition. The Tsarainese, including the eighty-five percent or so who were straight, were fine with it - they'd had almost five hundred years to get used to the idea, after all.

From what Ktoriach had heard the Dominion was similarly relaxed - although some of them were Catholics, which was supposed to be even worse than the Orthodox Faithful for bigotry and general silliness* - so who knew? Devras was a cosmopolitan city, though. It should be fine, and if not, well, it was a party. They'd get over it.

---

Further down the hall, the Ea Communion dressed their node/avatar with the maximum of efficiency. The Communion regarded the point of this event as "support the Arkhora for the benefit of Tsaraine and the Communion", but with so little individuality, they felt no particular emotion towards it personally (if such a word could be used).

They had, of course, found an adequate garment for the occasion, a long coat in red and gold - for the Ea the only acceptable colours were red and gold, matching hair and eyes - but that, too, was necessity rather than enthusiasm. They'd assigned one of their number to learn to dance, and what one knew they all knew; everything was covered, in properly careful and methodical fashion.

Once properly garbed, the Kjathen node/avatar left the room; the Arkhora and her Operations Commandant were waiting outside. The Communion could see very little reason to wish to disguise one's gender - the Ea were not, as a rule, sexually active - but then again, they didn't care.

"Well, eseni," the Arkhora said (with a wink to ralVenadt), "Shall we mingle?"

"Certainly," Ktoriach purred, and the Communion set one of their number to research - how was it possible for someone to alter their vocal cords so without surgical alteration? There could be a security hole there.

"That is the purpose of this event," the Communion replied through their node/avatar. "We shall mingle."

---

OOC:
*IC thingy, not OOC. If you take OOC offence at anything I write ICly, I shall staple your tongue to your nose and leave you in a country where having your tongue stapled to your nose is a capital offence. :P

Having finally tracked down her wayward charge, Ingrid and Sandrine returned to their hotel...

In her hotel room down the hall, Sandrine had maids to help her with her dress. To help her with her ... garment, Ingrid got Baxter - who was gay, so he wasn't interested in her sexually, but he was having rather too much fun at her expense.

When Sandrine had presented her with the thing, back in Ctessangard, Ingrid had protested bitterly, had gone to Sandrine's father to complain. Count Alexian had pointed out some of the more lurid historical precedents, that her Stone-sworn oath didn't prohibit it in the least, and finally had ordered her to have fun.

Ingrid had gone from incredulous to angry and finally to resigned, but the word of the Reeve-Count was very much final, and she was stuck with the thing.

It was black. It was leather. And while it did conceal her identity (until the masks came off at midnight, of course), it didn't conceal much else. Baxter was cackling with malicious glee, entirely unsympathetic to her plight.

"If you mention this back in Callúna, I shall leave you floating in the harbour," Ingrid told him. "Yai much truth, I say. Now would you tighten that buckle?"

"Certainly, bond-Knight," Baxter replied, still laughing. "There. Look in the mirror!"

She did. "Ai Lord, this is ridiculous. Some day, I really shall throttle that girl."

"Oh, don't be silly," Baxter laughed. "I'm sure you'll be the center of attention."

"I don't want to be, and anyway - you're not going. Else I'm sure we'd both be in this fix, yai truth."

"Well, here comes the architect of your misery, Anderssen. Looks like she's ready to go."

Sandrine was encased in a rather lovely thing of blue and gold silk - with his daughter, if not with his daughter's vassal, Alexian White had put his foot down to enforce morality. It reminded Ingrid of a tropical fish.

"Ingrid!" the Landgravine exclaimed gleefully, "It suits you wonderfully. Come on, let's have fun!"

Ingrid scowled behind her mask. "Fun. Yes, let's." Oh how very gloriously fun indeed. Let's get this over with.

While Marcus' eyes were largely hidden behind his skull mask, it was still vaguely obvious that he was mildly surprized by the satyrs. "Ah, well... I have always enjoyed the work this costume is based on, and I wanted to create a costume worthy of the story..."

Rebecca laughed, cutting off her boss, "Oh, don't be so stuffy, sir. It's a party, you know." She smiled at Cheops and Datima, "Pleasure to meet you! Can't say as I've ever met... er... anyone from your nation before."

Dante's Inferno
The Soldier Red, born from the egg and indoctrinated from the pupae to fully understand practically any tactical situation, notes that the hormonal disturbance is centered around those two humans over there, the one obviously under the influence of ethanol. Given the circumstances, the conflict will probably be short and limited.

This is not to the Soldier's liking. Scuttling around, she begins moving unoccupied tables, chairs, pausing... surveying her work... then moving just a smidgen, moving like an artist of some sort. As she goes, she surreptitiously connects tablecloths and the like with bits of resin, making simple little ropes of organic compounds to connect this item to that along the floor...

It's all based on probabilities, really. The drunk one gets slugged, goes backwards into this table, which overturns and then rolls into that table over there of swarthy-looking fellows who are currently uninvolved. Assuming the drunkards friends--they share a communal scent--want to get involved, they will have to knock over these chairs which are linked by resin wires to this other table of, if not strong men, at least men already angry about something. For them to get involved will require them to push back their chairs, which lead back to the first table...

And so on and so forth. To the untrained eye, it is a giant ant wandering around; distracting but not malevolent.

Sometime in the Early Evening
The panNorm wander about, curiously examining the costumes arrayed. They don't wear any themselves, as it would serve no purpose to them--their identities, such that they are, cannot be masked. That does not prevent them from examining the side of a culture they normally do not get to.

"I told you we were early."

"So? That's why we kept to the shadows and all. Not like we're immediately recognizable."

The ninja and the lupine thing wander about, watching the traditional carefree hedonism begin to wax as the sunlight wanes. Similar things happen back home, but they tend to be more sedate as social limits are already rather... liberal and those limits which are emplaced are actually quite rigidly held and more over enforced by the culture. Revelry in the streets is all well and good, as long as it doesn't go too far...

Revelry in moderation, just like everything else. That's what the wolfish-formed thing thinks as it mutters softly in Arabic. "Perhaps not. I still cannot believe you talked me into this."

"Pff. We both needed a break and you know it." The ninja rolls his eyes. "Not much of any place better to cut loose than a traditionally Catholic anywhere during Carnival. I mean, Lent's the period for fasting and penance and all! Gotta build up the sin to last for fourty days."

The beast chuckles, a rumbling deep in its chest. "Penance. Curious concept, that, beyond adapting and self-improvement--"

"Oh, I wouldn't say it's so curious... not like self-denial is any mystery to me." He looks around at the crowds with a vaguely distant look before shaking his head quickly. "Bah--last thing on these peoples' minds. I say we get involved."

"What else can we do?" chuckles the lycanthropic monstrocity.

"It's a camera!" yelled Andreja Lucas. "It's not a bomb! I'm a reporter!"

Outside Ciril and Drago heard Andreja's cries.

"We'll have to rescue her!"

The two headed towards the Piazza San Bernardi, leaving their camera behind and saw a guard.

"Excuse me", Ciril asked, "I'm looking for a friend of mine. Her name is Andreja Lucas. She's a brunette, 164 cm, wearing a white dress. She's a Serconean guest".

"I got roped into this entire nation-representing thing when I met the imperial heir at the university, myself. And yes, we are members. We joined quite some time ago, just after Empress Alicia II's death. Things had already been growing by then, of course, through things like the New Auschwitz liberation and the Ring construction."





Nodding Carlos smiles and holds his hand up for a moment. "Excuse me, for just a moment." Turning to Yvonne he whispers in her ear quickly and she nods and bows her head to their conversation partner and heads off making her way towards Calabrese.

Arriving at her destination she taps the man gently on the shoulder and smiles. "My dear Führer has sent me to request a chance to meet with her highness Nathicana at her conveniance, a meeting for all three of us would be appreciative." She says respectfully, her smile remaining friendly and cool.

For his part Carlos thinks intently for a moment before asking "Without sounding odd, how influencial is the shogunate within the Triumverate? and how much of a unified front is the Triumverate in regards to the situation revolving Iraqstan and The Shogunate?" He asks cautiously, his posture changing to one of guarded defense.

Cheops smiles. "We're from the Empire of the Resurgent Dream." If allowed, Cheops bows over Rebecca's hand, lightly kissing it. Datima extends her hand to Marcus, palm down.

"Ah... well... yes." Pat fidgets more visibly now that the trio is alone. The warlord's scan doesn't turn up anything outlandishly unusual, but the redhead's anxiety seems to have shot through the roof. "Y'see... honestly... well... usually things don't move this quickly on a first date... and I have more time to ease a potential partner in to the idea... but ah...."

Pat starts to work at undoing the lacing of the ballgown, hiking the skirts up momentarily to reveal silvery colored feet, though it would almost appear that Pat was wearing some sort of metallic boots since the tops of the shoes are not visible. "Most people, even in the Shogunate tend to view my... tastes... as... well, rather deviant... so I tend to resort to base trickery to get even a foothold in dating... it's... oh.. how do I explain this? It's so hard every time."

To mostly likely increasingly incredulous looks from Maile and Alkanphel, Pat starts to tug off the dress as the lacing is worked loose. "Well... ah...My real name is a good place to start... I'm not really Patricia, my proper name is Skyraider Skypeace... and... well... the short version is that I'm not human... but... ur..."

With a fluttering of cloth, the dress finally falls away. Instead of revealing bare skin, slender armored curves gleam in the low lighting, the hard metal lines of a machine. "... I'm a reploid." 'Pat' finishes lamely. "With a lot of modifications I made for... ah.... playing."

Maile blinks once. "What's a reploid?" She looks Pat over, looking between her and the warlord. She starts to undo her own dress, letting it fall to the ground to reveal an entirely natural, and rather stunning, human body. "I know that I'm open-minded. What do you think, m'lord? I guess this isn't the best time to mention my own secret." Still wearing her shoes, though no longer anything else, Maile moves to sit on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs with a slight smile. She studies Pat and Alkanphel. "There's no reason two humans and a Reploid can't have a wonderful time together, I'm sure." She leans forward a little, resting her chin in her hands as she watches the situation develop.

"Woahoaoa," starts the Ainu, raising his hands, his eyes damn near bugging out of their sockets. "I didn't see that coming," came the obvious reply a moment later. His eyes become slits as he regards the two of them, lowering his hands slightly. He stands, silent for a time, weighing his options. "I'm not sure I've had enough liquor to permit this kind of debauchery," he says tiredly, slumping into his seat, producing a flask. Seconds later it's empty, as evidenced by the empty clang it makes upon impacting the wall as he tosses it aside.

He rubs his temples, still sitting there. "I knew something wasn't right. I must be getting senile."

Nathicana gently kisses the man, seeming not to care in the least who sees. She chuckles softly at Treznor's mention of 'stingy staff', knowing full well how the cellars had been taxed in preparation for the celebration. She accepts both the bottle and the note with a smile, which only broadens when she reads the simple message.

"I intend to redeem this later, in full, mi amore, and we can share the bottle then," she murmurs, carefully folding up the small piece of paper, and tucking it safely away inside the band of her glove.

She had noticed something different when she drew the blades, indeed - though whether this was from expectation and giddiness at D'ron's words and all the excitement of the day, she couldn't tell. Regardless, it was something she was going to explore at length later, intending to have a good practice session with all her new blades as soon as her schedule allowed. For now, however, present obligations drew her attention back to her guests, and her fiancé.

"Grazie, D'ron, all the same." Nathi ponders his comments on doing good as she waits for the group to finish their introductions and pleasantries with Treznor, while Massetti and Pascali look on with the same seemingly unconcerned demeanor. A subtle flash of hand signals between them, seen and acknowledged by Jas from his corner, then quiet, confident smiles as Andrew takes up his new position.

"Perhaps if you plan on staying we can all sit down in a less formal setting where we can relax and take some time to visit. This," she says, gesturing to the room in general, "simply isn't the sort of setting I tend to choose while playing hostess, but there is an image to uphold, yes? Again, I sincerely thank you for your gifts. They are ... incredible."

Gina was quickly losing her enthusiasm for having run off, unused to being handled roughly, and quite used to having her way without question. The quiet confidence of Wallace is much more comforting than the angry Jason, not to mention, his approach seems more familiar to her what with daddy's boys and their methods. Still, she's spooked, and she hasn't the experience to know how to keep a situation more calm.

She reaches into her front pocket, and pulls out a switchblade, bringing it to bear with a soft 'click'. "Who do you think you are grabbing me like that, stronzo di merda! You're drunk. Go sober up before you get yourself hurt."

It's obvious however, the way she handles her knife is more from watching movies than any actual training or skill. At least it is to those who know what to look for.

The rest of the place seems to have their attention either on their own business, or the unfolding drama at the table, few paying any heed to the odd panNorm creature's actual doings, though many seem intrigued by its appearance and presence there. And intimidated enough by it not to interfere or confront. They're not that drunk yet.

The reploid formerly known as Pat fidgets, finding the metalic tips of its feet VERY interesting, a most forlorn look over the redhead's face. "I... should have been more honest, m'lord. If you... well, if you want me to leave I will. Plenty of fish in the sea and all that... oh, I'm such an idiot!"

The mechanoid looks genuinely surprised at Maile's question and even more so when the woman displays no visible qualms about... well, getting kinky with what amounts to a very advanced computer. "Ah... a reploid is... well, a sentient machine. Like..." Skyraider "Pat" Skypeace fumbles for a decent description. "Ur... I guess like a car, or an airplane, or a toaster, or a can opener... a reploid is just a lot more advanced than those. We... ah... don't generally have the hardware for sex... I just... kinda modded myself a lot."

The Soldier titters with delight as the knife is drawn, moving herself into position to watch closely. Now all there has to be is an attack, and then the fun really starts...

And then she notices that there is no art with that knife, no purpose, no skill. Spite. Limited force, then. The soldier spacedy ant grumbles internally. Limited force is no fun.

He's been sat in Dante's Inferno for some time now, it seemed promising enough as a place to start. As it was the brewing fight in one corner had certainly caught his eye, what however had been more interesting was the Ant like creature's actions, it seemed, to be plotting something. His movements appeared almost accidental but like the PanNorm it had deliberatly targeted himself towards the Red Ant, and took a seat next to it, whispering under his breathe.

'You've done somthing have you not... no don't answer just nod if I am correct.' He smiled slightly, cruely, and patted his side, the Mon-keigh had checked them over and allowed weapons, peace bound obviously in, and he had agreed. Still he felt little need for concern, as long as his Carec Stone was safe, he was not concerned by the antics of lesser species. What he wanted to determine now... was how lesser this new creature was.

((Okay I admit, I needed to get him into events somewhere this seemed the easiest))

The soldati security guard nods, continuing to lead Andreja into the large building. "Fine and well, my lady. Perhaps you can explain to me in detail why it was one of our guests were put off enough to have their own security detain you - something you see, we tend to frown on in the extreme. Now, if you'll just accompany me this way, I'm certain we can get to the bottom of things."


Both Ciril and Drago are given a slow once-over by the guard they approach, and he makes a quiet inquiry over Spook, nodding slowly as he recieves his answer.

"She is currently being detained pending some questions as to her activites here tonight," he says simply. "Is there anything we can offer assistance for in the meantime?"

Maile tilts her head, beyond confused. She looks briefly to the Maia as though expecting him to help before looking down with a faint blush. "I don't know what any of those things are either."

Throne Room, Doges Palace, Piazza San Bernardi, Devras, DLN

D’ron and company merely nodded at Nathicana’s words. “I’m sure there are many other demands on your time today. We’ll be spending the night aboard the Forbidden Honor out at the airport, as I’m sure the festivities will continue far too long into the early morning to leave tonight, and I can’t be separated from my communications for that long.” He frowns as he says that, mostly to himself, then brightens again. “We would love to join you for some time later, perhaps a brunch.” He starts to turn to leave. “Oh, yes, there is one other thing. We’ve got to reset the lock on the box so you can open it again, since it is DNA coded.” He beckoned Andrew over, which allowed Treznor to see better into the box as well.

He placed his fingers on either side of the latch bearing the Sword and Stars of the Federation. “Touch the center of the latch,” he directed. “It’ll feel a little warm at first. Then you can recode it in exactly the same way at some other point. And if for some reason, it isn’t recoded so that it can be opened, the Federation government will always have a way on file to open the box, or I can give you a datachip at some later point with the secret on it.”

Dante’s Inferno, Devras, DLN

Jack blinks in surprise as the girl produces the knife, and even drunk, he remembers enough of his training from the previous school year to realize she’s not all that good with it. Adrenaline is flowing by this point as he watches the scene, growing more concerned by the moment. An imploring glance about the club calls forth a few more guys from Camp Fozzie, and they begin winding their way through the tables.

Jason, meanwhile, simply stares at the knife, before beginning to laugh. His hand flicks out, too slowly in his drunk state, to bat the knife away, but all the same, he’s made the first physical attack.

Alkanphel shakes his head. "This is just too damn wierd. I'll never hear the end of this," he observes, shifting a bit in his seat. "I certainly don't mean to offend but it's a doubly strange situation being that you work for the Shogunate and so forth.." he trails off, furrowing a brow. "I don't know if I can handle this, in truth. Apparently I'm a bit ah.. old fashioned."

Maile sighs a little, stretching out on the bed as she watches the interactions. She's really just lying there for now. After all, she's a perfectly formed human woman herself. She does find the repolid rather interesting, however. She's still clueless what it is and no explanation has been in terms she understands. It seems unlikely one that can make the vast technological gap seem like anything but magic could be fit into two hours.

Dante's Inferno
Wallace watches Gina display the knife, concerned less about her stabbing the drunk chap, and more about her hurting herself. Still, when Jason lashes out at Gina, he is quick to react; grabbing one of his arms, and a tuft of hair on his head, pulling him into the table and push/pulling his head down onto the table and holding it there.

The crew, who had been inching towards the scene, broke into a short dash for the remaining few meters, forming a semi circle a few meters from the table.

Wallace leaned down towards Jason's ear and began cursing at him in russian, yelling at him about never strking a lady amongst other things.

Rebecca blushed softly behind her simple black eye-mask, "Oh, nice to meet a... er... gentleman?"

Marcus accepted Datima's hand, and deftly slid his full-face mask up slightly with his left to gently kiss the back of her hand, "An honor to meet you, denizens of Resurgent Dream. My associate and I are from the Semi-Autonomous Technocr-"

"We're from the Hack," Rebecca said with a smile, cutting off Marcus. "The full name is something of a mouthfull, and, honestly, is a pretty dumb name."

Marcus chuckled softly, "Ah, youth." He paused for a moment, as if plumbing the depths of his mind, searching for a memory or a tidbit of information. He smiled slightly before sliding his mask back down, "I have to admit, I have not seen a satyr in... ages. What brings you to this ball?"

Datima laughs lightly. "Since when do satyrs need an excuse for a party?"

Cheops laughs a little at her answer but waves it off dismissively and offers a more serious reply of his own. "We are advisors to Princess Agwene ni Gwydion, who is here to represent our good will to the Imperatrice."

The soldati security guard nods, continuing to lead Andreja into the large building. "Fine and well, my lady. Perhaps you can explain to me in detail why it was one of our guests were put off enough to have their own security detain you - something you see, we tend to frown on in the extreme. Now, if you'll just accompany me this way, I'm certain we can get to the bottom of things."

"Perhaps he was distracted by my radiant beauty", Andreja replied. "I just wanted to say hi".

Both Ciril and Drago are given a slow once-over by the guard they approach, and he makes a quiet inquiry over Spook, nodding slowly as he recieves his answer.

"She is currently being detained pending some questions as to her activites here tonight," he says simply. "Is there anything we can offer assistance for in the meantime?"

"Yes", Ciril replied, "Where is she being held?"
Drago added, "If you don't take us to her quickly, you'll be banned from visiting Serconea".

Walking along, laughing happily as they watched various groups of revellers, dressed up as characters from history and fiction, or even the odd painting stroll passed, Angelina and Ithun left the vicinity of the party and continued down the streets, brought more alive by the carnival atmosphere. The whole area felt like walking through a dream. Eyes wandering everywhere, trying to take everything in at once, wanting to experience everything, Angelina was practically dance walking, a happy ambiance floated around her. As if in an instant she had thrown off the shackles of diplomacy and had been given a free rein for fun. Ahead of them was the Embassy district, the place oddly alive for the time of day and the occasion happening around them, but then just because one country was celebrating did not mean that a hundred others were not going through some crisis. Taking it in turns to pull each other in that direction, they slowly made their way there.

As she drew near, Angelina for a moment became serious; like she had stepped out of Devras and into another world, then suddenly, as if the spell had been broken, the party atmosphere burst onto the scene, filling her once again with joy. “I think we’ve taking a wrong turn.” She turned and frowned at Ithun. “I don’t think there is drinking, dancing or anything fun happening here.” He did not talk much, simply admiring her gracious dancing pace, constantly surveying the surroundings, but his attention was always centered on his majestic company. He glanced over into the direction of the Embassy District and nodded to Angelina. “Maybe you are right. Hmmm… all this emotion has made me thirsty. I suggest we raid some local pub and diminish the local supply of drinks, what say you?” He looked down at her, grinning maliciously.

Angelina stopped moving and stopped in front of Ithun, smiled. “That sounds like a perfectly wonderful suggestion.” She swallowed then grinned. “I feel like I’ve been eating sawdust.” Turning in a full circle before returning her gaze to her companion, she grinned. “Want to take bets on how busy the bars are going to be?” Ithun chuckled. “A bet? Sounds good. What will be at stake?” With that, he looked around, trying to spot some sort of establishment where one could get drunk. Finally, he spotted a bar further down one of the streets and led her into the direction of the pub.

Frowning as she thought, she had not even answered before Ithun began to pull her off to an establishment that he had spotted. Soon, she had managed to catch his pace and walked along beside him, her hand finding his as they walked, making sure that she would not become separated, as the population near the drinking houses began to grow dense, as people congregated around them, like moths to a flame. “I’m afraid I don’t have a lot to offer stake wise.” She finally managed to utter as they reached the door to the bar. “But I am sure I can think of something, should you win.” She smiled, wondering if she was over stepping the mark of diplomatic relation building. “A blank bet? I am not against. I say the bars be already busy now, judging by the ever increasing number of folks in the street. After all, the more folks in the street, the more folks are pushed outside of the streets, namely, into bars and other ‘relaxation’ establishments.” He winked to her quickly as they neared the bar. He pushed the door and they entered what appeared to be a bar like in many other countries.

Slipping inside the bar, Angelina was not at all surprised to see that the bar was as full as the street outside; the heat already unbearable as soon as they stepped through the door. “I think I shall have to decide on your prize a little later.” She laughed lightly, as she tightened her hold on his hand as they made their way through the crowd to the bar. Squeezing through finally, Angelina managing not to get elbowed once, leant against the bar and looked to attract the attention of the man who was serving, feeling suddenly in need of a drink. “I think I’ll have something cool with a kick. Any suggestions?” Ithun only smiled to her. “Well then, Milady, I hope the prize comes before the end of the night.” He winked as he made his way to the bar, his company besides him. Years of military training and combat experience and yet he did not manage to slip to the bar as gracefully as she did. In fact, he had to ‘passively’ push a couple people out of the way, offering apologies. Once at the bar, he sighed as he thought about something cool with a kick. “I am not really skilled in cocktails, you know. If you want something cool, I’d suggest a breezer. If you want something with a kick, take vodka. If you want both…” He pondered suddenly then yelled out to the barman. “Oi, Segnioro, possiamo chiedere un momento di vostra attenzione?” “Si, che volete?” Ithun pondered for a moment and spoke back to the barman in Italian. “Something cool with a kick? Two times.” The barman thought for a second and nodded. “Si, un momento…”

“I’m sure I can think of something before the evening is out.” Smiling briefly at Ithun, Angelina turned and watched the barman prepared two Screwdrivers, a blend of Vodka, ice cold orange juice and dash of lemon juice. It was not long before the two glasses were placed before them, ice cubes glinting in the light. Picking up her glass, she chinked it against Ithun’s before taking a sip, shivering as it slipped down her throat. “Mmm, that’s better.” She let her eyes run around the bar, taking in the mix of costumed and normally dressed clientele. He sipped his drink and tasted it in his mouth for a moment, only then swallowing. “Yes, tastes fine.” With that he followed her gaze over at the clientele. “Hmmm… it would seem locals are getting dressed already. Oh my, I wonder what General Miloludov is doing back at the Piazza…” With that he smirked as he drank some more of his Screwdriver. “Well, it’s not often that I stand the perversion of vodka mixed with something else, but this thing is rather acceptable. At any rate, once we’re refreshed, do we modify our plans or do we go on with our quest?” He nodded to the barman, handing stealthily the credit card to the man, making sure not to be spotted by Angelina and paying for the drinks.

Angelina took another sip, and then grabbed Ithun’s hand and led him through the bar until they reached the exit, the heat inside getting a little unbearable, not to mention the noise made it hard to speak. “Let’s forget the Piazza. The Masquerade is a little way off yet, and we can easily make it back.” She turned to face him and grinned. “If we really want to.” Walking backwards for a few steps as she continued to lead him outside, until she finally felt the cool air against her skin, she took a deep breath inhaling the fresh air. “Of course, we could always leave that decision to Fate.” Smiling, she took another sip already feeling heady due to her lack of food. Ithun only chuckled. “Fate seems good. I have never relied so much on fate as today. Well then, Milady, take out your magic coin and see what Fate says. Either we go back to the Piazza, either we go forward! I say we do the latter!” He smiled, drinking some more of his drink. The air outside was cool and refreshing and it felt rather good to let the skin be caressed by the wind. The night was nearing, and it was getting colder.

Laughing lightly, Angelina shook her head, and did not reach for the coin. “If you wish to go forward, then forward we will go.” She did not relish leaving the coolness of her outfit for the stocky masquerade costume she had back in her room. “And no one will miss us anyway, and if we want to save face, we only have to appear before unmasking.” Taking a slow sip, she let her gaze return to Ithun’s face, her eyes meeting his. “Today is turning out to be more interesting than I imagined.” She took hold of his hand, and gently rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand. Smiling, Angelina took a last sip of her drink, emptying the glass. He smiled back at her, holding her hand in his, feeling the touch of her skin against his (good for him that he actually took his gloves off upon entering the bar). He also finished his drink, feeling maybe a portion ‘lighter’ than he was before, a drink beiing far from enough to make a Taraskovyan officer drunk. He looked into her eyes, his fingers rubbing hers gently. “Well, Milady, may I have the honour of inviting you for dinner?” He knew that you usually invite somebody before getting that same somebody drunk, but well, Ithun had to act following circumstances. Placing her glass down, on the nearest available surface, Angelina turned back to Ithun and nodded, suddenly realizing just how hungry she was. She had hardly eaten all day, and it was no wonder that her drink had gone straight to her head. “Dinner would be perfect.” She furrowed her brow as she thought. “We need to find somewhere typically Dominion.” She took his glass from him, and put it down next to hers. “Unless you have any preferences?” Her eyes met again with his, almost sucking her in, and holding her gaze. She could not remember the last time she had had this much fun, and with someone she knew little about other than his name and where he came from. It was almost like a blind date, not that she had been on many recently, her workload being too heavy for that.

Blushing slightly, at where her thoughts were going, she shook her head slightly. After all, two people sharing the evening having fun is hardly a date, still it made her feel good thinking of it as such. “You want another here, or get something to drink at the restaurant?” He smiled as she blushed, his gaze never leaving her. He thought it all over, this entire evening; he could feel that something was attracting him in this woman far beyond what he usually knew. Already he knew he was about to cross that line where a light flirt and seduction goes out of control. And yet, he did not want to turn back. “Well, Milady, I think we should get something to eat first. So let us go find a nice restaurant.”

Angelina continued to watch Ithun as he spoke, and nodded her head slowly, as she looked towards the exit. They would need to make their way back through the bar to get back to the main road. “You can call me Angelina.” She smiled as she tightened her grip on his hand, her fingers wrapping around his, as she slowly led them through the throng of people, getting them out safely without too much contact with the other revellers. Once they hit the main street, and had worked their way passed the people lingering outside, Angelina once more grabbed Ithun in a dance hold and looked at him, before they circled their way through the other couples who were dancing the to music that was filling the evening air. Laughing as they finally found some empty pavement, she let go of his hand then slipped her arm through his, smiling happily to herself. She knew that she was caught up in the atmosphere, and that her behaviour with Ithun was more suited to someone not on a diplomatic mission and representing her Empress and country, but Angelina did not care. There was something about tonight, about the company, that made her want to forget about anything else other than have fun, whichever form it took. In a very joyful and enthusiastic mood, the two turned down the street, following groups of people as the partying spread further along the streets, until there was no where they could turn without seeing sighs of celebration, as they headed off to find a good restaurant.

"Whatever works best for you," Nathicana says with an understanding smile. "Do let us know if there's anything you or your people need - and yes, I think we could manage something for tomorrow, once everyone's had a chance to ah ... recover."

At his explanation of the box she arches a brow, then does as directed, pressing her index finger against it firmly, feeling more than a little odd at the proceedure. Once it seemed the mechanism had done its work, she carefully accepted the box from Andrew with a respectful nod of her head.

"I appreciate it. D'ron, Lesley, Cortana, and your guardsman - please, enjoy yourselves. This is the safest spot in the Dominion right now, it's a time of celebration, the wine is flowing, the music is playing ... take a moment to forget about your cares for a while. I've found the masks and hidden identities often allow people to take advantage of the annonymity, to relax more than they normally would. I hope the evening treats you well. Until later then, ciao - and again, my thanks."

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

Gina's reaction is slow, letting out a yelp of surprise as Jason lashes out, stumbling back into whoever happens to be behind her, both arms flailing - including the one still tightly gripping her small knife.

The barman swears under his breath, taking up the shotgun from under the counter and readying it with a quick snap of his wrist, should things get too out of hand. Other locals are trying to clear out of the way, now that weapons have been drawn, and first contact actually made ... which begins a chaos of events as they stumble and tug at the unnoticed resin wires, sending tables and chairs tumbling, evoking angry yells and accusations. Temperaments already on a high from the throbbing beat of the music, the alcohol already in systems, and the air of tense expectation that has been building from observing the situation finally spills over as punches are thrown, with no set rhyme or reason to it.

Fights are not unknown here - far from it. All the same, five bouncers wade in, stepping out of back rooms, and coming down from other levels, intent on either threatening folks into settling things down, or busting heads til they do.

Slowly, and with dignified grace, the mysterious Vrakian woman reached behind with both arms to the back of her neck. The pearl necklace rose upwards with the swell of her bosom and she gave the Queen a shy smile. She undid the clasp and then offered up the necklace to her. It gleamed and one could see that the pearls were, in a word, perfect.

“It was my honour to wear this necklace for you, Queen Nathicana. These pearls are from the South Klatchian Ocean near Jiggady. As such, it represents the beauty of the Klatch while this…”

She motions to Tronj who came forward, his six foot nine presence not easily ignored. Deftly, he took out a small (in his hands anyhow), elaborately carved wooden box. He opened it and inside laid in velvet was a tiger claw mounted in granite and inlaid with gold.

“…represents its warrior spirit. The claw itself was taken from an Arctic Tiger. Quite rare.”

A courtsey, and then the Ambassador spoke.

“We trust that these gifts will find a good home. Now, if we may take your leave, we should get ready for the party.”

The Vrakians nodded to their fellow Klatchians. They wanted to see what the Alconians brought.

The Masquerade

After a little nap and gallons of water, Jur was feeling right as rain. And was he ready for a party. The two bodyguards had to hand it to their boss – he was a fine drinker.

The Vrakian woman was dressed in a gossamar dress which left nothing to the imagination. Her ears had some kind of pointy prosthetics attached and sparkly highlights adorned her hair. She went barefoot and it was perhaps the best guess of what Vrak though an elf looked like.

Karlo wore a red bandana around his head with a black eyepatch. A wicked curved cutlass was sheathed and he didn’t have a shirt on – revealing an physique worthy of Adonis. Tatoos of snakes, dragons, and daggers were on his chest, biceps, and shoulder blades but they were only temporary. Well, some of them. The black leggings and sandals completed the pirate look. Not to mention that he would grimace and sneer at onlookers.

Tronj, meanwhile had feathers sticking out of his head and carried a bow and arrows. He was even more stripped down than Karlo, wearing only a loincloth and some kind of underwear. Warpaint adored his face, torso, and arms and, like Karlos, was well-built. He wore moccasins but, strangely enough, rode on a saddle. Every now and again, he would let loose a war whoop. He held the reins loosely.

The saddle was strapped to the Ambassador, who really didn’t have much of a costume except for the fake horse head. It was strapped securely on his head and, aside from the tusks, gave the impression of at least an odd-looking horse. Large enough eyeholes were cut which afforded Jur a decent view but still somewhat hooded from the sides. It remained to be seen what will happen once the alcohol started flowing again.

The human Vrakians all had some kind of dainty masquerade mask that covered only their eyes – in a Lone Ranger-like manner.

Jur stopped and surveyed the crowd, then said to Karlo.

-Okay. Take Irene over your shoulder and run for the bar. Don’t wave the cutlass around. Tronj and I will chase you. When we get to the bar, we’ll have a few drinks. Ready? Go!

Karlo hoisted Irene over his left shoulder and then shouted, “Shiver me timbers!” For her part, Irene played a damsel in distress and wistfully cried out, “Save me. Oh, save me,” while blowing kisses at any and all handsome men within the vicinity.

Jur and Tronj waited for about 30 seconds. Then Jur cried out,

“We must save her! Quickly, Tonto! Let’s ride”
“Aye, Kemosabe!”

The Indian and walrus then began to chase the pirate and elf.

The guard with Andreja nods sagely as they enter the far end of the Gianfigliazzi building, and make their way up two sets of stairs, then down the long hall to an iron-bound door at the end.

"Oh I'm quite sure that's the case," he says dryly. "Now, if you don't mind dispensing with what passes for wit in Serconea, and start explaining why it is you're carrying around such a device and irritating the guests after implicit instructions to the contrary, we might just get somewhere."

He leads her across a closed bridge over the canale at the western side of the Piazza - the Bridge of Tears, as it was known historically. It is darker inside, save for the stoneworked lattice openings situated at regular intervals along its length where the light of the fast-fading day leaks in. Through those small windows many a condemned man had caught his last glimpse of the outside world before entering the old prison beyond. Their footsteps echo as they walk along the floor, worn with the crossing of many feet over the years.

Other than some structural fixes, little had changed in the prison over the years. The lower level in fact, had been somewhat restored, and used for the tourism industry. But here, in the back, away from the busy Piazza and the crowds, hidden from the view of curious passersby, it was cold, worn, and gloomy. Old stone pavers made up the floor, in many places split or chipped. The stucco walls might once have been white, but from time, dirt, and the constant burning of candles, now replaced by dim electric lights, had greyed their color and streaked them in centuries old grime.

The guardsman, who has yet to offer a name or anything of the like, leads Andreja to the first of six cells along the hallway they enter - an oddly shaped room covered in ancient wooden planking, stained from the nails that held them in place, rotted through in spots. A small short footstool sat in a corner, as did a bucket in another.

"I'm afraid we don't have the staff to spare transporting you to a more modern holding cell, so please accept the appologies of the Dominion for so invonveniencing you with such dreary accommodations for now." He pauses, tilting his head slightly as he listens to a message over his small headset, then he smiles.

"It would seem you won't lack for company at least. We will of course send up a tray of food, and ample drink in the meantime."

-*-*-*-*-

Back at the Piazza, the guardsman speaking with Ciril and Drago chuckles, then relays a quick message in his native tongue over the comm lines.

"Well, well, well ... we can't possibly have that now, can we? Please, come right this way," he says with a mock bow, leading them to the far end of the government building.

'You've done somthing have you not... no don't answer just nod if I am correct.'
The Soldier lowers and raises her head once, antennae tapping together... then hopping with barely suppressed joy as her plan works out exactly as planned. With everything going straight to Hell in a handbasket, she immediately wades inbetween fights, using her free legs to trip the unwary, letting a few million years of breeding take control of her reactions.

General Miloludov only sighed and facepalmed when his adjutant reported that Lieutenant Khat was last seen by the local security heading outside of the Piazza in company of a young blonde female, possibly a delegate from the Empire of Tartarus. "Ithun, Ithun, Ithun... you will never change." - Vladimir thought to himself. And then he smiled, after all, their task was already done and so they could enjoy themselves to the fullest.

- Any further orders, Sir?
- Yes, we will now go change ourselves. Were the costumes delivered?
- Yes, I have inquired about that already. I was already shown around and will show you to the rooms. Our delegation was granted suites in the Doge's Palace.
- Hmmm... efficient, very. Good job. Lead the way.

The young adjutant saluted and led the way.

***

Later on, two men mingled into the crowds. One was dressed as a Russian noble (http://www.legendrus.ru/images/nasledie/gulb.gif) of times long gone, a mask covering his eyes. The man was rather tall, massive, and a had a rich beard.

The second man was clearly young and dressed as a Strelets (http://www.zvenigorod.ru/history/reg/_img/1.jpg), a mask also covering the top of his face.

Nathicana accepts the necklace with a graceful nod and a warm smile, taking the time to appreciate their beauty and feel before placing them around her own neck.

"It is my honor to recieve them," she assures the woman politely, then turns to accept the box containing the claw, which she examines with undisguised curiousity, and slightly widened eyes given the size of the thing. "And this also," she adds, reaching out to trace the contours of the large claw with one finger before accepting the box with another nod and smile.

"I will indeed keep them with the respect which they deserve. And I thank you, sincerely, for such rich gifts that represent your fine region so well. I'm glad you chose to come, and I hope that you will find our hospitality sufficient. It has been ages since a representative from the Klatchian Coast graced our city, and I hope this will not be the last time. If there is anything you or your people stand in need of, or that we can do to make your stay more pleasant, please do not hesitate to ask."

Slowly, Annika crawled out from the table, swatting away the drooping cloth as it brushed passed her petite nose, and caused her features to contort into an irritated frown. Popping upwards, she turned, and eyed the delicious appetisers lining the tabletop. Her mouth dropped open slightly, and she took a moment to turn her head left first and then right. Sure none had focused their attentions on her mischevious form, she thrust a hand outwards, and taking a handful of items, quickly dropped them into a "pool" of material she had hoisted from the lap of her dress. Shrinking back down, cross legged under the table, she carefully arranged them, as though it were precious stones and not simple morsels she had in possession.

Popping the first small delicacy into her mouth, she began to chew. Mere seconds had passed before her eyes closed in disgust, and she spat out the unpleasent item on to the ground, coughing slightly as its strong and btiter taste coursed down her throat. She mouthed a silent pardon for her disgraceful manners, though hiding under the table of a foreign diplomatic meeting was a substantial deathblow for ettiquite.

Picking a glazed pastry, she tore a corner, and hesitantly consumed. Her face broke into a wide smile as she felt its golden texture and warm filling placate her ravenous hunger. Quickly she channeled the rest of the food into her mouth, her intense hunger overriding her impeccable good manners in a race for priority that only one could win. As she did so, she slowly noticed that the square seemed to be emptying. More and more guests, dignitaries, and other interesting people were moving away, towards a large building almost on the opposite side to where Annika found herself now.

She spied many enter here, each seemed to be wearing a disguise of sorts. Masks by the dozens were viewable, some colourful and intense, others quiet and impassive. She poked her head out from underneath once more, watching in wonder at these strange and wonderful costumes. She did not have anyting approaching such beauty and playfulness herself, other than the dress she had worn now, and the original, torn rags of her outfit that had seen her first arrive in the Dominion. Making a decision, she rolled slowly, out from the table, and stood, as though making it seem to any watching she had simply leant over to adjust her shoes or dress, and returned to standing.

Quickly, she pulled a great handful of hair from its careful bounding. Glitter shimmered across her face as its decorative nature was disturbed. She pulled at the hair tucked behind her ear, hastily arranging it to cover her features. She found it difficult in the extreme to even see, but was pleased enough that any gazing at her with suspicion as she moved towards this massive structure would dismiss quickly. She lowered her head, and began to walk with an extremely shallow confidence, towards the throng of people ahead.

She managed to nestle between a stout gentleman, and a rather large lady of breeding. They both seemed to take no notice of Annika as she did her best to remain between their bulky forms. As they approached the entrance, she swore she could feel the very eyes of Dominion security scrutinise her, Indeed she expected to be halted at any moment, and her heart sank as she found her progress impeded and stopped. Sighing, she parted her hair slightly, gazing up.

"My apologises, my dear, I did not mean to crash upon you."

Annika sighed in relief, as the previous shield of the chunky dignitary turned to obstacle. She managed a weak smile, and seeing the gentleman ahead turn, and continue on, she quickly slipped inside. As she stood in a small and secluded alcove apart from the crowd moving through, she did her upmost to restore her hair to some semblence of before. She cursed in disappointment, unable to bring that neat and pleasing style the older Dominion women had shown a fine hand to.

Doing as best she could manage, she rejoined the throng. As she passed through an impressive set of double doors, she could see little. Though the crowd were breaking and spreading apart, her short height conspired to rob her of any view. Eventually, she could feel space between, and an almost draft waft across her body. Her eyes widened with excitment as she came upon a vast and beautifully crafted ballroom. She could scarcely contain her energy as she spied antiques, dozens of various couples and groups, and of what pleased her the most- music.

It had been many days since last the world of music had made itself a guest of Annika. And even then, only the irritatingly basic folk songs of her Father, whom insisted his collection be loud enough for all to sufficiently hear. But now, this was different, and this was enchanting. Slowly, the small girl walked onwards, and finding a long and well stocked table, slid downwards to her knees, leaning against the wall. Once she was sure she was out of sight but still able to watch what unfolded, she allowed herself to relax ever so slightly. Even without masks to hide identity, Annika would have been unable to name even a single one. Indeed she struggled to even identify what kind of a people they were from, and she found the masks oddly levelling, in their ability to hand mystery to any and all.

Apart from her, yet she would be content, simply to be here, and enjoy the moment. She was most desperate to continue this fairytale.

The Procuratie Giustinian - former location of the Old Magistrates Apartments in Devras, those movers and shakers of the Council that oversaw much of the business of the old city state. Currently however, it is the building in which the official Ball for the masquerade will be held.

For some time now, the room has been open to the revelers, though little has been going on. The broad tapered staircase at the far end leads to a large landing which then splits further into two curved, narrower staircases that lead up to the second floor, the open balcony at that and the opposite end, and the private boxes, much like those in a theatre or opera house, where guests can speak more privately while not having to take themselves away from the dancing and music. The third floor, containing the preserved portions of the apartments, is closed for the evening.

The place is resplendant in all its finery, crimson banners trimmed in black and gold hung tastefully here and there to accent the gilded carvings and rich candelabras. The upper balconies are framed in beautifully styled arches, the ceiling being one large painting of the heavens and scantily-clad revelers. The gilding, painting, and interior architecture are all done in classic Baroque style. Parquet flooring in contrasting shades of complimentary geometric shapes has been polished to perfection.

At the opposite end from the stairway, an orchestra is currently setting up, all arrayed in tasteful matching costumes rich in red brocades and gold buttons, black accents or pants in the case of the men, and all mimicing the masqueraders in simple white-face stage makeup, decorated and exaggerated as appropriate. They chatter quietly amongst themselves, setting up their stands, quietly tuning their instruments.

In each corner of the grand hall a small bar is set up to see to the refreshment needs of the guests without requiring them to step back outside, nor be forced to traverse the entire hall for a drink.

Outside (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=6959828&postcount=14), the entertainment is picking up, with the northwestern corner, across from the refreshment tables and near the ristorantes, sporting a small group of fancifully-dressed 'Gypsies', playing spirited music. The sort of music that for many, makes the blood run hot, titillates the senses, serving as almost an aural aphrodisiac of sorts, especially with those in whom the wine and spirits have been flowing freely.

The gambling tables set outside the northern end of the Library have drawn quite a crowd, with several high-rollers winning and losing more than some folks saw in a month or more in single hands or tosses or spins of the wheel.

Between the front of the Library, and the western side of the Palazzo Ducale, the stages have been long set, and on them are performing various live entertainment. Colorfully dressed sword-swallowers, illusionists, acrobats, ontortionists, jugglers, even small animal acts, all take turns showing their skills. Wandering troubadours singing and playing traditional songs from the long distant past ply their trade here and there, never lingering too long.

In the courtyard of the Palazzo Ducale, behind walls tall and thick enough to keep out most of the outside sounds, a small live orchestra plays soothing selections of classical music across from the decorative fountain, creating a pleasant background for those diplomats and official guests coming and going, or choosing to linger at their discretion.

Security is, of course, quite pleased at how smoothly the day has progressed so far, yet their vigillance has not decreased one iota. If anything, things have tightened, knowing that as the night wears on, and alcohol levels increase, so increases the chance for mishaps and misunderstandings. Three more undercover security officers fall in behind the one escorting the Serconeans, in fact, not wanting there to be any sort of a 'scene'.

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

At Ale Tagliate, the club otherwise known as Broken Wings, the scene is also starting to gather energy. This is a rather popular club with many of the locals, and the only one of its kind to be situated on the Piazza, even if it is at the back corner. One of the old buildings, formerly housing the moneychangers offices, this place has been redesigned on the inside, using what old architecture they could, and adding to it to keep the gothic feel and dark brooding ambiance. The club hosts several dance floors, copious amounts of alcohol, and even small private rooms that can be rented by the hour - one of which in particular has been of interest to the employees watching the feed from hidden cameras in the comfort of their carefully hidden back room.

"A threesome - hell, this ought to be good," says one, nodding to screen three.

"Yeah, it's been kind of, well ... vanilla of late around here for some damn reason. Foreign folk by the look of it. Even better," replies another, nodding. And from there the comments just start flying, as the small group kicks back, drinks in hand, to enjoy the show.

"Check it - they're not wasting much time, are they? And tha--"

"Holy shit, what the hell?"

"Well I'll be damned, would you look at that? It's a mech!"

"Well fuck me. Mechanical love?"

"Yeah, but that other chick ain't bad at all ..."

"Who the hell is the guy?"

"Dunno. Seems familiar somehow, but hell, with all the foreigners around these days, who can say?"

"Awww man, weak. He's chickening out!"

"Bah ... figures. The one time we get something really good and unusually kinky in here, and the man looses his cool. Goddammit ..."

"Yeah, well ... keep the tape rolling, just in case. Maybe we can at least get some decent femme action out of it, eh?"

"Sure, sure. Will do."

Throne Room, Doges Palace, Piazza San Bernardi, Devras, DLN

“Until again, Dread Lady, Emperor.” D’ron nodded to each in goodbye, and Lesley took his arm, likewise nodding, the other two members of the delegation falling in behind, and returning to the festivities.

Piazza San Bernardi, Devras, DLN

Walking out into the sunlight again, which was beginning to fade as the sun sank closer to the horizon, the Federation party blinked for a moment, then glanced about. D’ron frowned as he did not spot the primary Five Kingdoms representative, but did eventually spot the two marshals in their dress uniforms.

Weaving his way through the still bustling crowd, D’ron approached them, Lesley on his arm, Cortana disappearing into the teaming mass of people, and Andrew trailing a couple steps behind. Careful in his approach, he stopped a couple of feet away, and said, “Excuse me, but do you have a moment, ah, Marshal…” He left off, hoping the man would supply a name.

Khaled Sudani looked up from his cocktail and arched a brow. "Sudani. Khaled Sudani," he offered simply, extending his hand. "And this is Dash Hattori, one of my colleagues," he added, hiking his head towards the man to his right. Hattori obliged the party with a nod, staying quiet as he sips his drink.

D’ron nodded, and extended his hand, shaking firmly, but not squeezing. "Nice to meet you, Marshals. I don't know if you recognize me or not, but I'm D'ron Smith, President of the Federation of Sentient Peoples, and I was perhaps wondering if you, and by extension, the Five Kingdoms, were aware that our nations are still technically at war from the unfortunate incident with All Elves some time ago?"

Khaled_Sudani nodded. "We both know who you are. We make it a point to keep up with things to the best of our abilities. And yes, I suppose we are, 'technically' still in a states of war, but then again our Imperium is in such a relationship with a surprising amount of nations."

Over his shoulder, Hattori shruged. "It's more or less just a formality anymore."

Nodding, D’ron picked up a piece of fruit, real this time, from the table and chewed it up before responding. “That’s very true. Sometimes I think it would be nice if you still had to send handwritten declarations of war to people. Slow the process down considerably.” He grined slightly. “But I digress. I only bring this up because we, the Federation, wish to change this, and we’re hoping we could send a representative to the Five Kingdoms to discuss it, that is, bringing about an end to the ‘conflict’.”

Khaled Sudani raised an eyebrow and exchanged a few phrases with his companion in the Easterling tounge, his eyes never leaving D'Ron and Lesley. At one point, their tone became fairly heated, but Sudani seemed to point out something that shuts up the tall Easterling. "I don't imagine we'd be opposed to the idea," he said cordially. "Something along the lines of a Non Aggression Pact, I'd assume?"

There were only so many languages that could be loaded into the translator inside D’ron’s head, and Easterling had not been one of them. Which is gonna get someone reamed out when I get home. The recording would be handed over to Intel as it was, though. “Something along those lines was what I had in mind, yes.”

Khaled Sudani fingered the stubble on his chin as he takes a look around. Slowly, he nodded. "We'll certainly look into it. It's a proposition worth investigating, to be quite sure. Truth be told, the Federation is no longer our greatest concern..." he paused. "It'd be nice to do away with some of the superfluous hostilities, as it were. Though of no small import will be the matter of your current standing relations with Menelmacar. We're sure to be particularly interested in how you'd handle a conflict in that regard."

D’ron nodded. “Understandable. They are your ancient enemies, as it were. The Federation has been, and will remain in, a defensive alliance with the Noldorin Empire, and we will carry out that role should our assistance be requested at any point.” He shrugged. “I’m sure that was the answer you were expecting though.”

Both men nodded. "Pretty much. But it's altogether too complex of a matter to discuss at length here," noted the Easterling. "Especially with all these people about.”

Sudani nodded in agreement. "True enough. We can't exactly speak for the Five Kingdoms in any more than a nominal capacity here anyway; that is to say we can't authorize or deny talks with any meaningful degree of authority. Alkanphel would be the man to talk to, but it seems he's been... diverted." Both men snickered at that. "Very much so."

Smiling, D’ron nodded again, fully understanding what the men are implying, as he was sure his wife was as well. “Well, as he’s… diverted, let me give you this.” He produced a small datachip, regular metal gray in color with a black stripe on it. “It’s a set of diplomatic encryption codes, and a couple ways to contact me. If you’d be so kind as to see that it reaches where it needs to go?” He suppressed a snorted chuckle suddenly. “And preferably not Foreign Minister Reaven’s office. I’d rather not get insults that I have to first decode to read.”

Khaled Sudani laughed. "Ah, that man's lack of tact is so wonderfully refreshing," noted the Southron as he takes the chip. He winked. "I'll see to it that Lord Alkanphel remains in sole possession of it, as per your wishes."

“Thank you.” D’ron inclined his head in gratitude. “Perhaps we’ll talk again sometime. Enjoy the rest of the party, gentlemen.” He drifted back into the crowd, Lesley on his arm, to get one last dance before they went back to the ship to change for the masquerade.

Dante’s Inferno, Devras, DLN

Jake shouts as the unknown man moves on Jason, and the other Federation students surge forward, most becoming entangled in the panNorm’s trap, but a couple make it through, usually falling on or hitting someone else in the process.

Jake himself jumps towards the man attacking his friend, leaping from the floor and attempting to wrap his arms around the man’s neck from behind. Jason meanwhile kicks his feet, trying to find something soft with the heel of his boot.

"I will indeed keep them with the respect which they deserve. And I thank you, sincerely, for such rich gifts that represent your fine region so well. I'm glad you chose to come, and I hope that you will find our hospitality sufficient. It has been ages since a representative from the Klatchian Coast graced our city, and I hope this will not be the last time. If there is anything you or your people stand in need of, or that we can do to make your stay more pleasant, please do not hesitate to ask."

Landgrave Wittlebach quietly stood watching the Vrakian delegations display of gifts. At the Empress's comment about a Klatchian representative he seemed to nod slightly.

Then he stepped forward, placed his cane across his waist and made a very deep bow. " Imperatrice I, Landgrave of Wittelbach, bring you salutations and congratulations from the Privy Council of the Federated Klatchian Coast. They have sent myself and Lord Windmere to deliver to you a gift to mark this day and show their friendship to you." As Windmere was mentioned, he also bowed, his eyes kept going between Nathicana and the Landgrave. He looked a little angst ridden in her presence.

The two Alconian marines carrying the box between them strode out and placed it down on the floor. The stepped back as Windmere stepped forward with a key and opened the box. Inside was a four-foot high bronze of a horse. A four-foot high copy of Il Cavallo actually..

The Landgrave began speaking again, "Empress, when the ruins of the state of Remmondlands were being explored after the Dozle war, two bronzes, apparently of Il Cavallo were found in the remains of the presidential palace. Art historians have decided that they are both actually early visions of Leonardo da Vinci's masterpiece. Likely, an apprentice cast them off some of his Leonardo's early models, perhaps while the master was still alive. We hope you find enjoyment in it your majesty."

He paused for a moment and then waved his hand for the other gift to come forward. One person rather than two could carry this box. It was just an ordinary wooden box. The marine put it on the floor, and removed the top. The marine then pulled out an ornate clock, and held it up for inspection.

The clock was about three feet high. It had a wide base with four bronze claws for feet that tapered up into a large dial. The corners were made of mahogany while the front of the base was made out of some other rich wood veneer. In reality, it matched an odd piece of furniture already existing in Nathi's collection. The face of the clock had gothic numbers of bronze inlaid, outside of the numbers was a circle of coats of arms cut in silver lines into the porcelain of the clock face. At the top, in gold, was the D'Aquisto coats of arms. Actually all of the coats of arms belonged to Emperors and Imperial families (although the Bonapartes were decidedly not included.) At the bottom, below the six was the coat of arms of the Wittelbach dynasty.

"And this is my gift, your majesty…." He was decidedly less formal about this. "… to welcome the House D'Aquisto into the fraternity of Royal Houses. May your house lead the Dominion for generations."
The eyes of the Landgrave sparkled a bit watching Nathi's response.

Jill entered the throne room with little or no ostentation, walking openly toward the seated Imperatrice. She stopped about three meters from Nathicana and curtsied. “I bear greetings from my Imperial Master, Abron nul Karhoff, Celestial Emperor of Guanyu. He bids me deliver a message in his Voice.”

Jill’s voice changed, and suddenly Karhoff’s pleasant baritone came from her throat, far less formal than Jill’s courtly tones had been. “The galaxy could use a few more Imperial rulers worthy of the title. Welcome to the club. I extend my sincere congratulations…and my condolences. The best of luck to you, Imperatrice.”

Her voice returned to its normal registers and she smiled. “His Imperial Majesty also bids me deliver this gift.” Jill’s palm seemed to swell, and then the compartment inside her arm opened and a pendant slid into her hand. The pendant was an incredibly detailed stylization of a roaring dragon. It was made of some sort of stone that pulsed with a soft orange glow. Undercurrents of black and green swirled through the delicately carved stone, combining with the pulsing light to make it seem almost as if the dragon was breathing. The eyes were emeralds of the finest quality and the crest of the head was a blue that resembled sapphire, but was obviously a different stone altogether.

“This is an Imperial Mark. Aside from its aesthetic value, it has cultural significance. Within the Empire, it is a symbol that distinguishes an Imperial Voice, such as myself. A Voice speaks with authority second only to that of the Emperor himself. Show it to any Guanyan citizen and they will do anything you ask, so long as it does not directly contradict any standing Imperial orders.”

Jill walked forward and handed the pendant to the Imperatrice, then stared directly into Nathicana’s eyes. Her tone was cautious now. “There were many powerful voices in the Emperor’s cabinet that advised against giving you this gift. One in particular believed that your history showed you to be untrustworthy. Your handling of the ‘Calabrese situation,’ as he called it, makes the Emperor believe otherwise. I hope he was right.”

When it is her turn to enter, Agwene glides elegantly into the chambers, curtseying with the inborn grace of the Shining Host. She carries a small silver cloth bag and two books under her arms. Her radiant face shines and Nathicana. "Congratulations, Imperatrice. I am Princess Agwene ni Gwydion of the Resurgent Dream, sent to relay my mother's good wishes and a small, though hopefully interesting, token of friendship. It is a rather rare herb that grows only in isolated forests of Bilbtoria, whose scholars treasure it greatly for the ease with which it allows them to...Well, I shall show you it's magical nature."

Agwene glances down with a brief, demure smile. "I must say that I am fascinated with the Dominion. I have never been in a city of this size before or seen such marvels of technology. This is, to be honest, my first diplomatic mission." Agwene, in fact, does not look a day over 16. Either her looks are deceiving or her presence here is an example of rank over experience. "My older sister, Princess Aiwyn, would have come, were she not so recently wed."

Tsume and Rihdadw had disappeared for a time to get into their costumes, and returned to the center of the party, both in rather opposite and elaborate costumes.

Tsume's costume is based on the principle of "No matter what you do, you are not going to make a reploid dragon not be recognizable as such". Rather than try to hide his draconic features, the black reploid's costume instead enhances them- carefully crafted silver plating fixed to his base armor, lending the mechanoid the appearance in far greater measure of the great winged predators of myth (and not so myth, depending on the nation one hails from). Instead of looking quite like a blackened steel mockery of a dragon, the reploid's attire makes him look as if he'd just flown out of the pages of some fantasy novel. (Particularly out of the pages of The Song in the Silence, but that's neither here nor there.)

Rihdadw, meanwhile, has adopted yet another set of archaic Arpean attire, opting instead of his traditional battle armor to wear what could only be some sort of elaborate ritual attire. Instead of the armor plating, the Keeper is draped in ornate robes (still open in the back to allow for his wings) and gems, a simple gold circlet resting on his head, its single inset sapphire resting in the middle of his forehead. His eyes (and indeed, a good deal of his face) is obscured by a decorated veil attached to the circlet. Even his wings are adorned, the mottled brown and grey sails carefully draped with silken cloths and gems. (On closer inspection, it would be noted that the Keeper's wings actually have a number of small piercings, much like how people may pierce their ears, or nose, and so on, and that that is how the decorations are held in place.) The one constant, of course, is his sheathed sword belted at his side.

"Rawr, every fairy tale ball needs a dragon!" The silver-plated dragon jokes, raising his talons and looming momentarily. "Which reminds me, we need to find this fairy tale's lady queen sometime this evening- you've got our gift for the lady, correct?"

The Keeper (like Tsume, you cannot easily hide a Keeper's identity- the wings tend to rather be quite the telltale clue) nods after a moment, withdrawing a neatly wrapped bundle from the depths of his robes. "It is here. It is a precious thing, Lord Tsume. Such trinkets were given only at the dynasty's change, when the old death gives rise to the new dawn."

Tsume bobs his temporarily silver head once, the lighting in the room striking glimmers of green light from the emerald set into his faceplate (all part of the costume, after all!). "That is something like what has happened here- only it is now that the new regime is being made real, like the passing of leadership among your ancient warlords."

Earlier in the afternoon, Piazza San Bernardi, Devras, DLN

After politely concluding the conversation with Victor, Ambassador Tyson decided that it was time to organise a meeting with the Dread Lady Nathicana to present Iuthia’s gift to the Empress to mark the occasion. It was apparent that it would take some time before the others would be done so Adam spent the time mingling with some of the lower level guests, taking it easy and drinking nothing alcoholic, he wanted to wait until the evening until he let his hair down a little.

Among the guests he met a few interesting people from various nations around the world, most of which discussed local politics and swapped commentary on the brilliant organisation shown for such an event. The tourists in the Piazza also added to the buzzing atmosphere of the entire event… some of them wore just as elaborate clothing as the most fashionable diplomats did; it was certainly an interesting sight, and to think, in Iuthia they would have just organised some form of military display.

Later, getting closer towards the evening, Ambassador Tyson was called to meet with the Dread Lady herself. Walking up to the throne room the security officials stopped the tall man and inspected the long box… while it would be a present for the Empress it needed to be checked enough to ensure that it fit the description given to security personnel upon his declaration, it couldn’t be included with the second piece as that would be a security risk. But that would be handed to her later by one of her men. The box itself was a long wooden deal, built more for durability then its looks. If taken care of this box would last for centuries to come, it had a sturdy beauty which would last forever, perhaps even growing more characteristic with age. But the real treat lay on the inside.

The men finally finished checking the item, it was indeed the gift he had brought and it wasn’t with the second part like had been agreed. Walking into the throne room, Adam entered with his head held up high with the tradition of the Iuthian Diplomatic Corps. Walking into the room he noted the rooms décor, again, it was rare to see such excellent interior design work in Iuthia as few of the more privileged citizens were interested in it sort of thing… they like respectable simplicity when it come to decorations and furnishing, though the quality was vastly appreciated.

Stopping several feet before the Empress, Adam bowed as with tradition of the Iuthian Diplomatic Corps.

“Lord General deGritz, leader of Iuthia apologises that he would could not attend this prestigious event himself and instead instructed myself, Ambassador Adam Tyson, to hand you this gift to honour your coronation for years to come. We trust that it should last for many Generations in order to serve you and your family throughout these more aggressive times.”

He smiled and then opened the box to display its contents. They say that Iuthian artificers didn’t have the imagination to make works of art, in Iuthia art wasn’t a big thing and was often made to look like the object which inspired it. However, this weapon was a work of art in itself. A hand crafted Iuthian Gauss Rifle, and not like the crappy plated imitation that was given to the Credonian president many years ago during a wedding. This thing was a masterly crafted, fully functional weapon made by probably the most skilled weapon smith in Iuthia. Only a few of the parts had ever even seen a assembly line… the majority of it was hand crafted to perfection so that the weapon was uncharacteristically reliable.

The outside of the seemed rather normal, though the metal was more expensive and casing more decorative, it still looked rather normal. There was also an inscription on the side:

“To the Nathicana D'Aquisto, Dread Lady of the Dominion, we give you this weapon so you may protect your empire from those would challenge your leadership, may your reign be as durable as this weapon and may it serve you in your darkest moments. – Lord General James deGritz, leader of the Iuthian people.”

Later one of her people would hand her ammunition, completely standard for the weapon as the cartridge would be durable no matter who had made it. Ammunition, should it be needed, would be given to at each subsequent meeting so that she may keep the weapon prepared and have supplies to do so… it was an odd gesture which hadn’t been followed for generations in Iuthia.

Adam then spoke. “We had our finest artisan build this weapon from hand so that it would never fail you Empress, we have never been partially imaginative with our gifts to other nations, but we felt this would be the most suiting. Thank you for your time.”

Giant ants, the Communion thought, How very interesting. Insectile biology should not permit exoskeletal organisms of such size, surely?

The Kjathen node/avatar went over to find out.

"Good evening, esar ant!" she said, regarding the nearest one. "Or should that possibly be esen? We do not know."

-----

"Y kha?" Rene exclaimed, "Wherever did the Ea go?"

"Off to talk to the space ants, I think," Ktoriach replied. Amazing, how much like a woman he looks. ESC should take lessons. "Eja, there she is."

"Ai ... well, Kjathen-Yseult can do what she wishes, I suppose. Y vokh! I do believe I just saw a lord of the First Dominion go by. You're on your own, esen - have fun, but not too much fun."

Ktoriach gave a mock salute, and Rene was off in pursuit of the bearded noble.

"Hello!" she said, bowing slightly, "A good evening, is it not?"

Sandrine White was not all that happy with her dress - it did not flatter her, she thought - but her father had thought differently, and when your father was Count Ctessanau and Reeve of Callúna, what he said, went.

"I'm going for a drink," she told Ingrid, turning away. The bond-Knight's hand landed hard on her arm, turning her towards the older woman.

"One," Ingrid said, and Sandrine could almost feel her glare, "And only one, else I swear I shall find a cask and drown you in it, yai truth!" Then she muttered something that sounded like "Bad enough sober".

"Yai, yai. One," Sandrine replied, and departed. If Ingrid had been so wild during her student years - Sandrine had seen the Sunraven tattoo on her arm, it was quite visible right now, given the outfit she was dressed in - then why was she such a wet fish now?

There were others also heading towards the bar - a rather Herculean man dressed as a pirate, with a woman dressed like some kind of prostitute across his shoulder (Pity he's taken, she thought, And that woman! Totally no jazz.) - followed by an equally impressive man dressed as a Vinlander savage, riding on a ... walrus?

Looks like somebody knows how to have fun around here. And he's kinda cute.

"Hello!" she called, stepping faster to match pace with the man and lumbering walrus. "What are you doing?"

::tinktinktink:: (Tsume would feel a light tapping upon its tail)

A sea-sprayed, grizzled voice speaks.

"Avast ye scurvy dragon! We be looking 'or the gamblin' tables. Ye wouldn't parchance know where they may be?"

Turning around, Tsume sees a Classical pirate captain, covered in rich fabrics, a long cape, and a huge-brimmed hat, folded on one side, with requisite long feather. A well-groomed red beard is quite visible on the man's face.

"Forgive me, I forgot t' introduce meself. I be Karma The Red, Captain o' t' "Equilibrium," at your service." He bows with a flutter of his cape.

Tsume turns with that odd sort of serpentine grace that the Dragonis model line is somewhat known for. "Ah, Karma." He returns the bow with a sinuous bob of his head and a fanged grin. "I hight Tsume, temporarily silver king of the Greater Kindred of the Kantrishakrim." The drake chuckles, a sort of hiss. "Sorry, I don't generally gamble, so I wouldn't know where the tables of poor odds of winning are."

Meanwhile, Rihdadw wanders off to try and mingle, since sticking around Tsume would mean listening to boring diplomatic chatter that more often than not did not interest him.

Earlier in the afternoon, around the City Centre, Devras, DLN

After sorting out their Hotel, three of the Iuthian tourists who came with the group decided to get some “supplies” for the evening’s events. They had already brought over most of the basic essentials which they would need for the night of partying they had planned, but some things couldn’t be brought into the nation as it would be more illegal to do so then to just buy it there.

The hotel itself was a nice simple affair near the coast of Devras, not so close as to be beachside but close enough so that it was a short walk from their hotel. The two couples in the group; Barrett/Alissa and Freddy/Deborah have chosen to spend the afternoon at the beach, having signed into their rooms for the next couple of days. Meanwhile Gregg, Ericka and Sophia decided to take their time off at the Devras Recreational Park where they would spend the afternoon splashing about in the pools and going down slides having a great time.

As for the shoppers; Jeffery, Lee and Bonnie would spend their afternoon following Jeffery’s advice which he had found on an internet tourists guide of the Dominion. Through a short search they had researched the laws of the nation, knowing that Iuthia was pretty tight on tourists it was wise of them to make sure that other nation’s laws were understood. However, to the group’s disappointment, many drugs were illegal in the Dominion but this guide had given them a way around it…

The thing about the Dominions drug laws was that they were not entirely enforced; sure, if you were dumb enough to be selling drugs on the street you would probably be arrested before the local mob made a move to take out the competition in its turf. The point was that small mob run spots would sell the substances discreetly and the police force would turn a blind eye… perhaps because they were bent or some deal was going on; the site didn’t say for sure. But it did say there were some places like certain cafés which would sell the goods and advertise in a manner which wasn’t garishly obvious to people.

It took a little walking to find such a place; on the way Bonnie, the group’s only member of the elven persuasion, had bought a few souvenirs for friends back home. They also came across a few people from the Federation of Sentient Peoples who seemed to be on some form of break from a diplomatic school… they were a rowdy bunch but it was of no consequence, they just wanted to have fun like they did. Once the group finally found one such shop, clear from its cannabis iconography and the smell of jointing in the café itself, the three sought to buy some coffee with their order of several Ecstasy pills (labelled “XTC” in designer shaped pills), 4 grams of cocaine in a little plastic bag and a relatively large amount of Cannabis for the groups smoking needs. There were a fair few varieties available, though it was nothing like the supermarkets back home… the price was, as expected, almost double of that they would pay at home. Still, they had enough for the night and the cannabis would be a nice relaxation for those of the group who had gotten into the habit.

Once they got back to the hotel, carefully making a point of having their stash out of sight along the way, Bonnie and Lee made themselves several spliffs for the next few days so they would have ready made cigarettes to smoke. They used basic roll-ups to make them and mixed the cannabis with the tobacco before they made a pair and started smoking in their apartment with the windows open, relaxing and waiting for the others to come home as they talked about the their plans for the evening.

The majority of the group planned to go clubbing in some of the more notorious nightclubs in the Dominion, the best choice for them seemed to be Dante’s Inferno, which would be packed for the evening but would no doubt have something planned. In any case the seven going would be wearing body paint to go with minimal undergarments of the right colour to suit their “costumes”… it would be fun to dance the night away with almost nothing on (some of them disappointed they had to have anything on) and Gregg intended on getting laid, with any luck. The others had planed to do something similar, but for the Masquerade itself… they would be wearing more, so they were decent, but body paint would dominate the majority of their costume along with an elaborate mask each bought from around the Dominion as they weren’t talented enough to make their own.

Tonight would be fun indeed…

Audience Room
Announced by the guards and servants at the doors, the AdminCoordinator steps in and bows low, pivoting on the segmented 'hips' of her four legs, keeping her head steady relative to her thorax as she has no need to look up. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Imperatrice Nathicana D'Aquisto of the Dominion."

Nathicana dips her head and shoulders politely in return, smiling back close-lipped as she's become rather accustomed to with first meetings of unfamiliar peoples. "It is my pleasure to recieve you, AdminCoordinator. We have heard incredible things concerning the panNorm from others of our allies who first made contact with you. It was good to see that your arrival on Venus went as smoothly as it did. For a while there, we were concerned for you."

The insectoid raises back up to her normal height, chuckles politely. "For the same while, probably, we were concerned as well. It should suffice to say that any threat to our survival due to poorly thought-out schemes about changing our home's orbital parameters has been effectively nullified. It is on a similar subject that I would wish to touch on during this audience."

"Please, by all means go on. I'm at your disposal," Nathicana says with a knowing nod, remembering all too well the ridiculous arguments that had gone on for a while concerning said 'changes.'

The AdminCoordinator bows her head then raises it again in a mimicry of a human nod, her voice immediately changing from diplomatic to businesslike--still pleasant, but the pleasantries are over. "As you probably know, we have been building our strength over Eärendil for self-protection and force projection. My cousin the WarCoordinator reports that, now having two-thirds of an overfleet completed, we have exceeded the bare minimum required to protect our assets here. Now we are appropriately prepared to expand our influence and security via increased participation in multilateral ventures.

"We believe the alliance you are cofounder of is most appropriate for this purpose."

Nathi arches a brow at this new development, careful to not show more than that of her surprise. "The NDA is indeed always looking for new, like-minded allies," she begins thoughtfully. "I see we have no need for pretense, AdminCoordinator, and I appreciate it. In this case, tell me - how to you see the alliance benefitting yourselves, and at the same time, yourselves benefitting us? I'm curious to know what exactly sparked your interest."

"The Non-Democratic Alliance provides additional trading partners for resources and technology we lack or otherwise find difficult to procure. Additionally, the centralized nature of its defensive military posture gives us a secondary option to call upon in our defense, while the representative nature of the council will still allow us a modicum of control in the same. That benefits us.

"Benefitting you is our own vast resource base consisting of the exotons of materials making up Alpha and the untapped resources of Eärendil, as well as our mutual support via the same centralized politico-military establishment. We have a great deal of labor and, may I say, labor better adapted to the requirements of industry than most other nations involved, which can suppliment your markets as a whole. Economic strain should be marginal via usage of a needs-basis barter system rather than an artificial monetary construct.

"Additionally, we can both assist the others... image via working together more closely. You can appear to be closer to outsiders further from your Norm, as can we; this is generally considered salutatory by most polities worth interacting with." She pauses for a moment, then circles her antennae slowly. "What attracted our interest? We have allies in common, and in our studies of the local situation, we came across you. Pacifistic enough to not be an undue strain on limited resources, militarized enough not to be a weakness, coordinated enough to be stable yet decentralized enough to allow us freedom to act as necessary for our survival and growth."

"Most excellent," Nathicana says, her smile broadening though still with closed lips. "I think that we could indeed benefit each other rather well, all things considered. If you wish to proceed with this, I would be honored to sponsor you for admission. There are of course certain guidelines and proceedures that must be observed, but given what I know, I would expect a positive result." She pauses, thinking of something, then continues. "I would imagine my fellow councilmembers would like the opportunity to get to know you and yours better. It has been traditional when looking at accepting new nations."

The AdminCoordinator nods again. "This we understand. It is another reason for our belief that your alliance is better specialized to our purposes. It is not so open as to be unstable." Pausing and listening as Nathi speaks, the ant-like being waves its antennae slightly. "We would be glad to host you if it serves all our purposes to do so."

"I believe that would be a very welcome offer," Nathi assures the insectoid. "I will bring this up at our next meeting, along with what you have told me, and what history of the interaction between yourselves and our mutual allies as will be most beneficial to our purpose. Even if, god forbid, something should go awry with those plans, I would like to look into the possibility of trade between our nations - if such arrangements suit you?"

"Certainly. I am sure we can determine an mutually agreeable trade paradigm in goods and resources."

"Minister di Medici would be best suited for making such arrangements, and that, most likely after the celebration has completed. Is there anything we can do for you and yours in the meantime, AdminCoordinator? It would be unforgiveable to have our guests go without," the woman says amicably.

"We plan on taking this time to study your culture," the AdminCoordinator says simply, "in a way so that those who are most likely to associate with your people diplomatically may come to know them better. While I am sure my sister the SciCoordinator would find this a fascinating opportunity, she can safely wait another year, as I am lead to understand the cultural event is annual in nature."

"The Carnivale aspect of it, indeed," Nathi says, nodding. "You and your sisters are more than welcome here whatever the occasion. I look forward to the opportunity for me and my people to better know you in turn. I regret that recent happenings and preparations have kept us from being more involved than we have as is."

"We have all been busy--if there is any fault, which I doubt, then it is mutual."

"I hope that this event at least serves to lead both our nations to a mutually-beneficial relationship, regardless. Thank you for taking the time to come, and to speak with me, AdminCoordinator. You've given me much to think about."

The AdminCoordinator bows low again, antennae almost tapping the ground. "Thank you for giving me your time, Imperatrice Nathicana D'Aquisto of the Dominion. I hope to work more closely with you in the future."

Nathicana returns the bow as is appropriate, showing respect while maintaining her current status. "It is my pleasure, AdminCoordinator sixty-seven thousand five-hundred-twenty one of the Blue Mother of Us All," Nathicana says sincerely, thanking the powers that be for intel comms. "I anticipate great things for us both. Until then, we are at your service. Please do not hesitate to ask should you find yourselves in need of anything."

The insectoid once again raises to eye level. "Certainly--and we offer the same services to you and yours."

"Very much appreciated," Nathi says with a smile. "I hope you are able enjoy the rest of the evening."

"You as well." Once excused and through with the closing pleasantries, the AdminCoordinator politely lets herself out.

* - * - *

Somewhere in Devras
"Good evening, esar ant!" she said, regarding the nearest one. "Or should that possibly be esen? We do not know."
The LandCoordinator cants her smooth-plated head, antennae slowly tapping together soundlessly. "Good evening, comrade. We're all female, if that helps with gender suffixes and such." She idly munches on a bit of sugar plate appropriated from the snack tables. "Have you tried the plates? Pure sugar."

* - * - *

Dante's Inferno
All had gone exactly to plan. The Soldier had a fight on her hands, and was enjoying every moment of it. Inevitably, some passerby has to be foolish enough to try and swing at the spiky red monstrocity, who simply takes the blow on her hard carapace, clacks her mandibles, then socks the guy right back with a bony and broad manipulator fist.

Or, perhaps, a bit of style is required to most effectively neutralize the attacker. A quick duck, grabbing the human by the waist under its center of gravity, then lifting up with its legs and arms, bodily throwing the human over its spiny thorax with a tumble. This will probably lead to the person momentarily granted the opportunity to fly landing in a group of other people, who will be appropriately enraged...

Good, clean fun for the entire swarm-hive.

The LandCoordinator cants her smooth-plated head, antennae slowly tapping together soundlessly. "Good evening, comrade. We're all female, if that helps with gender suffixes and such." She idly munches on a bit of sugar plate appropriated from the snack tables. "Have you tried the plates? Pure sugar."

"That does help - our thanks. We were not aware that the plates were edible. Pure sugar is not so good for endoskeletal mammals, we fear, as it may be for you."

Nonetheless, Kjathen-Yseult accepts a small edge of the plate, and nibbles daintily. "Very sweet. We comprehend your enjoyment."

Vladimir turned around and bowed in return.

- It truly is a good evening, Milady.

Just at that very time the adjutant in his red robe behind got caught with his boots in that same very robe as he walking, tripped over and fell on the ground, immediately jumping back up to his feet. Vladimir sighed, shook his head and smiled back at the 'Lady in Green'. The song about the 'Lady in Red' immediately popped up in the General's head, but he heroically hammered it into non existance.

- And it would seem that it is only getting better.

"Have you even looked at the device?" yelled Andreja at the guard.

"Oh? Yes, I do suppose you're right - these Dominion people definitely seem to be getting more enthusiastic as the sun goes down." Maybe they're vampires, she thinks, amused.

Rene didn't know of any songs about ladies in green or red - in any case, the lady in red was off talking to the space-ants, and the lady in maroon, wasn't.

OOC: Russian folksongs, I presume?

Vladimir only nodded as he looked over the people around.

- Aye, and maybe we should do the same. I hear some gypsy music coming in from that direction over there. Will the Lady allow me the audacity to invite her for a dance?

With that he bowed, smiling, offering his arm.

OOC: Nope.

Gypsy music, eh? Rene didn't know the culture beyond a few articles in magazines, but it sounded not dissimilar to some of the wilder Ktrazirha folk-music, which she'd covered recently, while building on her previously meagre dancing skills.

"Most certainly I shall allow you that, milord." She smiled back, and took the proffered arm.

Vladimir straightened himself, nodded quickly to the Strelets, allowing the young man to enjoy himself, and led the Lady off to where the wild and hot gypsy music was heard. The two made their way through the crowd, Vladimir making sure not to bump himself or the Lady into somebody and finally made it to where the music was. Vladimir immediately whirled the Lady around himself and led her off into a dance that might have seemed as chaotic and archaic to others, but that had its own style and grace.

Rene grinned, happy to let the blue-clad lord lead her in the dance - she didn't know it, after all, though she picked it up quickly enough. Quite a lively dance. It's a good thing I put in the practice.

The night was getting closer as they danced to the music. Maybe it was getting colder, too, but Vladimir's costume was keeping him quite warm. And with the dance only making him feel warmer, he really began to think that including the chainmail into the costume was not such a good idea after all...
Vladimir only smiled.

“Tell me, Milady, may I inquire into your country of origin, if that is not a secret?”

"Certainly, milord!" Rene smiled back. "I am from the Greater Ascendancy of Tsaraine, some way to the East of here. Where might you be from, may I ask? Your costume somewhat resembles that worn by the Tsarainese nobility, back five hundred years or so. I was quite intrigued by it."

"I come from the Taraskovyan Federation, to be precise, from the Federal Sisgardian Fiefdoms. And your mention intrigues me... indeed, my Motherland features a large population of ethnic Russians, of which I am a repesentative, that have arrived there a thousand years ago and have since then mixed with the local inhabitants. I actually had a friend here, who is a Native Taraskovyan of sorts. Unfortunately, he seems to be enjoying himself somewhere out of reach."

Vladimir smiled and pondered.

"Well, what I wear is a middle age outfit of a Russian noble. So you say that ancestors wore similar outfits?"

"Ah, Russian." Rene's voice shows no particular negative or positive emotion regarding this revelation - like the Gypsies, she's heard of them but never met one before. "Eja, similar - the klrsiradt was shorter than your coat, for riding, and the vlrsiradt was longer, a woman's coat. My friend is wearing an example, but she, too, seems to have made herself scarce."

Marcus chuckled softly, "Touche." He paused again at Cheops' remarks, "Hmm... I do not believe I have had the pleasure of meeting Princess Agwene ni Dwydion. Is she, by chance, here this evening?"

---

Shit... later than usual... Isidra Oniel was rushing to the Piazza. She'd overslept and misplaced her costume, which had led to a frantic search of the embassy in general and her room in particular. Of course, she had failed spectacularly in her attempt, so she had opted for the much less original idea of wearing a nice evening gown and a simple face mask.

She was running as fast as she could manage in her dress and shows when she collided with a blonde woman from Callúna who was wearing a very... interesting outfit and mask. Picking herself up off the ground she blushed profusely, "I... I'm so sorry!"

Vladimir only nodded as he admired the graceful attitude of his company. He also imagined what a sight they were for some exterior observer - a blue clad bearded 'bear' and a golden green lady. But then again, he did not really care much for external observers as long as the aforementioned observers did not voice their opinion before the General.

He laughed at her comment about her own friends being scarce.

"Yes, Milady, it would seem that everybody is enjoying him or herself to the fullest. But then again... tell me more about your nation. You have awakened my curiosity..."

"Nai, nai - It was an accident, yai?" Smiling behind her mask, Ingrid extended a hand to help the fallen woman up. "Now, what has you running so fast, I ask? You could be crashing into people."

OOC: Ack, short. Sorry.

"Tsaraine? Where to start? Everything is underground - the surface was irradiated some fifty years or so ago - so it is crowded in places." That crowding often crops up in her reports - more housing is always being dug in Nova Reio or Deep Tsarai or Kel Eridhant - and it's easy to talk of. "It works well enough, I guess, although it requires strict control to keep it running so. There is very little room for error - like a big spacecraft, it is a closed environment."

"Very sweet. We comprehend your enjoyment."
"It's a very efficient energy source, we've found. It lacks in required nutritional components, true, but it works for raw cellular energy, given how simple it is to process into adenosine triphosphate," the LandCoordinator chatters happily. "Also, it's a bit easier for us to eat in public without offending anyone. Each to their own little tremors, we guess... that being said, where's my manners, comrade?"

She bows shortly and extends a manipulator-hand. "LandCoordinator 86920 of the Red Mother of Us All." She says the number as "Eight-sixty-nine-twenty."

"Hello!" she called, stepping faster to match pace with the man and lumbering walrus. "What are you doing?"

Tronj turned in the saddle and levelled his eyes at her. They were dark and inquisitive and resembled a hawk or wolf in nature. Yet, his smile was inviting...

Jur (the walrus) turned his head and bellowed, "Climb aboard! We have to save the princess!"

Near the bar, Karlo gently lowered Irene and they both grabbed some non-alcoholic beverages.

Nathicana returned the bow with a smile and polite acknowledgement of her own, for now not wishing to interrupt his presentation. Her eyes flickered to Windmere as he was named, one brow showing a hint of arching up curiously as she studied him for a moment.

Her expression was certainly one of surprise as the bronze was brought out, and her eyes explored its fine lines with clear appreciation, not only for the obvious artistry, but for the historic significance, and in truth, the subject.

"Benissima," she murmurs softly, quite impressed, and more than a little curious as to why they would give away such a treasure to one who was, to them, relatively unknown, let alone an 'upstart' of an Empress, all things considered. But then, their nation, indeed, their region was a rich one ...

Her musings were cut short as the second gift was brought forward, and she smiled more broadly in recognition, her glance again resting on Windmere who seemed for some reason to be rather uncomfortable. She gave him a sly wink when she managed to catch his eye, then turned her gaze back to the Landgrave, watching his presentation with serious intent, her expression softening at his kind words.

"Both you and the Council do me great honor with these gifts," she said sincerely, "and I thank you for them. Your warm welcome does my heart good - it is no easy thing making such claims and changes as I have of late in my nation. Support from such honorable persons, nations, and groups as yourselves is deeply appreciated. I believe that a place of honor here in the main foyer of this building would be appropriate for the beautiful bronze, as it would be a shame not to display it proudly where it would recieve the attention it deserves from more than just me or my staff. This exquisite clock as well, though I believe my offices here would be a better home, it being more personal in nature. Be assured credit will be given, as it would be poor thanks for people not to know the origins of such works of art. Again, I thank you for your kind and gracious gifts."

She assumed a thoughtful stance, head tilting slightly to one side as she examined the clock again. "You know, I cannot help but notice the similarity to a beautiful piece of work I already have in my posession. One, in fact, that also came from your nation some time ago, by curious circumstance (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=304232)." Nathi's gaze slipped slyly to Windmere, then back to the Landgrave. "I had thought the name accompanying the finely-crafted, and dare I say cunningly-mechanized cabinet was that of 'Lord Markum', however in seeing Lord Windmere here, I begin to doubt my memory."

Isidra blinked a few times, accepting the hand gratefully, and moving back to her feet. She muttered softly, brushing off her dress, "I'm so sorry... I was late, and trying to get here quickly... I didn't notice you..." She smiled weakly at Ingrid before blinking again as she took in Ingrid's costume. "Wow... er, I mean... that's an... er... interesting costume."

Oh, sure, babble like an idiot... She shook her head briefly, "Er, sorry... just, ah..." She blushed softly, "Um... I'll, er... leave you alone. Again, sorry."

She assumed a thoughtful stance, head tilting slightly to one side as she examined the clock again. "You know, I cannot help but notice the similarity to a beautiful piece of work I already have in my posession. One, in fact, that also came from your nation some time ago, by curious circumstance." Nathi's gaze slipped slyly to Windmere, then back to the Landgrave. "I had thought the name accompanying the finely-crafted, and dare I say cunningly-mechanized cabinet was that of 'Lord Markum', however in seeing Lord Windmere here, I begin to doubt my memory."


OOC: In reality I couldn't dig up the thread…but luckily I can fix it without any alterations to the structure of Alconian nobility.

IC:
The young Adel watched Nathi wink and him and blinked a few times. When Nathi referred to a 'cunningly-mechanized cabinet' and then 'Lord Markum' the Landgrave raised a right eyebrow. He turned toward the young man. "Perhaps you would like to explain…"

Windmere looked at the Landgrave and then back at Nathi, he took a deep breath and then began. "Your Majesty, I, Thomas Marhigh Beldrake, Lord of Windmere and Lord of Markum sent you that cabinet. You see, my father was actually Lord Markum, but my maternal great-grandfather was Lord Windmere. I inherited his title after a great-aunt passed away…"

The Landgrave cleared his throat. Thomas looked at him, and then continued on "…and her children were attainted from the title for treason. As such, I now hold both titles…Windmere is the more senior title. I hope you have not had any…ah further incidents that led me to send you that cabinet?" He tried his best, Gee I am cute, don't kill me smile on her.

The Landgrave looked at Thomas for a moment, blinked and then said. "Ah, Lord Windmere are you saying that the document safe you sent out of the country went to…the Empress here…why did you?"

The Adel just looked at the Landgrave under his brows. The Landgrave chuckled, "Oh that…yes a most curious circumstance indeed, and I thought you had been sleeping with my niece to get out of the document safe mess…"

The Adel decidedly tried not to look at the Landgrave after that comment. "I hope you enjoy the clock as well as the cabinet." he added.

Cheops shrugs. "She is dealing with official affairs of state, I think. You know sidhe, love learning what the satyrs have to teach but don't want anyone seeing them when it's time to dress-up." He laughs good-naturedly, still wearing that same grin. "So how are you two enjoying the party? The booze is simply to die for."

Datima giggles, lightly hip bumping Cheops. "You're to die for. Anyway, we saw you two and thought you might like to join us in revelry. We're very pretty, very naked, and hold out liquor admirably well."

Cheops nods to all this. "Also, Datima sings with the voice of an angel. You really have to hear it to believe it. Even for a satyress, she's quite the muse. That's why I put up with her." He smirks.

Datima shoves Chep[s lightly. "Men..."

The appearance of Jill was no surprise, though she was pleased to see her. The presentation and words spoken, however, were another matter entirely.

"Please give Emperor Karhoff my sincere thanks, both for his well wishes, and his trust - which I know cannot come easily. Chancellor Calabrese spoke quite highly of him, and I know we have been impressed with his chosen representative," she says with a smile and nod to Jill.

Nathicana accepts the pendant with due respect, taking the time to examine it closely, turning it over slowly in her gloved hand. Jill's next words draw a sharp look from the new Imperatrice.

"Well then, it is gratifying to see that the Emperor's decision is the one that ruled, as it should be," she says in a quiet voice, her eyes fixed on Jill. "As for this 'Calabrese situation', I can only assume you mean my decision to send him to Guanyu in the first place - which I agree was the proper course. Myself and my nation are as trustworthy as those we deal with warrant. Like met with like ... the old Mosaic Law, to an extent if you are familiar with certain religious texts. I'm certain you understand the general gist of such beliefs. 'If you prick us do we not bleed? If you wrong us, shall we not revenge?' These are not uncommon themes among many peoples, after all. But I digress."

Stepping back, she smiles warmly, secreting the pendant away in the safety of her bodice. "As I said, I humbly accept the Emperors gift, and wish him well in his exploits. Assure him that my people have been going over the offers made, and hope to have some answers for him soon. And thank you again, Jill. I also hope that you enjoy the festivities this evening, and that your stay here in the Dominion is a comfortable one."

Tarvi appears to consider the question, head tilted slightly to one side. "Firefury and her government command a certain amount of respect in the leadership of the Triumvirate nations. Your, hmmm, situation is definately a point of interest for everyone. If you were to attack unprovoked, the mutual defense clause of the charter would almost certainly be invoked, and it would be honored not only by the TYCS but the various national militaries as well - ours included. In all honesty, your handling of your internal affairs doesn't win any supporters. Even your fellow NDA members find your actions - heavy-handed, perhaps? I certainly think your methods are wasteful, and lack finesse." With a slight smile, Tarvi leans closer and lowers his voice slightly. "We've had a few newly 'aquired' regions rebel during some of our more expansionist period - trust me, main force should always be the last resort if you don't want unpleasantness cropping up again later. Perhaps you should take a few pointers from the new Imperatrice - go about your work a bit more subtly." With that remark, he steps back and looks about.

"Well, it looks like the masquerade will soon be starting. I should get changed. I found our conversation most interesting, Fuhrer." Looking at the boy, he adds, "And it was a pleasure to meet you, Lord Lidric. I hope we meet again." Sketching a slight bow to the pair, Tarvi slip off through the crowd.

"Princess Agwene," Nathicana says with a gracious nod and a smile. "My sincere thanks. We haven't had the pleasure previously of having dealings with your fine nation. I admit that we unfortunately know little of it, in fact - something I hope we can change. Please, send my regards to your mother, and congratulations to your sister on her recent marriage."

She can't help but compare the Princess to those more mystic races that she knows, and for some reason, none seem to quite match up with the young woman she sees before her. Security had reported satyrs among the representatives as well, and the consensus was that The Resurgent Dream was a realm where those fragments of myth and legend that corresponded in the Dominion could very well have had origins.

The Fae ... with all the unique races and happenings and inexplicable things I have seen in these past years, why I didn't expect this is beyond me, but still. Pleasantly surprising. I wonder, however, if Fae they be, just how much is truth that we see, and how much glamour? Are they what they seem?

"You flatter me, truly. While we are quite proud of our city, and our advances, we pale in comparison to many of our allies. I hope that you and your party enjoy your stay while with us, and enjoy this night to its fullest," Nathicana continues, studying the young woman and her reactions. "We are honored to be your first assignment. Don't hesitate to ask should there be anything we can provide to make your stay more pleasant. Now, about this herb ... I admit, you have me rather curious. I'm no herbalist by any stretch, but I do have a rudimentary knowledge of some of the local flora and its uses. Tell me, what does it do?"

"Well met, Ambassador Tyson," Nathi replies as he approaches. "Apologies are unceccessary, I assure you."

As he opens the box, her eyes widen, and she smiles. "Il dio," she says quietly, her eyes roving over the precise lines of the weapon with an air of appreciation. "You've outdone yourselves. My compliments to the craftsman - this is a beautiful rifle, Ambassador. If you don't mind ..." She reaches out and gently removes the weapon from its case, testing the weight, then turning to her left, away from those in the room. Nathicana takes a moment to examine it more closely, then draws the rifle in against her shoulder taking aim at a random spot along the far wall, simply getting a feel for the exquisite weapon.

With a pleased smile, she carefully sets it back in, fingertips running lightly over the inscription before accepting the weapon in its case, politely dipping her head in acknowledgement.

"I thank you, Lord General deGrizt, and your nation for this fine gift. Anyone can see that imagination and artistry are not dead in Iuthia in looking at it. Let us hope there are few dark moments in which it must be used. Please send my regards both to your leader, and the most excellent craftsman who tool the time to so carefully create this masterpiece. If there is anything we can do during your stay to make it more comfortable, please, do not hesitate to ask. I look forward to seeing more of yourself and your Lord General in the days to come. Again, my thanks."

"Kjathen-Yseult ea Seingult, Communion Representative." The node/avatar takes the ant's manipulator-hand in her own and shakes firmly. There is, apparently, a local taboo against giving one's identity before midnight in the Carnivale, but neither the Communion nor the ants are locals.

"LandCoordinator - that is roughly equivalent to a colonial governor or a Tsarainese markhreif, is it not?"

"LandCoordinator - that is roughly equivalent to a colonial governor or a Tsarainese markhreif, is it not?"
"In a sense. I'm the OverCoordinator responsible for the survival and expansion of Beta Hive on Eärendil. Now that it's a majority of the panNorm instead of Alpha, using the human standards of governors would make me more like the regent of the mother state." She chuckles politely. "However, our hierarchy is a bit more complex than that. I'm more of a facilitator than a ruler, comrade.

"Communion Representative--what is the communion you represent?"

Agwene pauses. "Perhaps it would have been better to simply say plant than herb. The term herb naturally sends one's mind to medicines and teas. This is...quite different. I dare not say that it will be inordinately useful. I am given to understand that the same function can be provided by your...computers, if I remember the word correctly..but I offer them as an example of wonder." At this, Agwene opens one of the books. She shows it to Nathi. The page contains writing about an ancient king and his war with a tribe of redcaps. Opening her bag, Agwene produces a green leaf which she places between the pages of the book. The princess holds the book shut for a few moments before opening once more. The page containing the leaf has no more writing. Removing the leaf, Agwene opens the other book. Flipping the pages before Nathicana, she demonstrates them all to be blank. She closes this book on the leaf and opens it after a moment or so. The writing which vanished from the first page is now printed in the new book. "While it might seem incredible, these do grow naturally. We are sending you one hundred such leaves and seeds for the plant. It is not known if they will grow outside their homeland, but you are welcome to try."

The guard, and the three who close in after him, who is escorting the other members of the Serconean press, guide them through the building, up the stairs, and across the way, same as the first had done with Andreja. Neither they nor the guard with her seem ruffled in the least at any continued threats or shows of temper, taking it all in stride.

Once all gathered nicely together, the stubbornly-silent guards take up their positions, and make their requests.

"You will please hand over all your equipment, jewelry, timepieces, pens, notebooks, or anything not constituting shirt, pants, and underclothing. Yes, this includes your shoes and socks or stockings, if you are wearing any. Lets make this as quick and painless as possible. Once the celebrations are over, you will be moved to one of the more modern facilities where we will await a return correspondance from your nation after we have contacted them. Upon their acknowledgement, you will have your belongings returned to you, and will be escorted from Dominion soil into their capable hands by whichever method is most convenient to both. In the meantime, we will more closely examine this 'device' of yours, and in the morning, get a statement from the party you affronted tonight."

The guard smiles pleasantly at the trio, looking to them expectantly.

"Well, lets get to it, mi amicos. No time like the present, and the sooner we get this taken care of, the sooner we can send someone up with your refreshments."

Nathicana watched the exchange with amusement, covering her smile with a gloved hand. At his sheepish smile she even chuckled softly, admittedly, enjoying seeing the young man squirm just a bit.

"No, no further 'incidents' have befallen me since your kind gift, my Lord. My thanks again for your thoughtfullness in having such a unique treasure delivered - and so quickly, too." She politely takes no obvious notice of the talk of indiscretion - far from being a stranger to it herself, it simply doesn't seem polite to call undue attention, even if it would provide more entertainment.

The poor boy. I wonder ...

"I assure you, I couldn't be more pleased. I've never seen such a clock before - truly, I'm honored."

It talked. Walruses don't talk ... do they?

Sandrine's frown was, thankfully, hidden behind her mask. A talking walrus ... Still, that is a cute guy.

"Sure!" hitching up her skirts, she clambered onto the walrus' broad back, just behind the Vinlander. "Princess? What...?"

~~~

"Nai! Please, I don't actually wear this stuff normally of my own free will - it's my boss, she has a rather malicious sense of humor, you ken? And I'm a bond-Knight, so she took the "bond" part out of context... 'Tis oché, yai truth, I don't bite."

Nathicana is very careful not to reveal her emotions or thoughts as Agwene demonstrates the use of these strange leaves. Very careful indeed. Externally, she watches with the carefully-controlled impassive expression she usually wears while in negotiations and the like, observing quietly, nodding thoughtfully at the explanations.

Inside, she feels a rush of excitement at the possibilities. True, technology offered a plethora of ways in which to transfer, re-direct, or outright pilfer information. This however ... this was something new. Something unexpected. And with that, of course, came inherent dangers.

"Amazing," she murmurs. "Simply amazing, Princess. If you don't mind telling me a bit more about these wondrous leaves ... how long do they retain their ability? What sort of climate, care and treatment would be best to try and grow these seeds? Are there any additional effects I ought to be aware of? Please, pardon my curiousity, but we have nothing of such ... magics in the Dominion. Whatever mysticism may have at one time existed here, there is none in evidence today, despite the fact that we have seen it thrive with both allies, and enemies. Such things need care and caution; they are not in my opinion, to be taken lightly."

Agwene nods. "Imperatrice, that is the way I feel everytime I see an automobile or an aeroplane. To my knowledge, the seeds have no other abilities. The leaf can hold the information indefinitely, though you cannot collect pages in the same leaf without releasing the first pair before moving on to another. They grow best in warm climes, with a great deal of moisture."

"I suppose it's that way for all of us when faced with things outside our realm of experience. I remember the first time I saw the Earth from orbit ... I had never thought I would see such a thing possible in the Dominion in my lifetime, let alone be flying there myself," Nathicana says, the memory of it pulling up a thousand others, all of it coming together to bring her to this moment, this day. A humbling line of thought, all in all.

"It's amazing what worlds we open up when we reach out and take the time to meet others. I humbly thank you for doing so here, and for your gracious gift. It seems our climate is one suitable to the growing - I suppose time will tell whether the venture will be successful or not, yes? As for the mature leaves, I will keep them safe. Technology, for all its wonders, is not always the answer after all. Grazie. Molto grazie, Princess Agwene ni Gwydion of The Resurgent Dream. I can only hope our hospitality is in some small way recompense."

The Reptavian drop-ship lands without pomp or ceremony. Admiral Shaar and major Phooush are aboard. The Major is dressed in his Ranger uniform of burnt sienna with crimson strips along the lapels and trim of his outfit. Slender and lithe, he descends the ramp, scales glistening irisdiscently in the Dominion sun.

Admiral Shaar seems to stand in stark contrast to Phooush. 2.7 meters in height and nearly as wide, she wears her dress uniform of a navy-blue gown with silver trim. One shoulder-pad sports numerous medals of honor and service, as well as her Admiral's Epaulet on her opposite shoulder. On both of their backs are the Maar Gaan, traditional Sakkran dueling hammers a meter long with a 25 lb head.

Shaar takes a look around as she descends behind the Major. "A costumed ball. Interesting. You have your outfit I assume?"

The major hoists his small duffle in has hands. In the Admiral's mind, she hears his 'voice'. "Of course. Always prepared, am I."

A driver on the tarmac gestures towards the Admiral. "Good. Papers in order...check. There's our driver." They get into the vehicle and make their way to their lodgings.

(OOC: Time-skip to the Piazza, for the sake of eliminating boorish exposition)

The throng of beings filing into the Piazza seems to have become a slight distraction for Major Phooush, as he studies each being that comes into his field of view slightly. "All these mammals and their thoughts. Fascinating."

Shaar shows her papers to the security detail after Phooush is waved through. "Keep your mind on your role here. Keep alert for aggressors. Even here, there may be conspirators against the Empire." Their ceremonial weapons are checked, and logged.

Shaar manages to be able to see over the heads of the crowd for the most part. "Interesting architecture. A feeling of age, but well maintained." She slings her duffle over her shoulder, and points her scaley snout into the air. "What's this I smell?"

Phooush points his nose in the air as well. "I smell meats roasting. And savory oils!" The pair stride towards the source of the scent; a small cafe.

Agwene smiles broadly at the Imperatrice. "Your Imperial Majesty, your hospitality is more than satisfactory but the only recompense we desire is good will between our nations. However, if you are interested in exploring new worlds, you would be a most welcome visitor to our island anytime you so choose. I must say, it is fascinating for me to explore this world of metal and fire."

Agwene curtseys lightly, her elegant face bearing a gentle smile. "I had no particular business to bring before Your Imperial Majesty other than our good well and our congratulatory gift and I know this is a very busy day. I would not further impose upon your time. I do hope, however, to see you at the festivities."

"We are the Ea Communion - a groupmind composed of some five hundred and thirty-two individual organisms here on Earth, with another three at Mars and three at Jupiter - the Arikhenikh and Meralkharikh Communions respectively.

"The name itself is culled from the Rukine religion of Tsaraine, in which the Kash'ea are divine descendants of Ruki, the monotheistic father-figure. It is a quaint piece of superstition, but it works well enough."

"Oh I will most definitely be there," Nathicana assures her. "I wouldn't miss it for the world. Hopefully I'll be able to blend in a bit, hmm?"

She nods politely and smiles at the offer of a visit. "I think I would like that, once things settle down here a bit more. There are ... several things that need taking care of before I can really start having some sense of normalcy around here - at least, as normal as it ever gets. Our good will you have, and will til the day comes that proves we ought feel otherwise. Enjoy the evening, Princess. Once my business is finished here I'll be joining you and the others. Again, my thanks."

Aleinna smiled, as she walked through the streets parallel to the Plaza, finding an easier way to reach the goverment building, followed closely by her two bodyguards, now the strange guy with half his face covered accompanied by a slim woman, over her entire features a porcelain mask imitating the face of a cat, clearly a piece of antique japanese art, wearing a tight, latex-like black outfit.

Moving with the unparalleled grace of her race, the Marquise dodged the incredible amount of people in her way and finally reached the Piazza again, standing now close to the goverment's building, her eyes looking through the falcon shaped mask the seneschal that was in charge of the interviews with the brand new empress, the Lady, now Highness, Nathicana.

Even as her eyes wasn't as powerful as the rest of the Sindarin, finally Aleinna found the seneschal, the guy called Calabrese, near a pillar, just two seconds after her bodyguards located them. Without thinking about it twice, with a secure pace she covered the distance that separated her from the man she was looking, flanked by her two companions. Clicking her fingers to call his attention, even realizing that the sign could be a little offensive to the man, she stood right in front of him and displaced her left foot a step forward, still parallel to her right one, and then bent her body forward, her waist gently letting her torso to fall until her hair fell with grace around her face, her arm making a delicate yet practical movement towards her side, covering her front until finally the hand rested over the opposite shoulder.

She raised her body faster than normal, and most of the aelosians would consider such a bow flawed and too practical, lacking the usual adorments and flowery movements that accompanied such a greeting, more like a business shake of hands than truly a courtier's bow, but she thought that probably a man like Calabrese, without extensive knowledge about Aelosia sub culture could apprecciate the difference far beyond the fact it was a show of respect.

Sliding her hand over her hair and letting her agile fingers fix the rebel strands of hair behind her long ear, and then removed the mask that covered her face to stare with her curious and playful eyes directly at the man's eyes, waiting the question for sure coming out of his lips, raising her hand a bit, extending it to him, in a more appropiate and common human salute, to honor his own customs, then she was waited for his reaction.

Marcus chuckled softly, being vaguely familiar with the Fae, Rebecca smiled, laughing lightly simply from the imagery.

Marcus nodded diplomatically, "It is perfectly enjoyable."

Rebecca rolled her eyes, "You'll have to forgive him. He's always on duty. Personally, I think it's wonderful, and the booze is fantastic." She grinned, watching the satyrs, "Can't say that I've ever partied with satyrs... sounds good to me!"

Marcus smiled slightly behind his mask, "I suppose I can tag along for a little bit."

---

Isidra giggled despite herself, unable to hold it back before apologising some more, "Actually, it's a very nice outfit. And not too... er... revealing." She smiled weakly, blushing softly, "Look... er, how about I get you a drink or something. It's the least I can do after plowing into you like that."

Agwene smiles. "Of course. Take care." At that, she turns and make her way from the audience chamber. The princess leaves the building, heading towards her hotel to change for the ball proper. She smiles with serene confidence. That went well.

Cheops proffers an arm to Rebecca and Datima slides hers into Marcus's. The satyress rubs against the man a little, grinning up at him wryly.

Rebecca slips her arm around Cheops', smiling happily. Marcus looks somewhat surprized, looking at the satyress. His eyes don't show offence so much as a sense of mild impropriety. Rebecca looks over her shoulder at him and laughs softly, "Come on Marcus, it's a party! Loosen up for once in your life!"

Marcus hrumphed goodnaturedly, "We will see."

Rebecca giggles softly, smiling at Cheops, "Lead on, Sir Satyr. I'm guessing you'd know the best places to have fun."

Cheops nods a little, trotting towards a small collection of revelers near a local tavern. "I would like to start by treating the lady to something to drink. What would you like?" Waving at the humans in all his naked glory, Cheops trots into the bar, Rebecca on his arm, Datima behind him, dragging the reluctant Marcus

Eurusean Department of Intelligence, Barensburg, Eurusea

June looked down, trying to ignore Faye sitting on her desk. The intern coughed again, 'Um, Director Madigan...?'

Faye grinned, turning to face him, flicking her long white hair out of her eyes. For someone who looked so blatantly Eurusean, the Irish accent came as something of a shock. 'Aye, you've said that twice now lad. Ain't you got anythin' else t'say?'

He blinked, 'Um, today's reports from, um...'

Faye sighed, jumping neatly down from the table and snatching the sheaf of papers from him, scanning each quickly and dropping half into the bin, 'You know you don't have t'turn up for the likes of that bollocks. Now, what is it?'

He took a letter from his pocket, 'Something about a social event in, um, 'The Dominion of Dread Lady Nathicana. Premier Kurchatov wants someone assigned, um, other than the Red Commando she's sending.'

Faye grinned, 'An' she thinks I'd like a little R&R, is that the way of it?'

'Well, um, that and keep a look out for, um...'useful people,' it says here. Not sure what she means by that...'

Faye smiled cheerfully, 'Not a problem, 'tis enough that I do. She's after uranium imports, if y'really want t'know. That all now?'

The intern nodded and scampered away, Faye shaking her head, 'Now what in the hell was up with that little bugger?'

June smiled, 'Y'forgot about your legs there...' she pointed at Faye's rolled-up-to-near-indecency skirt, 'Guess he was just trying not t'stare at you.'

Faye grinned, 'Well, as long as it impresses you...' she leaned forward and kissed June, 'Best t'get a little more information on this before I get out there, though.'

Residence of Premier Nicole Kurchatov, Chopinburg, Eurusea

Nicole frowned a little at the glazed look in the young Red Commando's eyes as she knelt in front of her, the number '114' prominently tattooed on her cheek; she looked in her late teens, and even with the modifications was quite beautiful. A couple of wires trailed from small sockets in the back of her neck. 'What do you wish of me, Comrade-Premier?' she said softly, her voice strangely distant as though she was half asleep.

'There is a place called Devras...It is God's will that you go there. He commands that you find the answer to the question...' she sighed, 'Of the whereabouts of 30-16, Anya Khruschev. It is His will that you maintain a calm soul unless you must defend yourself.'

The girl looked up, the two circles around the pupil of her left eye turning slightly in opposite directions as her rangefinder focused, and whispered, 'God's will...'

Nicole nodded, 'Find out what you can and follow up any leads you find. That is what your Lord wishes of you, Nikolaevna.'

At the mention of her name she blinked, seeming to wake up somehow, 'Um, Comrade Premier?' she blinked a couple more times, 'I'm sorry...I suffer from bad amnesia sometimes. Um, I hope I haven't been any trouble?'

Nicole smiled, 'Oh, none at all, child. You'd better get home and start packing for your holiday, though...'

Nikolaevna smiled, 'Oh, of course! How could I have forgot about that, I've been looking forward to it for months!' she smiled, 'Thank you for seeing me.'

Devras

June smiled as they stepped out of the car together, 'Y'make a good businessman, Faye.'

Faye grinned, 'I'll just take that as a compliment an' not mention the politics of it. Now, remember we're here as representatives of B-ENP, not government officials. An' t'be honest that's good enough for me.' She slipped her mask on, checking her gown, 'An' y'wouldn't believe the strings I had to pull t'get this out of the customs impound area...'

June giggled, 'Do y'have to show off about everything?'

Faye blinked as she spotted the yellow-eyed avatar of Lazarus, his mind feeling...odd. 'Well, fuck me...' she mutters, 'Now there's a thing.' She stepped over, smiling brightly, 'Y'look a little lost there, lad.'

Lazarus blinked, looking up at Faye, 'Er... yes?'

She grinned, 'Faye O'Brian, here on behalf of B-ENP, if y'have ever heard of 'em.'

His eyes glazed over a little as if lost in thought, while in reality he was scanning his databases, 'Ah, I think I've heard of you... something about... uranium?'

She nodded, 'Aye, nuclear power an' waste processing, mainly.'

He smiled, 'Well, I hope you're enjoying the festivities.' He grinned slightly, 'Hoping to round up some business between dances?'

June came over, blinking, 'Um...giant ants?' Faye shrugged, 'Y'see strange things in foreign parts. Anyway, yes, that's exactly it. Our current suppliers can't deal with demand at a couple of new power stations, lyin' bastards said they could but they can't. If we don't do something about it soon we'll have t'shut the buggers down.'

Lazarus nodded, 'I see. Nothing like mixing business with pleasure, I suppose.' He thought for a few moments, 'Well, I can't personally help you, but I know someone who would probably have the right contacts if you want.'

Faye grinned, 'That'd be wonderful.' June moved a little closer to Faye, looking nervous.

Lazarus nodded, 'Sure... give me a moment...' He closed his eyes for a few moments before opening them again with a smile, 'She's on her way.'

Faye smirked, 'Never used it quite that way, meself...'

After a few minutes a tall Neko walked up in a generic military uniform and a simple mask, smiling, 'Heya Laz, what's up?' Lazarus smiled, 'Yuri, this is Faye O'Brian from B-ENP.' Yuri smiled, 'Blade-Edmunds Nuclear Power?'

Faye nodded, 'The very same at that. Good t'meet you, Miss...?' she offered her hand.

Yuri shook Faye's hand, 'Shirow, and it's Mrs.' She smiled, 'So, how can I help you?'

'Firstly, would y'like a table t'sit at and a drink?'

Yuri sat, her tail twitching happily, 'I'd love a drink, thank you.'

Lazarus smiled weakly, 'Er... I think I'll leave you three alone and wander some more.'

Yuri grinned and hugged him, 'Sure. Megumi's over by the palace if you want keep her company.'

Lazarus nodded, 'Sure.'
'
Faye smiled, pausing for a moment before going to order without asking Yuri. She came back with a couple of vodka and tonics and a Manhattan.

Yuri took the Manhattan, not seeming terribly unnerved at Faye knowing what she wanted, 'Thanks!'

Faye smiled, 'Now, business?'

Yuri nodded, 'Yes, of course. What sorts of things are you looking for?'

Faye sat back, getting a cigarette out, 'Mostly fuels, also moderator rods an' lead. Are y' a representative of the supplier?'

Yuri slipped a steel cigarette case out of one of the cargo pockets on her thigh, pulling out a catnip cigarette and lighting it, offering the lighter to Faye. 'Not per se. I'm a consultant and broker. However, that means that I certainly know people who can meet your needs. How large an order?'

Faye pushed a sheet of paper across the table, 'That's the provisional figures, you'll get a better view of the numbers if y'show interest.'

Yuri looked over the paper, greenish smoke curling out her nose, 'Interesting...' She thought a moment, crunching rough numbers in her head, figuring her profit margin, 'I think my associates can handle an order like this.'

Faye smiled, 'Good t'hear. I assume you've got a few calls t'make, then?'

Yuri nodded, 'Yup. I'll try to get in touch with someone tonight, but no guarantees. You have a number where I can reach you?'

Faye shrugged, 'Never bothered much with phones...I'm stayin' in a hotel near here, though.' she pulled out her room key and quoted the name.

'That'll work.' Yuri lifted her glass in a toast, 'Pleasure doing business with you.'

Faye smiled, 'Aye, likewise.'

A little further away, Nikolaevna was wandering a little aimlessly, enjoying the spectacle and the city but feeling like she ought to be looking for someone. She did find it a little odd that she was walking towards the less upmarket parts of town, but, well, sometimes you just had to follow your instincts.

Rebecca smiled happily as they slipped into the tavern, "Sounds absolutely perfect. A beer's fine for me."

Marcus sighed softly, averting his eyes from Cheops' 'glory', "Ah, some wine, if you would."

Rebecca giggled, finding a table who's only occupant was a passed out drunk. She shoved him to the floor and took a seat, "Found us a table!"

The satyrs stand near the table. "Three beers and a wine!" Cheops calls across the room. When the bargirl shows up to serve them, Cheops shamelessly gropes her rear. A human might have been smacked but...there's something about satyrs. He takes the drinks and begins chugging down his beer. "Bottoms up."

"Sure, 'tis not too revealing - if you class "not too revealing" as meaning "not actually absolutely skinned". Still, I'm glad someone's enjoying it asides from her Ladyship mine boss.

"Certainly - a drink would be excellent, yai much truth indeed. I could use one."

The guard, and the three who close in after him, who is escorting the other members of the Serconean press, guide them through the building, up the stairs, and across the way, same as the first had done with Andreja. Neither they nor the guard with her seem ruffled in the least at any continued threats or shows of temper, taking it all in stride.

Once all gathered nicely together, the stubbornly-silent guards take up their positions, and make their requests.

"You will please hand over all your equipment, jewelry, timepieces, pens, notebooks, or anything not constituting shirt, pants, and underclothing. Yes, this includes your shoes and socks or stockings, if you are wearing any. Lets make this as quick and painless as possible. Once the celebrations are over, you will be moved to one of the more modern facilities where we will await a return correspondance from your nation after we have contacted them. Upon their acknowledgement, you will have your belongings returned to you, and will be escorted from Dominion soil into their capable hands by whichever method is most convenient to both. In the meantime, we will more closely examine this 'device' of yours, and in the morning, get a statement from the party you affronted tonight."

The guard smiles pleasantly at the trio, looking to them expectantly.

"Well, lets get to it, mi amicos. No time like the present, and the sooner we get this taken care of, the sooner we can send someone up with your refreshments."

"Should we do it?", Ciril asked Drago.
"No way", Drago replied.

"I'd rather eat horseshoes" Ciril replied. "Your legal system is a joke. You've arrested Andreja just because some diplomat didn't like her talking to him and us for asking where she is. As soon as we're out of here, expect a formal complaint. The device, by the way, was a video camera. Andreja is no terrorist, hey, she's even gone on anti-terror marches. We are officially authorised here to be here by President Tuomas and are registered Serconean diplomats. When you call him, he'll tell you that".

"He'd better not call Prime Minister Hunter" Drago added under his breath.

Rebecca laughs happily, quickly drinking her beer, before slamming the glass down on the table, "Mmm... good stuff." She giggles as Cheops gropes the waitress, "Now, that wasn't too nice," she says with a hint of playful teasing.

Marcus, on the other hand, seemed to not be getting into the revelry mood, calmly pushing his mask up a touch and taking a sip of his wine.

---

Isidra laughed, leading Ingrid to a nearby tavern, ordering a pair of drinks for them and nabbing a table. She smiles across the table, noticing the eyes on Ingrid, "Oh, there's still some modesty left in that outfit... somewhere..." She laughed softly, "But, seriously, I like your costume... it's... nice..." She blushed softly and proceeded to study her glass of beer quite intently.

Ai, great. I'm drinking with an inarticulate leather fetishist. Why does this not strike me as a good idea?

Carefully lifting her full-face mask, Ingrid sipped delicately at her own beer. She didn't recognise the brand - some Dominion stuff, judging from the name - but it was a good comforter.

Still, there was another part of her mind - left over from her irresponsible student days, no doubt - which said; Ingrid, 'tis a party. Lighten up and have some fun. That sounded like good advice; it was a party, and she deserved a bit of fun.

"Cheers," she said, clinking glasses with the other woman. "So, why are you in Devras? If that's not breaking the Great Law of the Carnivale of or suchlike?"

He moved around the side, for all appearances avoiding the fight for now, as he simjply took in the sight before him, Mon-Keigh brawloing, sooner or later someone would be hurt really hurt he knew. Part of him was looking forward to it, maybe it would even be he. Tjhat would be something new, while he had walked the path of the Warrior, that had been like all other paths controlled, fear, even pain where dulled not eliminated as such things where useful fear produced Adrenline, Pain told you that you where injured, controled such emotions therefore where ways of producing supperior warriors.

Right now through he had no controls, the fear he felt, the eagerness, the aggresion was all him, he savooured it a moment, savoured the flow of emotions that raged around his body, and then he struck. He hadn't even looked at whom he struck out at, such things did not bother him One Mon-Keigh was much like another, as his hand struck a Mon-Keigh fully in the face, blood gushed from the man he'd hit, but his foe did not go down.

Rather he seemed to sway a moment before focusing on the EEldar a Surprised look crossing his face before there was a flash of metal in the mans hand and a dagger... Yet the implied threat vanished at a look at Kionash's face, for rather than see fear or even a small bit of nerves, he saw... an Eager almost excited look, of a man hoping for just such a reaction and the bloodied Mon-Keigh ran at the sight of it.

With a snarl the Outcast turned seeking other fun, sooner or later one of these Mon-Keigh was going to give him satisfaction, he just hoped it would be soon.

"We are the Ea Communion - a groupmind composed of some five hundred and thirty-two individual organisms here on Earth, with another three at Mars and three at Jupiter - the Arikhenikh and Meralkharikh Communions respectively."
"So you're a part of a gestalt organism. Interesting--we've seen that in mechanical life but not so much with endoskeletals. Do you retain any individuality, such that it is, or is the individual subsumed by the gestalt? I'm afraid I have to come at this with my own understanding, which is essentially that individual panNorm lack the differentiation common among endoskeletals and, as such, although we are not 'one' as a gestalt organism implies, the fact that we are all always attuned to the greater needs of the many via the mixing of our radio telepathy means that we generally appear to act as if we were.

"A ... gestalt organism? Yes. That is a good term. We are ... uncertain of the nature of the Communion gestalt - the Ea were engineered from the DNA of multiple sentient species - , but your system seems admirable - if humans were more like that, likely they would not be so irrational."

Tarvi appears to consider the question, head tilted slightly to one side. "Firefury and her government command a certain amount of respect in the leadership of the Triumvirate nations. Your, hmmm, situation is definately a point of interest for everyone. If you were to attack unprovoked, the mutual defense clause of the charter would almost certainly be invoked, and it would be honored not only by the TYCS but the various national militaries as well - ours included. In all honesty, your handling of your internal affairs doesn't win any supporters. Even your fellow NDA members find your actions - heavy-handed, perhaps? I certainly think your methods are wasteful, and lack finesse." With a slight smile, Tarvi leans closer and lowers his voice slightly. "We've had a few newly 'aquired' regions rebel during some of our more expansionist period - trust me, main force should always be the last resort if you don't want unpleasantness cropping up again later. Perhaps you should take a few pointers from the new Imperatrice - go about your work a bit more subtly." With that remark, he steps back and looks about.

"Well, it looks like the masquerade will soon be starting. I should get changed. I found our conversation most interesting, Fuhrer." Looking at the boy, he adds, "And it was a pleasure to meet you, Lord Lidric. I hope we meet again." Sketching a slight bow to the pair, Tarvi slip off through the crowd.


Bowing slightly Carlos takes Yvonne's hand as she returns and smiles softly, "No success eh?" He asks her and she shakes her head. "No, I guess she's bogged down." Is the response as the small family make their way back to their room and prepare for the masquerade.

---Majestic Time warp---

Walking through the gathering crowd of masked people, Carlos smiles as he takes stock of the outfit he chose, a sleek arabic prince's outfit, complete with turban and an indian mask covering his face with the image of one of the many indian deities.

Yvonne walks beside him her outfit a simple belly dancer costume with her face covered in expensive silks and her eyes shining happily behind the outfit, her hands permenantely wrapped around her husband's arm. Lidric walks proudly through the people, his outfit a simple monk robe with a ridiculously amusing face mask, complete with a long nose and a pointed lip.

Chuckling Carlos looks at his son's costume and shakes his head. "The boy, is the best dressed of the three of us, why did we opt for something less....funny?" Laughing Yvonne shakes her head and leans closer to her husband "That's because my dear we are more comfortable showing off than he is." Is her response as the pair walk happily through the growing crowd.

"A ... gestalt organism? Yes. That is a good term. We are ... uncertain of the nature of the Communion gestalt - the Ea were engineered from the DNA of multiple sentient species - , but your system seems admirable - if humans were more like that, likely they would not be so irrational."
"We find it most efficient and most befitting our needs," the LandCoordinator says with distict racial pride in her voice, "although we've heard some say it comes at the cost of distinguishable individuality of lower drones. We never had any in the first place," she continues, "so it's hardly a 'cost,' as the term is generally understood.

"So... what systems do you use to maintain your gestalt? How are they maintained and implemented? I have to admit, the concept is fascinating."

"To be vulgar, "it just works" - within a range of 508,912 kilometers, that is - and it appears to be instantaneous within that range. It was not a planned facet of the Ea design, arising naturally - or at least spontaneously.

"Thus we are afraid we cannot inform you - we do not know ourselves."

"Thus we are afraid we cannot inform you - we do not know ourselves."
"Five hundred thousand kilometers... just a bit over one and a third light-seconds. Do you experience any lag over this distance?" The Engineer is clearly intrigued--here is something that could be useful if obtained and disseminated. "Perhaps we can assist in discovering more about it, as we've a... history of long-range networked communications. Besides, I'm certain my cousin the SciCoordinator would love the chance of pure research like this."

It talked. Walruses don't talk ... do they?

Sandrine's frown was, thankfully, hidden behind her mask. A talking walrus ... Still, that is a cute guy.

"Sure!" hitching up her skirts, she clambered onto the walrus' broad back, just behind the Vinlander. "Princess? What...?"


With a lurch, the walrus charged ahead but took care not to squish anyone underfoot. Tronj held on and while riding a walrus was hardly like bronco busting, it did provide its own challenges. Most of the crowd seemed wise in making a path for the odd threesome

Soon, they arrived at the bar where Karlo and the scantily clad Vrakian woman were drinking. Jur turned to Sandrine and asked,

"May I have the pleasure of your name? I'm Jur Ratyuing, Ambassador from Vrak. My faithful jockey is Tronj while the pirate is Karlo. Irene is the damsel in distress."

"We have never observed any lag, even on such a minimal scale - as far as can be observed (and the Greater Ascendancy has not yet managed to observe the process by any means) it is entirely instantaneous, limited only by the speed of organic uptake in our nodes; it has been theorised that it may be a form of quantum entanglement.

"Your assistance ... could provide a breakthrough, yes; a universal Communion, unaffected by range, would be most desirable. We must speak to your SciCoordinator some time, then."

Isidra smiled, tapping her glass against Ingrid's before drinking some of her beer, and hoping it'd grant a touch of self-assuredness. Or at least cut the awkwardness, Then again, I am talking to a cute half naked woman... "Me? Oh, I work here." She smiled with a bit more confidence, "I'm not a native, I work in one of the embassies." She laughed softly, "I think I'm allowed to say that much without violating any Great Laws."

She took another drink, "You said you were a 'bond-Knight'... if you don't mind me asking, what's that mean?"

Treznor smiles to himself as he watches the official presentations and greetings from countless nations. It's been a hell of a long time since the Dominion has been in the spotlight like this. I'm glad I don't have to deal with the backlash. I can hear the conservatives now, "We never suffered such foolishness when I was a boy!" Drona was ripe for change; these folk are far more set in their ways. I can't wait to see how Nath handles them.

He sits to one side and watches the gifts pile up as countless leaders present Nathicana with trinkets to flatter and impress, noting for himself which seem to be merely pretentious and which have oblique messages in themselves. Always make the gift meet the circumstance. Raul's wisdom still holds true for him after so many years.

<LOS Communications - Nathicana>
{
<< Buck up. I know you didn't ask for pretty baubles, but you should have known better. Nobody's going to pass up an opportunity to laden a newly crowned monarch with gifts. Especially when that monarch is the already influential Dread Lady.
}

Apparently walruses do talk. Apparently, walruses get appointed Ambassador to the Dominion.

"Ai," Sandrine replied, "I thought it wasn't permitted to give one's name before midnight? Neverth'less ... I'm Sandrine. Sandrine White."

She smiled at Jur, or, more accurately, at Tronj.

~~~

"Well, that 'tis a relief, yai truth - wouldn't want to upset these Dominionese ... Dominionachs? That sounds somewhat kinky, I think."

Ingrid looked down at her own garb - easily described as "kinky" - and blushed, thankful for the full-face mask hiding her red cheeks.

"'Tis a kind of minor nobility, actually," she explained, "Very minor. My father was a bond-Knight" - she pronounces it more like bund-neat - "And his father, and so on back into the days when men were men and the sheep were scared. 'Tis basically a glorified bodyguard - in this case to the Landgravine Qumenat, until and after she becomes Countess Ctessanau.

"'Tis not a bound-Knight, though" - this came out as buind-neat - "They ride the bounds, you ken? Basically shire-cops, these days."

As the Dread Lady ran her fingers across the beautifully crafted weapon, Adam smiled knowing full well that the gift had gone down well with the Empress. He expected that like the Lord General she would have been given an extensive education which would include martial training and the use of weapons, so she would be able to use it well with only minimal instruction as to how to maintain the weapon and reload it.

Testing its weight, Nathicana then rested the weapon on her shoulder and aimed around the room. The weapon was unloaded as security has insisted. The rifle was a long affair as one would expect from something which used magnetics to accelerate rounds of ferrous metal at high speeds. However as all Iuthian Gauss Rifles it had been compacted as much as it could as well as shock proofed so it could be used in almost any environment. The technology had a lot of mild tweaking over resent years to make up for the fact it was still a complex weapon and a lot could go wrong in a war environment. As such the weapon had evolved into probably one of most durable Gauss technology around. This example was no exception… with all the pieced carefully built to precision it could last for generations providing it was maintained in-between use.

She read the inscription and then returned the weapon to its home inside its wooden case.

“I thank you, Lord General deGrizt, and your nation for this fine gift. Anyone can see that imagination and artistry are not dead in Iuthia in looking at it. Let us hope there are few dark moments in which it must be used. Please send my regards both to your leader, and the most excellent craftsman who tool the time to so carefully create this masterpiece. If there is anything we can do during your stay to make it more comfortable, please, do not hesitate to ask. I look forward to seeing more of yourself and your Lord General in the days to come. Again, my thanks.”

Adam smiled, knowing the important part of his job here was now complete.

“The pleasure is ours, I assure you Empress. The Lord General will be pleased that you can appreciate such a fine weapon, I will give him your message personally. Once the celebrations are complete and your people are ready we will have someone, perhaps the craftsman himself if you should so desire, come to the Dominion and instruct your people or even yourself on how to maintain this weapon so it will not fail you.” Adam bowed again.

“I’m sure you have a busy schedule for today so I’ll bid you farewell. I’ll make sure to enjoy the hospitality your nation gives freely this night, thanks for receiving me.”

With that the Iuthian Ambassador left the Empress to enjoy the rest of her evening.

Isidra giggled softly, "I'm just glad the lady didn't decide to call herself 'Dominatrix'..."

She listens to the explination, smiling brightly, "That's pretty neat. We don't have any nobility back home. But it sounds like it's more than just cerimonial, right?"

She bites back a laugh at the thought of 'bound knights', picturing knights tied up, "Er... they ride bounds? That a kind of horse?"

Ingrid laughed, though not unkindly. "Nai, nai - bounds as in boundaries, the borders of the shires, you ken? Though some of them might need to be tied on to stay on a horse, these days.

"Yai, 'tis more than just ceremonial - I swore an oath on the County Stone to" - she recited - "Guard from harm the lord to whom I swear, to assist him in whatsoe'er he should desire to be done, less pause or query, in the darkness and the light, by sword and by hand, lest the stars fall, 'till the stars fall, by the blood of the Lord Anointed of, Jesus Christ. Amen."

"Rather old-fashioned, but that version is over four hundred years old. Which is what got me into this mess - the "whatsoe'er he should desire" bit. Sounds kinda dodgy, yai truth, but Count White's a decent fellow - he just ordered me to wear this damned getup."

Tronj merely smiled back and got off the saddle. Although he wouldn’t have minded to sample the many delights – his job was to protect the Ambassador.

“Please to meet you Sandrine White. And what country are you from?”

Jut managed to grab a large glass full of whiskey and ice and began to drink without looking too unsophisticated. If anyone else happened to draw near, he would politely acknowledge them and try to draw them into the conversation with Sandrine.

Karlo and Irene merely stood.

"Me? I'm from the Republic of Callúna of - my Da is the Reeve, you ken."

Sandrine slid off the walrus' back after Tronj - what was impolite, after all, when dealing with a sentient walrus? She didn't want to offend him or anything.

Isidra blinked in surprize, drinking some more of her beer, "I can see how that'd be a little dicey... I'd be pretty concerned about swearing to do whatsoe'er he should desire myself." She smiles, "Then again, I guess if this is the worst thing that he requests, you aren't doing too bad."

She smiles, "So when you aren't in a foreign nation half naked, what do you normally do?" She blinked as soon as the words came out of her mouth and she rubbed the barcode tattoo on her neck; a nervious habit, clearly. Damn beer... probably offender her...

"Ai, 'tis not meant like that," Ingrid said, "Although there are some rather lurid tales, of a certainty of. But nai, Alexian White's always been a good fellow - raised strictly, you ken, though he dotes on his daughter.

"Half naked? I hoped 'twas something less than half naked. When I'm not dressed like this - and this 'tis the very first and very last time, I'll have you ken true - I go about fully naked" - Ai Lord Anointed, Ingrid, you put your foot in it there. The alcohol has gone straight to your head - "Ai! Fully clothed, I mean, fully clothed - and I keep an eye on Sandrine White, Landgravine Qumenat. Count White's daughter. And I was never such a ditzy little wretch at her age, yai much truth!"

One sniff of the barman's apron ... you used to have a head for this, Ingrid. You and Samantha used to drink like fish all night.

"Hey, classy tattoo - does it mean anything?"

"So you live beneath the ground? Means your people does not see much sun light... Nor the light of stars on a clear night..."

Vladimir pondered the words for a moment, as he looked up at the sky above. He then turned his gaze back on his company and sighed.

"That must not be a very happy position to live away from the sky... Pardon my words, Milady, just that I have served in my national Air Force, I am an ex-interceptor pilot. So life away from the sky would be intolerable for me."

With that he grinned through his beard.

"Hmmm... what does the Lady think about the idea of getting some drinks? I must admit that my costume excels at keeping me warm. Actually, it is performing even better than I hoped it would."

Cheops grins. "You're just jealous. You can have one too but you have to stand up." He winks, calling out "A couple more beers over here!"

Datima gulps down her beer, nuzzling into Marcus. "Marcus...let your hair down a little. You know you'd have fun. You're bored out of your mind right now." She smiles winsomely, crossing her fur covered legs. She starts to hum a little. It's a beautiful humm. She hasn't put the full magic of satyr music into it. She probably want. Nonetheless, it is an enticing tune and she looks up at him with soft blue eyes, smiling innocently, coyly, before she finishes her beer. Then she turns to the waitress. "Same here!"

Overlooking the Grand Canale, Admiral Shaar and Major Phooush finish their meal with a fine merlot. "Almost as good as back home, eh Admiral?"

"Almost. Could be more chewy, but that is our taste. They do well as is." Shaar uses a bone fragment to remove a stubborn piece of meat from between her two rows of teeth. Her head swivels slowly to the south, where across the plaza, she could see what appears to be entertainment such as troubadors and the like.

Some silver ingots in the local currency are left at the table, and the pair stand to get a better view. "Appears to be some manner of distracting performance" notes the Major. "Should we don our costumes?"

"I see no reason not to." Shaar takes what looks to be a long length of red-orange material and drapes it over her shoulders, much like a cloak. A headpiece of the same colored material is placed on her head, looking almost like a dragon's head. Phooush has much the same manner of material on himself. The effect is that of looking like a pair of Fire Wyrms, with the long train of material, suspended by a crude armature, jutting stright out behind them.

"Let us see what distractions this event has to offer us." Shaar steps slowly forward towards the entertainers, testing the armature to see if her steps have the desired effect. The swaying of the suspended train looks much like a tail slithering. Satisfied, she continues forward.

Having finished the rounds, Lord Stratton made his excuses and left the main area, heading off to his room, his eyes scanning the place as he walked looking for his assistant. She had left him for a dance with a delegate from Tarasovka, and now both seemed to have disappeared. He shook his head wondering whether she would be back in time to attend the masquerade, doubting it very much.

Finally reaching his room, he called Angelina’s mobile, which she had left in her room, just in case the young couple had returned back there, and was not surprised to receive no answer. As he lowered the phone, a knock at the door grabbed his attention, and walking over to it, he opened to reveal a member of his staff, a secretary.

“Come in, Deborah.” He stepped aside and let the woman enter, then closed the door before returning into the main part of the room. “Take a seat.” He indicated the couch and walked over to the mini bar. “Anything interesting I should know about?” Turning briefly as he asked the question then he gave his full attention to the drink he was preparing.

She pulled out a docket folder and opened it, pulling out the papers that were inside. “Nothing really, except a few things for you to read over.” She slipped the documents back inside and placed the file on her lap.

“That’s good.” He turned and smiled, feeling grateful that there was nothing to disrupt the fun of the evening ahead. “Means there is harmony in the Empire tonight.” He indicated the drinks. “Can I get you anything?”

Shaking her head, Deborah rose to and prepared to leave, handing the file to Stratton, as she neared the door, his voice stopped her. “It seems Angelina has gone walkabouts, if she comes back page me so I know she has returned, and send her to the masquerade as soon as she can get ready.” The secretary nodded and moments later disappeared out of the door, leaving Val to get ready for the festivities ahead.

* * * * *

Piazza San Bernardi

Lord Stratton arrived at the Ball, a little out of sorts at having lost his companion, but he had been in worse situations in his life that were harder to deal with then turning up at a party alone, and he still had the hope, however slim, that Angelina would appear eventually. Still, he thought that this was a very poor display on her part; even if she was out building relations with another delegate, he was sure they were not the kind that the Empire had been expecting. He smiled to himself, not that anyone present would have notice, as his face was covered with a mask.

He had worn some things in his time, and was no stranger to masquerades, Tartarus had one every year during for the Summer Solstice, in fact the occasion reminded him very much of now, but he wished now that he had decided on something a little more comfortable. As was the tradition of the Imperial family, they would pick a portrait of one of the past Imperials and would have a replica of their dress made. What had made him choose the elaborate blue creation that he now wore he had no idea, but he did recall it had something to do with Angelina exclaiming that she would love to wear the gown that the past Emperor’s wife had been painted wearing.

So here he was in the piazza dressed in a blue doublet and hose, with gold stockings that covered his legs up to his knees. The short pants, which were blue with trimmings of gold, ended at the top of his knees, making him grateful that he had been blessed with a good set of legs. The doublet had gold embroidery, depicting the crest of the current house of Tartarus rather than that of the Emperor in the picture, a touch that was in respect to his cousin, Empress Gehenna whom he was standing in for, and bright gold buttons. He had on a long cloak, that brushed the floor, and on his feet were a pair of black leather shoes with a huge buckle made of diamond-like stones. On his head was an elaborate mix of material and feathers. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror he had to stifle a laugh. He was so pleased that no one could see his face.

Moving as quickly as his costume, he made his way through the throng and made straight for a drink. Drinking the first glass down in one, he felt more relaxed and ready to do his duty for the Empire. Stepping forward, he lost himself in his duty.

"Your assistance ... could provide a breakthrough, yes; a universal Communion, unaffected by range, would be most desirable. We must speak to your SciCoordinator some time, then."
"I'll tell her to contact you, then." The warrior-half of the Red twitches a bit at the word 'universal,' though. "How universal do you plan on your Communion becoming?"

Skyraider fidgets and gathers up its gown, quickly getting back into the elaborate garment with surprising speed. "I... will take my leave then, m'lord." The reploid bows hastily to Alkanphel and Maile. "I hope you enjoy eachother's company, and that I haven't dampened the mood overmuch."

The reploid eyes Maile's nude form appreciatively as it prepares to leave. "Though perhaps, lady Maile, you and I might have shot at our own kind of fun some other time?"

Maile grins seductively, stretching her long legs. "Catch up with me later, darling."

"And for me," Rene replied, "I was an aerospace pilot, way back - I understand exactly what you mean. I spent thirty-five years under the ground, and those were more than enough - now we have an Air Command, and a Space Command, and there are more Tsarainese in the heavens than ever there were before the irradiation.

"As for drinks, the Lady believes that to be an excellent idea - by all means, let us find some coolant fluid."

-----

"Ah! Universal in range, esen ant, not in number - we do not seek dominion over others, although the Ascendancy grants us some measure of it. No, the goal of the Communion is the existence of the Communion, and that is not served by conquest."

Rebecca blushed slightly, considering Cheops' suggestion, looking at her empty glass. However, as Datima started to hum, a sly grin spread across her face and she winked back at Cheops before standing up, "Don't make promises you won't keep..."

Marcus sighed slightly at Rebecca, but made no move to stop her. He was her employer, not her guardian. He glanced down at Datima, a slight smile on his face, "There is a difference between boredom and propriety. I prefer to keep a certain... dignity... is all." He set down his glass before leaning back in his chair a bit.

---

Isidra smiled at Ingrid, "Well, it's good to know your employer's a good man. I guess this is just a touch of innocent fun." She about snorted her beer out her nose at Ingrid's Fruedian slip, however, giggling quite a bit, fighting the urge to imagine Ingrid walking about naked. After stopping her laughter she grinned, "Fully clothed, right. I'll remember that." She giggled some more, casually waving at the waitress for another round.

At the mention of her tattoo, however, her laughter stopped, and she shifted a little uncomfortably, turning slightly in her seat, clearly trying to turn it away from Ingrid, "Yeah, it means something," she murmured. "It's a barcode..." She sighed, "About ten years ago the Senate decided to barcode everyone to make it easier to identify people. Something about reducing crime..." She brushed a hand through her hair, trying to cover the tattoo, "It wasn't too popular... but I'm stuck with it."

Vladimir looked around trying to spot some waiter or some table with drinks. Finally spotting some fellow walking around with a plate full of various drinks, the General called him over, took himself and to the Lady some wine(since that's what was on the plate - various sorts of wine) and handed the Lady her bocale.

"To us!" He said as he chinked with his company, sipped his drink and pondered for a moment. "So you are a former pilot, too? How nice to meet a colleague from an other nation. Although, my country was a Grand Duchy while I was in active pilot service and we did not have an Aerospace force. Indeed, the creation of the Taraskovyan Space Fleet and its consequent definition as an independant branch of the armed forces sparked a whole set of rows. One of them were the Aerospace units, as you can understand the Space Fleet and the Air Force wanted to have such units under their command. The debate degenerated into members of the High Command spilling water into each other during Joint Meetings... until Grand Duke Mikhail Ist simply shut the Aerospace fighter program down."

Vladimir grinned and shook his head. "Cultural roots and ancient traditions may lead to really foolish results in my country that contrary all existing notion of 'optimisation'." He pondered for a moment. "But pray tell me, what caused that irradiation you are talking about? There was a time when my nation was in constant paranoia of getting attacked with nuclear weapons, as such several programs appeared to counter not only the missiles, but also to reprocess the raditation afterwards."

Ingrid blushed at Isidra's laughter, grateful once again for her full-face mask.

"Whoa! They could get something like that through a vote? Lord Anointed, if it was proposed to the Ting they'd haemorrhage before they voted yai to it!

"Do they nai have those laser tattoo-removal gadgets, then? Would have thought there'd be a big buisness in it, if everyone was suddenly tattoo'd ... nai?

"Anyhows, I think 'tis rather classy, if you dunai mind me saying. Dunai hide it - heck, show it off! Could be a big hit. Save for ... where are you from, if you dunai mind me asking? ... I guess that it wouldn't be so good, then. You never ken it, though - you could have all these Dominionese ... Dominos? wearing them soon."

Lifting her mask delicately, she took a sip of the beer; like most, it got better the more you drank.

"D'you think we should be drinking so? There's dancing later, I hear, and ... well, I wouldn't mind a dance with you."

You really are drunk, Ingrid. The last time you tried that it led to all sorts of trouble.

"To us, indeed!" Rene clinked glasses, and sipped delicately. "In the Commonwealth, when I was flying, the aerospace craft were a part of Division Two, the Air Force - we didn't have much of a space program back then, nothing outside of Earth orbit.

"It seems odd that they'd actually shut the program down over political infighting - there was some between the Air Command and Space Command when they introduced the new Wraith fighters, but the administration assigned them to the Space Command, and that was that." Barring a few belated complaints from the Air Command, of course. A few hundred.

"What caused the Obsidian Event? Nobody knows, actually." Well, I know that it was caused by a Kymnari hellformer test, but if the civilians don't, this Taraskovyan isn't about to find out. "One day - wham! Everything in a circle a thousand kilometers across is glass. I was up in orbit, and there were a few million down underground, but the vast majority of the population -" She shook her head. Dead.

"Which is why we build underground - until a few years ago, it was radioactive enough on the surface to kill someone in a day. The Empire of Treznor supplied us with radioactive-eating bacteria, so it's clean enough now, but things haven't moved back to the surface at all much."

Isidra shrugged shyly, "Well... a bunch of Senators were voted out, and it was repealed, but... I'm still kinda stuck." She takes a drink from her new beer, still looking slightly uncomfortable talking about the tattoo, "I'd love to get it removed, but..." a sigh, "can't afford it. And, well, they're pretty common back home. I don't think about it except when I'm abroad.

At Ingrid's mention of treating the tattoo like a fashion accessory, Isidra's face registered the kind of shock one would expect if she had just seen Great Cthulhu knock on the door asking for a cup of sugar. "Classy? It's... it's like a branding!" She lowered her head, looking almost on the verge of tears. She also appeared to have missed the comment about dancing, quite possibly to Ingrid relief.

Vladimir only sighed. "This was not only political infighting, it was a matter of traditions and culture. I do not even mention all the fights there were between the Navy and the Space Fleet about who would actually inherit the name 'Navy'. But after the 'Plague' and the death of Honour Grand Duke Mikhail I and his son, Grand Duke Mikhail II, we now have three very decisive leaders in power. So things are changing."

The man then sighed again. "And yes, I do know what it is like to lose many people. We lost a fifth of our citizens during the 'Plague'." He shook his head. "Well, I guess you need to get some trees up there, to make the place lively. My nation might have the technology, although I am not authorized to speak. You see, our happy labrats are all joyfully preparing for a WTE presentation of the stated technology and would kick me to death with microscopes if I ruined their fun." The General grinned widely as he imagined the scene.

Well, you really put your foot in it that time, Ingrid.

"Ai. Ai shit, I'm sorry - I didnai realise it was like that!" Well, there goes any hope of getting her to dance...

She put an awkward arm around Isidra's shoulders, hugging her uncertainly. "Ai, look, I'm sorry, yai truth I am - I didnai think about it like that, truly. Sorry."

"It was all rather dry before, I'm afraid - steppes, really - and the Event destroyed most of the topsoil. Now, well, it's just grass again. I think someone proposed engineering some cacti or baoboabs or suchlike to forest it, but so far, nothing's come of it. I'll have to tell someone about your presentation, then - see if we can send a representative."

Isidra leaned into Ingrid, hugging her back for a few minutes before straightening up and wiping her eyes, "I'm sorry... don't know what came over me..." She smirked, "No, I do," she said, tapping her empty glasses, "I'm something of a lightweight..."

She straightened herself up, timidly brushing her hair to the side, uncovering the tattoo a little, "So... yeah... maybe I should lay off the beer a bit..."

"Oh, worry not, you will be able to grow more than simple cacti or baobab..." The man silenced for a moment, as if pondering and then erupted into a laughter."I feel like a commercial PR agent now. Life is, it would seem, full of surprises and you never know what awaits you at the turn of the road."

Rene laughed politely - capitalism was seen as old-fashioned in the Greater Ascendancy, which mantained a strict command economy. One of her tutors, back decades ago, had once described it as; "You dump your shit on somebody lower down, until you find somebody willing to eat it."

"Yes," she agreed, "You never do know. The question is rainfall, really - topsoil can regenerate, worms aren't fussy, and particularly not geneered ones - but the region has never really been a high-rainfall area. Back before hydroponic farming it was mostly irrigation agriculture."

"I fear I dunai have the head for it either, these days - I havenai drunk anything much stronger than punch since my student days, you ken. Leave it for now, yai - have some food to soak it up, perhaps. Slice of cake of?"

The cake in question was a horrificially rich gateau, covered in chocolate flakes, strawberries, and other such things which go straight from one's tastebuds to one's hips. Taking her purse from her handbag (And isnai that a sight, with this outfit? I suppose 'tis black, it suits well enough...), Ingrid counted out the requisite amount of Dominion gold soverigns.

Isidra smiled happily, sharing the cake with Ingrid, "Oh, wow... this is fantastically good." She grinned, "Which means it's probably fantastically unhealthy, too," a slight shrug, "but, it's a party, right? Worry about the fat another day, hmm?"

She ate in quiet contimplation for a bit before smiling at Ingrid, "Student days? Sounds like those were pretty interesting... don't suppose you'd be willing to share..." She grinned, almost making it sound like a dare as her eyes traced down Ingrid's neck, noticing the tattoo on her shoulder.

"'Tis good, yai truth," Ingrid agreed. "My student days? Oh, not much, really - I studied all day, drank all night, slept in the early morning, woke up hungover, repeated ... worshipped dark and pagan goddesses out on the moors with no clothes on - which is where this comes from, actually." She tapped the Sunraven tattoo on her shoulder - a black bird, head silhouetted in the circle of a stylised sun, carrying a stalk of grain in it's beak. "I'm kidding about the no clothes on, actually. But don't all students do that sort of thing?"

Isidra listened intently, grinning at the description of the pagan worship, murmuring "pity" softly to herself as Ingrid retracted her statement. Moving next to Ingrid, To better see the tattoo, she smiled, "It's very nice... what's it represent?"

"Well, the raven is the totem animal of Cassigan, I guess - it represents Winter and battle and all sorts of fun things. Ravens are carrion eaters, you see - like the crows in Welsh mythology. The sun represents Summer, and the stalk of grain represents the harvest, and new life, and other related sorts of fun."

Ingrid grinned behind her mask, remembering "other related sorts of fun".

"Me? I'm from the Republic of Callúna of - my Da is the Reeve, you ken."

Sandrine slid off the walrus' back after Tronj - what was impolite, after all, when dealing with a sentient walrus? She didn't want to offend him or anything.

Jur nodded, although not quite understanding the last sentence fragment. He reached for another whiskey which was expertly handed to him by Karlo. In fact, it seemed that the two looming bodyguards not only had to keep the safety of their charge in mind, but also to make sure that the alcohol was flowing into the walrus' maw.

Irene stood near Karlo and began to concentrate, reaching out to any nearby minds...

Watching the jugglers as they wander about the entertainment area in the Piazza, and listening to the troubadours as they sing and play, Shaar finds it interesting. "Quite a dexterious strain of mammal, they are. And talented as well. I wonder if they have any recordings for purchase?" She started looking around to see if any holo-chits were for sale by the artists.

Phooush started picking up some seek-pattern mental signals from the piazza area. "Psycher in the area. Guard your mind, Admiral. I will deduce the nature of the seeker." In his crimson costuming, the Major cranes his neck over the crowd, and begins sending out a seeker-pulse of his own. Irisdiscent yellow-orange eyes scan the area as he shifts his 2.4 meter frame about, taking care not to knock anyone down with his tail.

The guards exchange a quick look and sharp hand signal. The three who have been silent until now bring their weapons to bear, charged and set for 'stun'. The other two step easily out of the way. At this point, any pretense at pleasantness is dropped.

The first soldati guardsman looks at the three reporters coldly. "Your opinion of our laws means nothing to us, nor does the authority of your President. You are not in Serconea, you are in the Dominion. And here, it is by our grace alone that you have not already been sunk into the nearest canale and forgotten. We have tried to be polite with you."

"Registered diplomats, you say? And you think this means anything at all to us? There exists no such thing as 'diplomatic immunity' in the Dominion. Everyone who comes here knows that, or ought to. We expect some measure of civility and respect from anyone who chooses to set foot on our sovereign soil, be they peasant, priest or king. Feel free to lodge whatever 'formal complaints' you like." He is obviously not impressed. Nor, it seems, are his companions.

"At every turn we have recieved threats, insults, disrespect, and a lack of cooperation. Had this not been the case, I rather think that the device would have simply been examined and confiscated until your leave, and Andreja would have been released on her honor to respect the privacy of our guests, so that she and you could continue to enjoy the festivities. As it stands, you are now faced with the option of voluntarily complying and having this unpleasant episode brought to a rapid close, or being shot with these stunners where you stand, after which you will be stripped to your skin and left here to rot for however long it it pleases us before we bother to contact your government," he says with open contempt, his usually pleasant features twisted into a condescending sneer.


He looks at them meaningfully, allowing a moment for it all to settle in before he continues in a decidely sarcastic tone.

"So. What's it to be, oh honored guests? The easy way, or the hard way?"

Cheops smirks. "That would hardly be honorable, now would it?" Cheops proceeds to grope Rebecca happily. "Now sit down and give us a kiss."

Datima smirks a little. "It's our duty to our god to make people let go. Don't you want to respect our religious customs?"

"Ah! Universal in range, esen ant, not in number - we do not seek dominion over others, although the Ascendancy grants us some measure of it. No, the goal of the Communion is the existence of the Communion, and that is not served by conquest.""Just an innocent question," the LandCoordinator says smoothly, "and answered innocently enough. I'm sure the SciCoordinator will be most interested.

"This telepathic gestalt you have--accidental, you say, comrade? I suppose that's how many things start, but once you understand more about it I'm sure you can optimize it to your needs. I would offer the services of my sister the EngCoordinator of Alpha Hive, but I'm afraid she's a bit more on the application-side rather than the true-research side. Call it a racial trait." She chuckles a little.

"So, what were you and his most esteemed leaderness talking about?" asks Gregor as he begins pulling off his shoes inside a room of the Palazzo Ducale. "I can't imagine you having much to say to him."

"Oh, nothing much," replies Tarvi, wiggling out of his shirt. "Kids. Government. Whether or not everyone in the Triumvirate still hates him. That sort of thing. Did you know he was married with kids?"

"I think its been mentioned in some intelligence briefing or other." His pants are tossed off into a corner.

"Seems like a nice enough boy. Same thing for his mother." Tarvi glances about the room. "Do you think this room is secure?"

Gregor snorts. "Of course not. There's some security person watching us chatting here in our skivvies out there somewhere. In fact..." Gregor closes his eyes, concentrates a moment, and then turns a particular portion of the wall and gives a little wave. "Still, if its not too important, I think we can trust their discretion."

"Of course. So, I was thinking about how it would be interesting to do a bit of social engineering with regards to a certain unpleasant dictatorship."

This draws Gregor's full attention from the assembling of his costume. "Been reading some of Aidan I and Emory's writings again? The situations aren't nearly the same - and let's leave it at that."

"Oh, nothing to the same scale as that. We should think in the long term. Iraqstan is a dictatorship, and I suspect that Carlos fully intends for Lidric to inherit. Carlos is a lost cause. His son, however, could possibly be influenced."

Gregor nods slowly. "Yes, I suppose so. Gain his friendship, show him how the rest of the world regards the way Carlos acts, show him a better way to rule...an interesting thought."

"And then, once he's of age and in position to take over, well, it would be unfortunate if Carlos learned to downside of eating to much fatty foods,fell down the stairs, stabbed himself in the back fifty times." Tarvi grins and shrugs. Gregor frowns and replies, "Maybe. I wouldn't consider any kind of programming. We're not the Kalessini."

"Of course we aren't," shoots back Tarvi, annoyed. "We can do it the old fashioned way. Just consider the possibility."

Gregor nods in acceptance, and turns to face a mirror. "Now this," he says, waving at the image shown. "This idea of yours I'm less sure of. Are you trying to get us killed?"

"Bah. No one will do anything out of line. Probably not even try, for fear of Dominion security. Besides, even a Maia would fear Changeling's grasp."

"Fair enough. Well, love, let's go one out and join the party. Try not to start any wars."

Watching the jugglers as they wander about the entertainment area in the Piazza, and listening to the troubadours as they sing and play, Shaar finds it interesting. "Quite a dexterious strain of mammal, they are. And talented as well. I wonder if they have any recordings for purchase?" She started looking around to see if any holo-chits were for sale by the artists.

Phooush started picking up some seek-pattern mental signals from the piazza area. "Psycher in the area. Guard your mind, Admiral. I will deduce the nature of the seeker." In his crimson costuming, the Major cranes his neck over the crowd, and begins sending out a seeker-pulse of his own. Irisdiscent yellow-orange eyes scan the area as he shifts his 2.4 meter frame about, taking care not to knock anyone down with his tail.

Irene's brow furrowed and her eyes squinted as she probed the nearby minds.

Gently...gently...ahhh...what's this?...contact!...but...no...trying to detect me...

To a very astute observer, a wince of pain can across her face momentarily. She then withdrew her probe and began to set up her mental defences. Hopefully, it would be enough to escape detection.

The rest of the Vrakians chatted pleasantly with the lady from Calluna.

Nathicana gains the top of the stairs, cursing quietly under her breath as she pauses to straighten the heavy layered skirts she'd had gathered while climbing. A beautiful dress, surely, and appropriate to the situation yes, but most definitely not what she was used to. Thankful the upper floors were clear of personnel for the night, she starts down the long hallway towards her office, muttering imprecations as she's forced to lift them out of the way again to accomodate her brisk pace.

The critter hiding behind the corner tenses, hunter instincts willing him to total silence as he listens to Nathi's footfalls. Five meters, four, three, two, one and a half--

Leaping out with a deafening roar comes a massive wall of ragged grey fur, coated in bones and lanyards of rough hemp, pawed arms raised so they easily brush against the high ceilings, all under a cruel, crude lycanthropic visage curled into a permanent open-jawed snarl. Inside the gaping black maw, a flash of orange and bright yellow.

"HRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!"

The woman lets out a terrified shriek, accompanied by a scathing line of rapid curses vitriolic enough to peel the paint right off the fresco adorning the wall. She instinctively backpedals, reaching for the sword she'd kept with her from the coronation with a speed no human ought to be moving at ... and promptly tangles herself up in the twenty-some odd yards of layered fabric her dress is made up of.

Stepping back on the skirts yanks her back and down, while her scabbard gets hopelessly entangled as well, the end of it somehow ends up between her ankles, sending her back and down hard on her backside, arms flailing, and one foot kicking out hard and fast enough that her shoe goes flying.

Along the way, said backside feels a definite impact of something small, a bit wide, and circular of relatively low mass while the massive wolf-demon-thing continues to stalk forward, towering above the woman, growling and snarling and roaring. "GRRRRR! HRRROOWWWWAAARRRRRRRR. RAAAAGGGHHHHH!"

The shoe bounces harmlessly off the ragged grey fur of the beast's side.

Nathicana reaches back to grab at whatever it was that hit her from behind, eyes wide, swearing vehemently as she tries unsuccessfully to get her weapon free. Knowing there has to be a second, she risks a quick look back over her shoulder as she clumsily scuttles back away from the hulking monstrosity before her.

The tallish man in the shinobi shozoko, far taller than the industry standard for those of Japanese descent, reaches back smoothly with one bamboo-gauntleted hand to draw another bright orange rubber-plastic dart from the quiver on his back. Notching it on his comically small black plastic bow, he draws back, winks, and releases. His aim true, the dart bops the Dread Lady right in the forehead, sticking readily to the just-perspiring brow and quivering with the gentle force of its impact.

The Lady in question lets out an indignant little squawk, taken aback by the sheer ridiculousness of this versus the snarling beast ... whom she quickly whips her head around to face again, her expression quickly sliding from fear and surprise to something not readily readable. "Che cazzo ..." she half starts, reaching up with one hand to remove the dart, as her other brings up the matching one that had pegged her in the kiester previously.

The monster stops, looks down, then doubles over in coughing fits of hiccuping roaring that quickly become identifiable as it points with one grey finger. Its guffaws are quickly taken up by the ninja, bending over and resting his hands on his knees, shaking his head. Upon further examination, his eyes lack epicanthic folds and are a vaguely reminiscent steel-grey color. "Oh... Jeebus H Hyskos... Zing!" His voice, with its mild 'Pendran-Polish is immediately recognizable.

Eyes narrow dangerously. Plan of action is quickly changed. Target is acquired. With surprising speed she yanks the skirts up around her thighs, rolls forward to a low crouch and launches herself at the big grey beast, cursing between tightly-clenched teeth. She tackles him hard, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, kicking her other shoe free in the process.

"HEEHEEHRAHRHAH*gasp*HRAH--oof--" The wolf-thing catches too late, propelled back and rolling lightly with the woman. Adapting quickly, it brings its jaw--lacking a lower one--to her shoulder and begins to shake its head, a dog with some toy in its mouth. "Grrrhrrrhrrrr."

Nathicana yelps, and despite her initial show of temper, eventually breaks down into giggles as she grapples and wrestles with the great shaggy creature in a most undignified manner. Trying to keep the upper hand and position, she growls back teasingly between laughs and goes for the kill, tickling mercilessly.

The beast can do nothing but roll about and retaliate, using perhaps greater strength to make up for lesser agility, lacking Nathi's augments. It does keep up the growling despite the wolfie head being knocked aside like a hood, revealing a masked head underneath.

"You bastards!" she says as she wriggles, doing her best to block the creature's counter-attacks while keeping up her own, letting out little shrieks in between laughs when her efforts fail. She shoots out a hand to grab the mask, hoping to reveal the culprit, as his conduct has most definitely negated the usual 'rules' of the Masquerade in her mind.

The mask comes off with a curl of wrapped black cloth, revealing a rather recognizable felinid face, one scar prominent over the right eye. Chuckling, Speaker-Rrit takes advantage of Nathi's action to poke under her arm. "Hrraa! Breaking your own rules!"

Nathicana yelps and twists, grabbing his great hands to try and keep him from any further tickling. She gets a decidedly mischievous look in her eyes, in all this chaos having forgotten entirely until now about any sort of close-lipped smiles. "Breaking rules, is it? I'll show you breaking rules," she says slyly, then quickly leans forward, planting a kiss square on the big kzin's muzzle.

The kzin's eyes go wide, a bit not used to the whole mouth-to-mouth smooching thing, while the ninja leans heavily against the wall, still laughing. "Way to score, Speeks. Oh, dear, what will H'zta say?"

The woman sits back up looking smug, and completely shameless. She gives the Supreme Emperor another nudge in the sides before gathering up her skirts and getting to her feet as gracefully as she can manage, casually offering Speaker-Rrit a hand while shooting Razak an arch little smile. "And I suppose you think you're getting away with this scott-free?"

The 'tosh accepts the hand, collecting his shaggy hood and black scarf while Julius shrugs a little, still snickering. "Face it. You cannot escape the leetness of the Polish Ninja. You," he says with a grin behind his cloth mask, "were pwned. Pee double-you en three dee. Pwned."

"I'll get you, my pretty ... and your 'little' dog too," she says, wriggling her brows impishly as she steps over to give the masked man a warm hug. She sneaks a hand up long enough to tug the cloth down just over his lips with one finger, kissing him as well. "I suppose it would be too much to ask just how in the hell you managed to get in here? 'Leet' or not, last I'd heard, security was tight enough it nearly squeaked."

At the kiss, the Leet Polish Ninja is of course unfazed, taking Nathi in the traditional dancer's stance, dipping her low, kissing soundly for an instant, then returning back to normal as if nothing had happened. "If ya gotta do something ya may as well not half-ass it... and you think we're gonna rat out our contacts?"

"We are willing to say how much candy it took," Speeks says with a chuckle.

"'Sides, your Worshipfulness, pranking the boss is an old 'Pendran tradition," Razak says with a close-lipped grin. "Certainly your Worshipfulness wouldn't want us to ignore our traditions on this great occasion?"

"Not bad there, old man," she murmurs quietly to Razak, winking slyly, then growing slightly more serious. "You boys start that 'Worshipfulness' shit with me like that damn vonKarma did and I'm gonna kick both your asses. Right here, right now. You know damn well why I went through with all this ... this ... bah!" She tugs at her bodice, straightening it with a wry smile. "Now what the hell do you mean by 'candy'?"

"Mallomars, chocolate, those nifty little peppermint deals with the red swirls in 'em..."

"Starlight mints."

"Yeah, those."

Nathi's eyes narrow as she looks back and forth between the two of them, lips pursed. "I can see we're going to have to have our boys and girls turn out their pockets tonight, hmmm? Sold out? For ... for candy? What the hell am I paying these people for?"

"You're paying them so they keep the naughty people out and let the nice people in to prank you," Razak says breezily. "Anyway, for being such a good sport... tell her what she's won!"

She arches a brow, looking increasingly nervous as she glances between the two of them.

The kzintosh nods and reaches into a small pouch on one of the several lanyards of his costume. "Seeing how you are creating your own house, it is only appropriate you have your wtsai." He produces a small dagger about twelve centimeters whose broad, trianglular flat blade sports blunt edges and a rounded tip. It appears to be made of fired sandstone, and it has something etched in the dots-and-commas script of kzints'ung on one si

Both brows go up at this, her head tilting slightly. "This is twice you've taken me completely off-guard tonight, my friend," she says, all signs of jesting gone. "Grazie. Molto grazie, mia caro amicos. I am honored." She studies the wtsai, her eyes drifting back thoughtfully now and then to Speaker. "If I may, the inscription? I'm afraid I've not yet learned to decipher it."

Speaker bows a little. "I personalized it as far as I was comfortable to--D'akhiasto. Any more than that should be your doing."

Nathicana returns the bow slowly, gracefully. "I can see I am going to need more than just lessons in language," she replies truthfully, there being much about her friend's traditions she stil lacks a good understanding of.

"Oh, and I got ya somethin' too, on behalf of every frickin' person in Scolopendra. Would've been difficult to get everyone's signature, though, so you'll have to settle for the command staff." Reaching into one of the many pockets in his outfit, he removes a mouse-shaped greetings card (http://www.daniellesplace.com/Images2/bigcheesepic.gif).

"Every ... " Nathi blinks, taking the card with a warm smile, and shaking her head as she opens it. "You people really are crazy. You know that, yes?

The inside of the card reads "CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR PROMOTION! YOU'RE THE BIG CHEESE!" and is signed in various hands, all the different top-level advisors of the Scolopendran governments.

Nathicana puts one hand lightly over her mouth, chuckling softly and shaking her head as she reads. The fact that she is blinking several times rather rapidly is of course, entirely unrelated. She clears her throat quietly, then opens up her arms to either side of her. "Come here you two scoundrels."

Both bow as necessary to get into the group hug, with many friendly smiles. "Hey, 's what we do for friends." She hugs tight for a moment, and nods. "And I couldn't ask for better," she says simply, smiling. "Thank you - to all of you." Her smile turns a little mischievous as she adds, "Even that damn Garbo."

The 'tosh chuckles a little. "You are certainly welcome."

"I suppose we'd best get you pulled back together so you can enjoy the rest of the party, yes? And I ... I've got to get ready as well. I can at least promise not to give you two away. Imps." She smiles at the both of them, shaking her head again slightly. Candy? Candy?!?

Speaker nods, wrapping himself back up in his scarf and donning his wolfie hood again while Razak puts his garb back into order. "Much obliged," the kzin says, "we will keep your secrets safe as well." Razak pulls something out of his pocket, unwraps it with a deft pull of his thumbs and forefingers... then pauses momentarily and offers it to Nathi. "Mint?"

Nathicana starts to say something, pauses as she gives Speaker a sharp look, the nods slowly. She breaks out in a close-lipped grin however at Razak. "Goddammit ..." She does however, accept the mint, popping it into her mouth and winking. "There had better not be anymore hidden 'surprises' in my office, or so help me ... "

"Oh, just a bag of candy," Razak replies, then shrugs. "I like candy, and there was a deal down in a corner store we passed. Thought we may as well pick ya up some."

"I see your plot ... out to ruin my 'girlish' figure!" Nathi laughs quietly, and makes shooing motions with her hands. "Rascals. That sort of surprise I can live with. They do have some rather good stuff around here, after all. Thank you. I'll have to check to make sure you didn't scare ten years of life out of me, but thank you.

Kick back, relax, I doubt anyone else was smart enough to bribe my people with sweets, so I think you'll be safe enough. I'll see you boys outside, neh?"

"As if you could miss ol' Fuzzy--" Razak is brought short by a four-eyed glare from the kzin, complete with raised finger.

Nathicana stifles a grin, opting not to comment on that one.

"We will just be going now," Speaker-Wolf says with a chuckle, then grabs Razak by the bicep and drags him off.

The woman watches them make their way back down the hall, waiting til they're a good ways off before bursting out in a fit of giggles. Carefully dabbing at her eyes, she turns and walks as quickly as she can to her office to get changed ... sneaking a few bits of candy while she's at it.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Later ...

As the sun sank below the far distant horizon, the bells in the tower started chiming. From ships out in the bay, a dazzling display of fireworks were launched high into the darkening sky in patterns and colors designed to delight. Though many had begun their celebration early, all this signals the official start to the Masquerade.

From the grand ballroom where the musicans had been preparing comes the unmistakeable sound of an opening song, full of warmth and energy, just begging to be danced to. Many of the natives do just that, their twirls and flourishes punctuated now and then with delighted laughter.

Around the city, celebrants are out in force, the exhuberance that had been building over the course of the day, now in full swing. The wine flows freely, and with it seem to flow away what inhibitions many of the Dominion folk had. A passionate people in many respects, emotions run rather high, whether good or bad. While fights are less common than most other things, they are not unknown, and the soldati assigned to keep an eye on things soon have their hands full in some areas.

Back at the Piazza, the same does not apply, with any potential altercations being quickly and quietly taken care of by the guards. Inhibitions have been eased here as well, and though masks stay on, the occasional person is seen seeming to wear progressively less and less.

There could be no doubt now - the party was officially in full swing.

Princess Agwene enters the grand ballroom, dressed in a white tunic type affair, slit up to the waist on either side and tied together with a golden rope. Light, golden sandals adorn her feet and she wears golden clasps on her wrists, ankles, and neck. A mask of golden glitter covers the upper half of her face, revealing only her shining eyes. She carries herself with all the supernatural beauty and grace of the sidhe, smiling charmingly as she surveys the room.

Rebecca giggled happily before depositing herself in Cheops' lap, and giving him a lingering kiss, before pulling back and grinning.

The look on Marcus' face was probably priceless, despite being hidden behind his skull-mask; his eyes told it all. He had a look that implied that somebody had crashed his brain. The mental dissonance between maintaining proper decorum and respecting the culture and religion of another country were currently waging the mother of all wars in his mind. After a moment, his brain finally seemed to reboot itself, and he peered at Datima, "Ah. Well... perhaps I could relax a little..."

<<<<<<>>>>>>

Isidra scooted her chair over next to Ingrid, Just to get a closer look, of course, and peered at the tattoo but managed to resist touching it. She looked up again, "Interesting... it's kind of a representation of all the seasons, then, right?" She grins, "Aside from missing autumn, I suppose," a pause and a bigger grin, "fun, hmm? Naked Rites of Spring?"

Cheops kisses back passionately, his hands roaming shamelessly all over her body. Meanwhile, Datima starts to lightly run a hand over Marcus's chest. "A little is...a start."

Ingrid laughed. "Hope springs eternal, yai? We did celebrate the Equinoxes - Spring and Autumn - but not naked, I'm afraid. 'Tis still cold outside at that time of year. Though I haven't been a practicing Cassiganach since I left Uni ... I guess I'm more a sort of washed-up agnostic, these days."

Rebecca blushed softly, but returned the favor, equally shameless. Marcus averted his eyes from the display between Cheops and Rebecca, looking at the satyress as she teasingly ran her fingers over the ruffles on his shirt, "Well... I suppose respecting the - customs - of others is part of my job."

<><><>

Isidra coughed slightly, her cheeks reddening slightly. Should have worn a full mask... She grinned at Igrid's description of her faith, or lack thereof, "An agnostic pagan? You'll have to tell me more about it later." She took a final bite of the cake before smiling slyly, "I believe you said something about dancing earlier...?"

"I believe I did."

Fireworks wailed up in the air to burst high overhead, and, as if on cue, the orchestra in the ballroom began to play.

"In fact, I believe that they've started. Shall we?"

Ingrid stood, and extended one gloved hand to Isidra.

Isidra smiled, taking Ingrid's hand and allowing herself to be led towards the source of the music. She felt in a much better mood then when she had been rushing to get here.

Isidra let Ingrid take the lead as they danced, moving across the floor fluidly. Isidra had taken lessons as a young girl and a few refresher courses before accepting her assignment to the Dominion. She had always assumed, for some reason, that knowing how to dance would help her do her job. It was probably the romantic stories she'd read about the Dominion, figuring she'd spend every evening at offical get-togethers before retiring to a little cafe and sipping espresso as she looked at the stars. Perhaps the faint smell of cigarette smoke in the air...

...of course it wasn't like that. Like any job, she'd been fiendishly busy, and since the ambassador was quite the perfectionist, she often found herself working later hours to make sure that when things were done, they were done right. It wasn't incompitence, just preventative measures, and it wore on her; probably why she was running so late and unable to find her costume. However, moving around the dance floor with this attractive, and quite graceful, woman from Lord only knew what country, she found herself slipping into that wide-eyed feeling of euphoria and hope. This was what she had hoped Devras would be. These were the nights she had hoped to have.

She smiled slightly, feeling quite happy, and even relaxed. Even if she was terribly hung over and exhausted in the morning, this was the sort of night you never forgot.

The guards exchange a quick look and sharp hand signal. The three who have been silent until now bring their weapons to bear, charged and set for 'stun'. The other two step easily out of the way. At this point, any pretense at pleasantness is dropped.

The first soldati guardsman looks at the three reporters coldly. "Your opinion of our laws means nothing to us, nor does the authority of your President. You are not in Serconea, you are in the Dominion. And here, it is by our grace alone that you have not already been sunk into the nearest canale and forgotten. We have tried to be polite with you."

"Registered diplomats, you say? And you think this means anything at all to us? There exists no such thing as 'diplomatic immunity' in the Dominion. Everyone who comes here knows that, or ought to. We expect some measure of civility and respect from anyone who chooses to set foot on our sovereign soil, be they peasant, priest or king. Feel free to lodge whatever 'formal complaints' you like." He is obviously not impressed. Nor, it seems, are his companions.

"At every turn we have recieved threats, insults, disrespect, and a lack of cooperation. Had this not been the case, I rather think that the device would have simply been examined and confiscated until your leave, and Andreja would have been released on her honor to respect the privacy of our guests, so that she and you could continue to enjoy the festivities. As it stands, you are now faced with the option of voluntarily complying and having this unpleasant episode brought to a rapid close, or being shot with these stunners where you stand, after which you will be stripped to your skin and left here to rot for however long it it pleases us before we bother to contact your government," he says with open contempt, his usually pleasant features twisted into a condescending sneer.


He looks at them meaningfully, allowing a moment for it all to settle in before he continues in a decidely sarcastic tone.

"So. What's it to be, oh honored guests? The easy way, or the hard way?"

"Well", replied Ciril, "If we don't call our President in oh... thirty minutes... he's going to start getting angry. We'll cooperate, but let us call our President first".

For her part, Ingrid found herself enjoying the evening a great deal more than she'd expected to; it had been a while since she'd let her hair down like this. Perhaps the outfit helped with that; it certainly seemed to have helped her find a dancing partner.

Actually, she hadn't really had much fun since leaving university, which was rather sad, when you thought about it - where had the six years gone?

I wonder ... don't get your hopes up, Ingrid. Not on a first date. If this even counts as a date... you don't even know what she looks like, under that mask.

The life of a bond-Knight wasn't all it was cracked up to be, but times like this ... well, you cherished them.

"I'm sure we can," Kjathen-Yseult replied politely. "Your species - it is specialised genetically, then? We had thought it to be some form of extreme post-natal biological adaption to conditions."

"I'm sure we can," Kjathen-Yseult replied politely. "Your species - it is specialised genetically, then? We had thought it to be some form of extreme post-natal biological adaption to conditions."
"Specialized genetically, like fish are specialized genetically for the sea and birds are specialized genetically for the air," the LandCoordinator replies with a swirl of her antennae. "We're specialized mostly through time, conditions, and no fault of our own. We've in fact lost most of what genetic manipulation technology the True Norm had, although the technology we've procured from local inhabitants will do at the moment. Still... we're a bit too entrenched in our whole concept of Normalcy to start optimizing our own code further. Abominations and all that, you understand." The last bit is said in a rather wry tone.

"As an entity created by rather deliberate genetic engineering, we hope you won't be offended when we say we are glad that you have changed your position on this. The Greater Ascendancy has always regarded geneering as a useful tool, and so do we; the creation of a true "successor" species to homo sapiens sapiens is only a matter of time, given the gradual process of "upgrading" the Grafiate of Eugenics and Cloning Research performs."

Cheops kisses Rebecca's neck, moving down her body as she presses her tightly against his lap. "You truly are a beautiful woman."

Datima nods. "You must have such an interesting job. I bet you've met a lot of fascinating and exotic cultures." She starts to finger his buttons.

Irene's brow furrowed and her eyes squinted as she probed the nearby minds.

Gently...gently...ahhh...what's this?...contact!...but...no...trying to detect me...

To a very astute observer, a wince of pain can across her face momentarily. She then withdrew her probe and began to set up her mental defences. Hopefully, it would be enough to escape detection.

The rest of the Vrakians chatted pleasantly with the lady from Calluna.

Phooush continues scanning, trying to hone in on the errant alpha-waves that psychers tend to register. The Major concentrates a bit more, filtering out ambient thoughts, and registers a few active psychers.

One seems to shut down as he probes about. Ah, i've been detected. But at least I know where to begin. 'Admiral, I am on the chase. Would you care to join?"

Shaar looks down at her companion, and nods her head. "As long as the hunt is not one to cause an 'incident', I am in." She turns her frame, and follows Phooush towards the center of the piazza. The Major, in the meantime, continues sending out very gentle seeker-pulses, trying to use them as a bat would sonar to hone in on the void created by active psi-defenses.

Piazza San Bernardi, Devras, DLN

The Federation Party arrived back in the Piazza some time later, just after the first set of fireworks had exploded, but they were hardly recognizable. Gone were their somber blacks and uniforms of earlier, and in fact, there was little about them that was not changed, including their numbers.

First to enter the Piazza, a moment ahead of the others, were three she-devils. Three women of approximately matching height, dressed exactly the same, from their hair to their masks to their boots, walked across the access bridge in a manner that could only be described as provocative, or perhaps, inviting. Their hair was dyed a matching jet black, and fell to mid-back. Dark burgundy nano-leather bodysuits hugged every curve a bit too tightly, leaving very little to the imagination about their toned, well formed bodies. Black leather accents completed the clothing, belts low around the hips, adorned with matching daggers on the left side, black, knee high boots, with spiked heels. Black gloves were worn on each hand.

Matching this were full face masks the same color as their hair, with a set of head horns emerging from underneath their raven locks. Their eyes glowed the same eerie shade of green. What some people might find particularly disturbing was that occasionally the presumably static masks would change, matching the expression of the person behind it. Bio-mechanical tails, waving about behind them a good meter and a half, completed the outfits.

The three women were Cortana, Jessica Smith, the President’s little sister, and Michelle Hodges, the other highest over-all graded student at Camp Fozzie.

Next into the Piazza were two Greek gods, or more specifically, a god and a goddess. When light reflected off them, they seemed to gleam, and even in the darkness, they glowed softly, their skin and masks shining with a faint golden sheen to them. Adorning their bodies was clothing of the purest white, itself seeming to shine, as if light slides off of it, rather than reflecting. Adorning the woman’s brunette locks, falling to her waist, was a golden helmet in the Greek style, a bright red crest sweeping back with her hair. The man’s platinum helmet bore three crests, all in deep black, matching his hair, curving back over his head.

Gray eyes stared out of the woman’s mask, revealing her to be Athena, Goddess of War, if the owl and the golden spear she bore were not enough to give that away. As for the man, out of his golden mask gazed black eyes. Upon a diamond studded leather belt, he wore a traditional Greek sword, an unadorned golden hilt gleaming as brightly as every other part of the outfit. Upon his left arm, he bore a golden shield, adorned with a twelve pointed star atop a mountain, a symbol of the Olympian gods. He might very well be Ares, let loose under the escort of the Goddess’ wisdom.

These two were clearly D’ron and Lesley, if one knew which party was entering at that time.

Hidden behind the radiance of the two gods was the last member of the Federation party. Andrew came dressed, surprisingly, as a pirate. Even more surprising was the large, brightly colored parrot sitting on his left shoulder.

Most of his outfit looked as if it had been stolen directly from someone’s navy in the age of sail. Except that someone needed to be able five different nations, each with obviously conflicting color schemes, as the garishly dressed pirate matched his parrot in brightness. Two pistols were tucked in his belt, looking like ancient flintlocks, but scans would reveal them as very advanced grav-pulse pistols. Additionally, he wore a pirate cutlass on a sash draped over his right shoulder.

He wore a mask, but it merely changed his features to something that looked like perhaps they belonged in a comic book rather than reality, a large black eye patch covering his left eye. The detailed scan the Dominion folks had no doubt carried out would have revealed knives and a third gun secreted about his person, as well as a bundle of electronics equipment, centered in, of all places, the parrot on his shoulder and his eye patch.

All in all, it was a very sophisticated set of security scanners and similar devices in the bird, and a set of tiny displays on his eye patch, items which he considered a must when he would not be able to see people’s faces, or in many cases, perhaps not even their body language. This of course bothered the poor bodyguard to no end. But there was a solution for that. He clucked his tongue at the bird, and it leapt from his shoulder, breaking free to soar above the party.

The Federation group spread out even further, shifting through the crowd, Andrew always remaining near the President, though doing his best not to appear with him, while he split his attention between D’ron with his uncovered eye and the display on his eye patch.

As D’ron wandered into the Piazza, he squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, shaking his head ever so slightly as a gentle buzz pressed in on his brain before the chemical compounds released, clearing his mind. When he looked back at Lesley, he saw her doing the same, recovering from the release into the blood stream. Only to be expected. With this many people, from this many places, there had to be active telepaths or other people with psychic abilities. The implants would protect the Federation party, and allow them to fight back if attention focused on them for some reason.

Irene began to build up her psychic defences, making her less suseptible to any type of mind assault. However, in doing so, she unwittingly perhaps gave away her position to one who was much better trained in these…arts. That is, she should have rather cloaked her mind and tried to blend in the background rather than withdrawing her probes a little too quickly and then scrambling to protect herself.

Only the walrus knew of her talents and noticed her wince slightly. She put her left hand on the bar while her other hand went to her forehead.

-Is everything fine?
-Yes, Ambassador. Just a little headache.

Jur’s eyes narrowed.

-Indeed. One should be more careful having a headache in this crowd.
-Yes, Ambassador.

Karlo noticed the bird flying overhead and made a note. Pretty neat.. Then he looked at the latest arrivals. Nice costumes as his eyes roved over the three she-devils. For his part, Tronj asked Sandrine a question.

“So, where is Calluna? We’ve never heard of it.”

The walrus turned and asked the lady from Calluna,

"Would you care for a drink?"

Phooush seemed to stop in mid-step after circling the piazza a bit. Gentle psychic prods here and there were felt, but the alpha signatures were not the same, and in fact were of no real concern for him. These were latent talents he was feeling; none trained to a serious degree. The void he was searching for subsided, meaning either the target left the area, or has concealed themself very well.

"The prey has escaped my scent, Admiral." The svelte Major continued to look around, but saw little to attract his interest. "I believe they may have left the area."

"Probably just as well, Major. You Grass-Walkers are keen in your 'talents', but not infallible. We should make our way to the Dread Lady's audience hall. We have a gift to present, after all. Courtesy of our Emperor." She lifts up a fold of her crimson cloak, hoisting a sizable round package done in platinum-colored silk with silver bows around it. She replaces it under her costume, and turns to head off in the direction of the masquerade party.

Phooush cranes his neck high once more, and lets out a low whistling sound from his throat. Almost a groan of disappointment. Then he lowers back down and follows in Admiral Shaar's footsteps, keeping his senses alert in case that psy-signature makes itself known again.

"As an entity created by rather deliberate genetic engineering, we hope you won't be offended when we say we are glad that you have changed your position on this..." <snip>The Red taps her antennae together slowly. "I said we don't like manipulating ourselves genetically. Whether others manipulate themselves is all their concern and none of ours; it simply stands that the old Prime Directive still lingers. We're still leery of those like us but still not us; similarily, we're leery of modifying our own Norms--pardon, panNorms--to something... 'better.'" The insectoid shudders slightly with the thought.

And at the Inferno
Content with the havoc brought forth by its machinations, the Soldier Red starts moving towards the original two groups of combatants. There is a bit of measurement involved; the sailors are obviously greater threats and will be engaged if a challenge is desired. However, the students are equally obviously neophytes and thus will do for an appetizer.

One Dominioner foolish enough to get in her way gets belted in the stomach, then slapped with the back of one bony manipulator across the face with a chattering battle-curse. Stepping over the newly prone form, the spiky insectoid used to living in one-point-four gee conditions moves deeper into the fray.

Rebecca smiled with a soft gasp, "Mmm..." Her more modest side kicking for a moment and she gently pushed Cheops' head from her neckline, "If we're going to continue... um... perhaps someplace less... ah, public?"

Marcus nodded slowly, "Well, yes, I would say that I do. Fae would probably be one of the more interesting that I have met, so you can feel appropriately honored." He placed a hand on hers, "While I will endevour to honor your customs, traditions and religion, I must also honor mine, and the Dominion's. I would prefer to keep my costume on..."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Isidra rested her head on Ingrid's shoulder as the songs switched and a slower song was played, sighing happily. She smiled up at Ingrid, "You're a pretty good dancer, you know..."

"I am? Thankyou," Ingrid replied, "'Tis practice, I guess. Looking after the Landgravine, one goes to all sorts of parties and balls and whatnot. Ai, shit - I left her over at the refreshments table, knowing mine luck she'll be absolutely plastered by now, yai truth!"

Ingrid stiffened, debating whether or not to go look for her wayward charge, but soon relaxed, and resumed dancing. "She can look after herself tonight, I guess. If Count White dunai like it, he can assign me to guard someone who's less of a handful."

~~~

Said "handful" was (OOC: Thanks to the wonderful provision of fluid time!) not yet plastered, or even slightly tipsy.

"Callúna? Ai, 'tis off in the wet - cry pardon, the North Atlantic - 'bout halfway between Eire and Vinland*. 'Tis not so big, though, which I s'pose is why you have nai kenned it previously.

"Ai, I'd love a drink."

OOC:
*Callúna's position means that it's just about right to be a nice base of operations for the Norse to get to North America. Hence, Newfoundland, and by extension the rest of the North American eastern seaboard, is Vinland.

"Ah." Kjathen-Yseult shrugs slightly, as if to indicate that this is the panNorm's loss. "Well, that is certainly entirely your choice, although we find it an odd one. May we enquire as to the origins of this taboo?"

Isidra smiled as she was led around, laughing happily as Ingrid dipped her before resuming, "Lucky you. I took lessons hoping they'd be useful, but this is really the first chance I've had to actually use them." She smirked, "The city may be romantic, but my job certainly isn't," a shrug.

Smiling with a bit of relief at Ingrid's decision to leave her charge to her own devices, "Well... you were told to enjoy the party, right? I'd like to think that you're doing just that. Besides, this place has more than enough security... I doubt she'd be able to get into too much trouble, even if she's drunken herself into a stupor."

"I hope you're right, but I fear you're wrong, m'dear. She is a great handful."

Ingrid sighed. "Well, enough of that; I'm following Count White's orders, after all. Must enjoy the party and all that ... and I am, yai much truth."

"Hm. Pity, you'd think she'd be less of a handful... then again, I suppose she can do most anything she wants, huh?" She winced, "Er, not that I'm trying to insult her..."

M'dear? Like the sound of that... with a charming smile, she continued, "But, I'm glad that you're having fun. I was a afraid I'd be boring. After all, I've never been involved in equinox cerimonies." She laughed and added, "naked or otherwise."

"Yai, she can," Ingrid agreed, "Including having her bond-Knight go to a party dressed like something out of a certain specialised kind of club of.

"And nai, you're not boring me at all - not everyone spent their student years quite as crazily as did I, after all. So - what did you do with yours?"

Stepping into the Piazza, the rustle of material against the ground greeting her every step, she stopped and looked around, trying to locate the man whose costume complimented her own. Not that she was looking for him to join, but more so to avoid. Moving slowly through the crowd, her movements unable to be fast due to the creation she was wearing, she edged her way amongst the people present, trying to find a good vantage point to conduct her search.

Breathing was a little harder than she had expected, the bodice of the dress made as a replica of an age gone by, a point that was not lost on the current wearer. The shirts were wider than anything she had every worn before, which made squeezing through the small gaps between people very difficult. Excuse me and I’m sorry seemed to be the only words out of her lips, as she cut a path through to a more open spot.

Taking as big as breath as she dared, Deborah Cornick paused and looked around her. The huge white wig and elaborate headpiece meant she had to turn her head slowly. She wondered, not for the first time, why Angelina had wanted such a fussy costume for the ball.

Also not for the first time, she berated herself for her hair brained scheme of turning up in her place to save Angelina trouble later. Stratton had not been happy when he mentioned his assistant’s disappearance to her earlier. And with the mask and wig, no one would know that she was not who she was supposed to be, and as long as she avoided Stratton and left before the unmasking, no one would know any different. And the note she left Angelina back in her room, would mean that she would not appear suddenly.

Not seeing her superior anywhere nearby, Debbie relaxed and decided to enjoy the evening, looking about for the nearest drink to bolster her nerve, before having fun while saving the neck of her colleague.

Isidra laughed, "You're still worried over your costume?" She shook her head, similing and running a finger along one of the shoulder straps, "You should be thankful for it. It certainly got my attention."

She smiled, the music had shifted to a more upbeat tango. It made conversation more difficult, but was quite a bit of fun. "My years in school? Well... between studies and the student government, I didn't have a lot of free time." She smiled, thinking back, "Of course, campaigning on campus was fun. And the debates. Those were pretty good too." She giggled, "Bet you didn't think I was a debator when I was complete tongue-tied earlier, huh?"

"Ah." Kjathen-Yseult shrugs slightly, as if to indicate that this is the panNorm's loss. "Well, that is certainly entirely your choice, although we find it an odd one. May we enquire as to the origins of this taboo?"
"The Norm used genetic manipulation to maintain their genome in the specialized conditions of Alpha, but they were inevitably unsuccessful in avoiding change. To maintain their racial purity, they wrote a Prime Directive: 'Any variation from the Norm is unacceptable and will be eliminated via genetic restructuring techniques.' Their daughters, the panNorm, held this dear--each panNorm variation, of course, believing itself to be the True Norm. The Ancestor Norm died out, the genetic technology was lost, and the constant struggle for succession between the panNorm wormed its way into an edited Prime Directive: 'Any variation from the Norm is an abomination and cannot be suffered to live.'"

The Red taps her antennae together slowly with a slight twist. "We got rid of that version four hundred years ago, but there are still... difficulties concerning it. Looking at human history, they are still dealing with the problems of institutionalized racism and many have made far less progress in far more time than we have."

Cheops nods to Rebecca. "Perhaps..." He rises, offering her a hand. "There was a nice hotel near here. Would you care to join me?"

Datima shrugs, downing another beer. She pauses, opening her mouth slightly as though preparing to do or say something. After a moment of thought, she shrugs and nuzzles her head into his chest. "I took mine off."

"We see. Yes, racism can be a problem - the Greater Ascendancy is still burdened by the remnants of the old class system, over four hundred and fifty years after it's abolishment. The Eldar, too, remain insufferable racists after millions of years.

"The Communion believes that sentients all have their optimal uses - individually as well as racially or by species - and can be best employed for those purposes, but it is definitely a fallacy to create distinction where no worthy reason exists."

"That it did." Whether Ingrid noticed Isidra's hand on her shoulder or not, she didn't do anything to remove it. "Hey, you'd just run right into me, nai? Anyone's allowed to be tongue-tied at a time like that, debater or nai."

"What was the name of the building again? These damn mammal tongues are so troublesome for me." Shaar manages to maneuver gracefully, despite her considerable bulk, through the crowds in the piazza. To her left, she could see games of chance being played, and more than one person 'losing their shirt' as it were. To her right, casual diners and drinkers of wine lounged at their tables talking their small talk.

"Procuratie Giustinian, if i'm not mistaken. The grand ballroom." Phooush weaves in and out of people's paths as gracefully as an autumn leaf falling from a tree. In it's own way, his maneuvers almost seem like a dance in itself. "We will probably draw more than a few looks, as there seems to be mostly hominids in the area. We stand out like Grass Newts in a desert."

"We've never cared about that in the past. Why should we now?" A baleful eye looks down on one human that seems to come too close for her comfort, quite quickly. Seeing he is observed, the human shrinks out of sight and mixes in with the minglers again at a distance. Phooush chuckles audibly, sounding like a chittering whistling noise. "Opportunistic people, aren't they?"

"They are at that. Ah, here we are." They arrive at the doors of the Procuratie Giustinian, and enter. The scene before them of so many beings packed in one place in such lavish garb makes the Admiral take a breath.

Phooush makes a low whistling sound. "by the Pantheon! Everyone and their second hatchmate must be here!"

"The Communion believes that sentients all have their optimal uses - individually as well as racially or by species - and can be best employed for those purposes, but it is definitely a fallacy to create distinction where no worthy reason exists.""Agreed. That's the basis that deliniations in panNorm society are based--Engineer Reds are best at engineering; Soldier Reds are best at fighting; Blues are best at science and diplomacy; Greens are best at farming and ecological management; Minis are best at maintenance and small-component manufacture. There's very little overlap there because overlap is inefficient. Lack of overlap also gives us a vested interest to get over our traditional prejudices and work together."

Rebecca nodded shyly, turning to Marcus, "I'll... um... I'll catch you later." Without waiting for his responce, she lets Cheops lead her off.

Marcus was a little disturbed at being left alone with the rather... affectionate... satyress. With a slight smirk, her idly stroked her hair, "Yes, I rather did notice that when we first met you."

---

"I'm glad you understand. I was afraid I'd made a terrible first impression." She smiled happily as they danced some more before looking back up at Ingrid as the song ended, "This is really nice, ya know?"

Cheops takes Rebecca by the hand, trotting towards a nearby hotel. He pays rapidly and takes the key, hurrying up to the room. He makes not the slightest effort to be subtle about what his intentions are. "Becca, I must say you have such lovely legs, I could just watch you walk all day." He unlocks the door, trotting into the room.

Datima nods a little. "So do you think my costume's pretty? I spent 21 years working on it." She nuzzles her head into the petting somewhat.

Princess Agwene mingles with the other guests at the ball. She does not identify herself, of course, but sidhe are, in truth, shockingly hard to disguise. It seems odd, of course, as they are roughly the same size and shape as most humanoids, but something of their nature always seems to shine through. The beauty of the sidhe is a beauty seen by the imagination and the soul, nearly, though not exactly, unaffected by what they wear or by the eye of the beholder. The young princess's gaze alights on the delegates from Sakkra and she glides that way, giving no sign she notices how alien they are. "Crowded, is it not, lord and lady?"

"We see. Humans, unfortunately, are seldom so efficiently colour-coordinated, and we find it necessary to assign them on an individual basis. We assume, given your stated position on genetic engineering, that the norms developed through an ordainary evolutionary process of adaption to conditions?"

"The dancing? Yai, 'tis." Or does she mean more than just the dancing? If you get your hopes up too high, Ingrid, they'll be hit by an incoming jet.

"Though do you mind if we take a slight break now? I find I need to catch my breath a little, you ken."

Ingrid blushed behind her mask, thankful again for it's provision - what would this young woman think, if she could see her face red as a beetroot? Still, it was unavoidable; her wild student days were six years gone, and she couldn't keep up that frenetic pace nowadays.

Rebecca laughed, "You took me up here just to watch me walk? I would have expected a satyr to have a better imagination than that."

Marcus coughed slightly, "Yes, I would say you have done a good job on your 'costume'."

-------

Isidra grinned a little, "Not just the dancing, I'd say the whole night has been enjoyable. Good food, good music," she smiled at Ingrid, "Good company..."

She nodded, walking from the dance floor even as the band started up a new song, "Sure, a break's fine with me. I could use a drink, too." She giggled a little, "Perhaps non-alcoholic this time. We wouldn't want to get plastered after all." A slight grin, "Well, maybe not yet."

Reflecting inwardly, Isidra was amused at how their rolls seemed to be in constant flux. Ingrid had been exceptionally confident and self assured when they had first met, but she wasn't anymore. She smiled a little, wondering if she was having "an effect" on Ingrid. I certainly hope so...

Cheops shakes his head. "Hardly." He walks over, kissing her mouth, her ears, her neck, running his hands all over her body.

Datima smiles coyly. "Go me?"

"Thank you." Ingrid smiled back behind her mask, blushing again. I dunai recall being this red, back when I first met Samantha... ai, the student days!

"Yai, that we don't - couldn't be falling over on the dance floor, after all. Wouldnai make a good impression."

On her, either, though I meant the foreigners.

Rebecca giggled happily, pulling him towards the bed as the proverbial camera panned away to a nice fireplace.

Marcus smiled at Datima, "Indeed." With a smooth flick of his wrist, he caught the attention of the waitress, ordering another round for them.

----

Isidra led Ingrid outside and over to a series of tables, offering a seat. She then went over to one of the refreshments table, sorely tempted at getting some alcohol for Ingrid, but decided against it, settling for some water.

Taking a seat next to Ingrid, she smiled happily, offering the water, "Here you go." She took a sip before looking at Ingrid shyly, "Can't wait for midnight..."

"Thankyou," Ingrid replied, lifting her mask to sip at the water. "You cannai?" her lips, just visible in the shadow of the mask, quirked upwards in a smile. She was sorely tempted to remove the mask now, and leave midnight to itself. "You ken what they say about anticipation, m'dear."

Isidra grinned, running her finger around the top of her glass, getting the feeling that Ingrid was equally tempted, "True... true... something to be said for it." She winked, "Besides, without anticipation, we'd be missing out on all this temptation, wouldn't we?"

She relaxed a bit, stretching her legs under the table, and watching the the other dancers moving across the floor before looking up at the stars, "Tell me, Ingrid... ever study astronomy?" She smiled, "Or astrology back in your college days?"

"That we would, yai." She's certainly tempting enough...

Ingrid stretched out in her chair with a sigh, tilting her head back to see what Isidra was looking at.

"I'm afraid not," she replied, "Just physical geography, with side courses in how to beat people up for a living. I'm a Virgo, though. But there's not that many stars visible here - we're in the middle of a city of, all the lights would drown them out."

She shivered a little, putting her hands around her bare upper arms. "'Tis a bit cool out here."

Isidra was eternally grateful that she wasn't drinking when Ingrid mentioned her sign, Snorting water would be bad... but Virgo? Christ... that outfit's better for Scorpio! She smiled, biting back a giggle, "The light makes it a little difficult, but I can make a few things out... there's Orion, for instance..."

She looked over at her date, Is that an appropriate term? smiling weakly, "Sorry about that, forget I'm wearing a bit more. We can go back inside if you want. I'm sure we can find a place to sit before we dance some more."

Ingrid nodded, tracing the three stars of Orion's belt with one leather-gloved finger. "'Twould be good, if you dunai mind - I could catch the death out here, dressed like this."

She stood, and offered Isidra a hand up before they retreated back indoors, where the music was loud and another dance was in full swing.

"Not yet, I cry," Ingrid said, "Over there, perhaps?"

"There" was a row of seats along one wall, occupied already - as is the fate of such things at parties - by various handbags, scarves, and coats.

Isidra held Ingrid's hand walking back inside with her, smiling happily. She wandered over to the row of seats, carefully cleaning off a couple chairs for them before sitting down. Walking out onto the proverbial limb she smiled a little, "Well... if you don't have to go home right away, there's always tomorrow for star gazing... and such. You could dress a bit more," modestly "warmly."

"Oh? That sounds wonderful, m'dear." Especially the "and such"... "I don't think we're doing much on the morrow, though we fly out the day after that ... it ought to be fine. I'd enjoy that."

"Wonderful... I can find out where you're staying later," She let that hang, either she can tell me, or show me... without elaborating further. "I can show you around a bit tomorrow before night, too, if you like," a slight giggle, "Depending on how late we're out tonight, of course." After a moment's hesitation, she put an arm around Ingrid, resting her head on Ingrid's shoulder.

Shaar looks down at the hominid before her. She appeared to be a standard human, yet something was different. A mystery, to be certain. Phooush's jeweled eyes swivel slightly to take in this new individual in their midst, and 'paths to Shaar. 'Lord and Lady? Interesting. This one is obviously from an aristocratic culture. Shall we play along with the ruse?" A short bow to the Princess, with a sly wink from the corner of her eye to Phooush, confirms it.

"Greetings to you. I would state your name and rank in this greeting, as is custom to my people, except for the fact I know neither of these things." She rises up from her bow, and hunkers down a bit on her legs to meet eye-level with the Princess.

"I am the 'Lady' Shaar, and with me is the 'Lord' Phooush Parthaa as my escort." A hand gestures to the hunkered-down Grass-Walker, who bows at the mention of his name with slight flourish. "As to your question, yes it is quite crowded. An unfamiliar sight to us except in the busiest of market-places and commerce zones. But such an occasion warrants this, does it not?"

The proverbial camera remains on the fireplace for quite some time, though, technically, the hotel room likely doesn't have a fireplace.

Datima sensually kisses Marcus's hand, smiling lightly. "You're sweet to say that."

Even without Awe and Beauty, Agwene wouldn't really pass for human. The costume really does nothing about the ears, for example, which taper to very delicate points. However, she could theoretically be an elf or a particularly beautiful eshu or Vulcan any of the many races which display pointed ears, if hers are longer than most of them. Still, there's a sense one gets. It could best be described as an aura though it's nothing so crude as visible light around her. There is simply an ethereal, dream-like quality, alien to the world of flesh and blood, mammalian or reptillian. It is not stronger or weaker, just different. Well, at least it does not average out stronger are weaker because it seems to be far greater in some ways and far lesser in others. One gets the sense of great power and command as well as of frailty so great that the next passing breeze is likely to dissipate the girl into the mists of time. Agwene simply smiles a little. "I would give my name and rank, save that then the very point of a masque would be ruined, would it not? I so rarely get to simply enjoy myself. The occasion does certainly warrant it, however. The coronation of the Imperatrice of a great power."

Shaar looks over the crowd a bit with one eye, yet still keeps her other on the Princess. "We don't have these 'masques' as they are called. A breach of etiquette on my part? Revealing my name before the appointed hour?"

Phooush listens in silently, wondering why the Admiral is so talkative to this being. Something tingles in the rear of his brain. This being seems to have managed to bring down Shaar's surlyness with little more than a greeting. Hmmmm.....something is amiss.

"Admiral, there is something odd afoot. I advise caution." Shaar nods silently as she receives the telepathic message, and fixes both eyes on the princess. "I take it you are a being of import to your people, then. Very well. Anonymity is the watchword."

"Certainly you can." Was that an invitation? Hopes, Ingrid. Incoming jets. "That would also be enjoyable - see the sights and suchlike. I havenai had much of a chance to look about Devras yet, you ken - we flew in just yesterday evening."

Ingrid hesitated an instant - why, damnit, you're looking forward to rather more, nai? - and put her own arm around Isidra. "This is very nice."

Agwene shrugs. "It is no matter. Some peoples are more social than others, m'lady. However, you are both looking rather exquisite." She gazes up with interest at the large beings. "However, I could not help but notice that you seem to be keeping rather aloof. The point of a masque is to mingle with the other guests, under the cover of anomynity." She pauses, needlessly smoothing out her tunic. "Perhaps you would care to accompany me to the refreshments."

Eventually, after stalking the streets for some time and checking through various restaurants, they stopped in front of a ristorante called “Benvito’s”. Ithun pondered for a moment and led Angelina into the cozy establishment, with service personnel on constant alert to cater for the needs of the new arrivals. The pair was shown to a table for, obviously, two persons. And once they were seated, they were, as nobody would ever guess, gifted with menus! The Lieutenant ran the lists down and then pondered. “Per il vino… uhmm… qualcosa di proprio al paese.” The waiter nodded while Ithun looked back at the Lady: “Angelina, have you decided what food to take?” Running her gaze over the menu, she raised her eyes to his and smiled. “Why don’t you order something for the both of us? I’m so hungry I could eat practically anything at the moment.” She lowered the menu, and placed it closed in front of her. “And you speak the language so well, you will do the ordering more justice and I ever will.” Ithun only smiled back at her. “Your words honour me. Well, at least they honour my torturers of Officer Academy teachers.” He gave a quick glance at the waiter as he ordered some (who would have guessed?) local specialty pasta. The waiter noted it all down, nodded and took the menus away. Ithun glanced back at Angelina, grinning. “Well, I hope you don’t mind getting some fat.” Angelina shook her head and laughed. “I’ll just have to work it all off later.” She smiled and lowered her eyes to place setting and played absentmindedly with the fork, before returning her gaze to his. “I don’t need to guess that you are in the military.”

She flicked a loose strand of hair behind her ear that had been brushing against her face, as she frowned slightly. “So, the Academy was not a nice place to attend?” Ithun shook his head and smiled yet again. “It were the best years of my life. You see, in my country, even if you enter a Military Primary or Secondary School from the very tender age, you still must do a year as private in the army to later on progress on as officer, which is completely volountary, of course. So the Academy is what you civilian folks call University. Only that instead of ‘Gaudenamus’ we sing ‘Rise o Great Country!’” He chuckled to himself as the waiter appeared with a bucket of ice, a bottle of wine nested inside. Ithun glanced at the bottle and nodded. The waiter poured the drink into two glasses and left the bucket on a small carriage near the table. The officer took his glass up and chinked with Angelina. “To us!” He sipped some of the wine and put his glass down and then smiled back at his company. “My parents put me into a Military School when I was six. Actually, that is the same as a normal school only that you get extra physical exercise and various military lessons, such as tactics, strategy, et cetera. At eighteen I enrolled into active army and served in the Airborne, which I then left at nineteen to do the five years in University. And so at the age of twenty four I was already a Junior Lieutenant of the Taraskovyan Airborne.” He pondered for a moment. “The entire Taraskovyan educational system is very tough and the Academy was even more so… but I survived. And I really can’t say that I regret it.” Picking up her glass, Angelina did not raise it to her lips, instead she cradled it in her hands, as she listened to Ithun speak, engrossed in the story of his schooling, knowing that her own was nowhere near as interesting. “Well, you certainly worked harder for your education than I did. Private schooling all the way for me, and no extra exercise classes.” She took a sip of her wine. “Mmm, that’s nice.” She lowered it back onto the table as he shook his head. “La vie de César n’a point plus d’exemple que la nôtre pour nous. Montagne, ‘Of the Experience’. In other words – do not think that others have a more interesting history than you, for you will always find something interesting in your biography.” “For me to have something interesting to add, I’d have to do something worthwhile.” She looked at him and shook her head. “Not everyone leads overly interesting lives. I’m more than happy to do what I’m doing; have an uneventful life, and die happy surrounded by people who I love and who love me.” She smiled a little. “That doesn’t mean I don’t intend to have fun along the way, just I have no intention of doing anything outstanding.” He thought her words over for a moment, memories of the Plague breaking into his mind again. How he and a handful of men defended an already doomed position against the infested greatly superior in numbers… He only sighed. “Trust me, Angelina, sometimes it is maybe better to live an uneventful life than to do something outstanding…” He stopped in the middle of the phrase, clearly not wanting to continue.

“I wonder how long will the food take to arrive. My stomach would cry famine if it had the strength to do so.” He changed the subject. Angelina nodded her head and laughed lightly, knowing exactly how Ithun was feeling. She had not eaten anything for a while and her own stomach was beginning to think that she had forgotten it. “I hope it’s here soon, we still have partying to do.” She smiled as she raised her glass and held it up her mouth, her smile visible over the rim, as her eyes twinkled wicked. “A lot more partying to do.” He did not say anything and only admired her as she sipped her wine, that smile on her face and that fire in her eyes… At that moment the food arrived. Traditional spaghetti with some generous sauce. Ithun looked down at all the riches in front of him, and grinned. “Well, Angelina, bon appetit!” “Bon appetit!” She replied as she picked up her fork and spoon, twirling the spaghetti around then popped the first bite in her mouth, and chewed. “”Mmm, that’s delicious. A very good choice, I love bolognaise.” She expertly twisted some more strands and ate them, licking her lips between mouthfuls. Lowering her fork, she picked up her wine and took a sip, savouring the flavour. “How did you get chosen to attend the Coronation, or have you moved into diplomatic circles now?” Ithun tasted the spaghetti and sipped some of his wine before answering the question. “Well, you see, I graduated from the Academy with a diploma in international relations and seven foreign languages. As I’ve said, the Officer Academies are like Universities, in case somebody wants to retire early and can thus find a civilian job rather easily. I, for one, chose to continue with active service in the Airborne, was assigned to the 74th Division, one of the best there was.” He silenced for a second and then went on. “Due to certain of my… uhm… merits, if I may put it so, during the Plague, I have been chosen by the Ruling Council to integrate the Secretariat For Foreign Relations. Well, it is true that the Secretariat does not really do much; it only supervises the work of the Federal Ministry of Foreign Affairs. But since my nation and the Dominion do not really have any standing diplomatic relations, the Ruling Council chose it best to send in a couple of guys from the Secretariat to scout the ground.” He grinned as he bit into some more of his food, chewed it and sipped some more wine. “So I can say that I am here on a spying mission, spotting the ground. The future of any possible relations between the Federation and the Dominion will greatly rely on a report I and General Miloludov will compile upon our return.”

He pondered a moment, looking at his company. “And what led you to this event, if I may inquire?” Angelina finished chewing her food then lowered her fork, picking up her napkin, and brushed it across her lips before answering. “I finished university and followed in my father’s footsteps down the diplomatic path. I think I’m good with people.” She smiled at Ithun, as she spoke. “I guess due to my family’s standing, I got a good position, aid to a member of the Imperial family is nothing to moan about.” Picking up her glass, she took another sip, wetting her mouth. “I’m hoping to be given an ambassadorship in my own right, and get posted to some nation to aid the building of relations there. But until that time.” She smiled again. “I shall just have to practice on you.” He only grinned back. “Well, the prospect is most pleasing, I must admit.” He bit into some more of his food as his plate was emptying itself as if by magic and the glass by his side refilled by the waiter, emptied yet again and refilled yet an other time. As he was about to get done with his dish, he looked at Angelina, as if pondering. “Will you take some desert, Your Future Ambassadorshipness?” He said, grinning widely, making her laugh and shake her head. “I think I’ve had all the food I need. After all, I want to be able to dance and enjoy the rest of the evening.” She placed her fork on her plate, in the time honoured fashion that indicated she had finished. “Of course, if you want dessert, I’m sure I can manage a little.” Ithun only shook his head as he placed his fork down on the plate and called for the waiter, asking for the receipt. “Oh no, should I eat something more our craft will not be able to lift off when we leave.”

He smiled to her as he looked over the receipt enclosed into a leather cover. He nodded, put his card next to it and let the waiter wander off. “I have heard locals mention some wooden bridge somewhere around here. Would be interesting to see, in a city made of stone.” He smiled yet again as the waiter came back with the same cover. Ithun opened it, took out a pen, signed something and retrieved his card. Upon finishing all the required ceremonies he nodded to Angelina. “Unless you have other plans, of course?” “Let me see? A night out in Devras, sharing the scenery with you or…” She mock frowned, a smile still on her lips. “Spending the night having to listen to Lord Stratton?” She furrowed her brows some more, as if giving the decision some serious thought. “It’s a tough choice.” Suddenly her face lit up. “But the Bridge wins.” “Well then, good to hear that the Bridge wins!” He chuckled as he led her out of the restaurant and into the cool air outside. He looked from left to right, as if pondering. “I think the Bridge should be somewhere over there.” He said as he stretched his arm into a direction.

Looking in the direction he pointed, Angelina smiled and looped her arm through his, feeling comfortable in his presence. The wine she had drank breaking down any of the barriers that had been lingering. “It should be easy to find once we come across the river.” She tilted her head and looked at his profile. “And there is nothing as pleasing as a stroll by the river at night, in good company.” He looked at her smiling face, admiring her beauty yet again, himself feeling rather light after good food and good wine in company with a good girl. He moved his arm closer to his side, thus also bringing her closer to him and led her through the streets full of rather joyful locals, some of them not only joyful, but drunk! “Well, the locals seem to be quite happy. In my nation, with all the Russians around, you don’t really need a reason to throw in a party. The party comes first and the reason comes later.” He grinned as he remembered the good old days back at the Academy, his ‘yunker’ days alongside friends. Angelina looked at the other people enjoying themselves, not just those from the Dominion, but from all over, who had come to experience the atmosphere of a nation wide celebration. “It adds something to a city, kind of makes it more romantic.” She nestled against him as they walked, smiling happily. “Music in the air, lights dancing around the city, and everyone having fun. Who could ask for more?” “Me!” He answered joyfully as he suddenly whirled her around himself, laughing happily and led her off into a dance. “While we are at it, why not enjoy ourselves to the fullest, too? I really do not think I will be sent off to a party of this scale again anytime soon.” He said as his eyes devoured hers. Whirling around with him, her laughter ringing out, Angelina could not remember the last time she had felt this happy. “I concur. We should make the most of tonight.” She smiled, as she looked him deep in the eyes. “And let it lead us wherever it wants to go.” Her gaze was locked to his, as her voice faltered, falling low and serious. “So we both remember tonight as something special.”

Her eyes dipped down, as she looked longingly at his lips, before once again she smiled; the fun twinkling back in her gaze. He only smiled back at her as they danced through the streets, among the crowds. He finally let her go, whirling her one more time and position her to his right, this time his arm on her waist, holding her closely to him, leading her to their common destination. Her words were constantly in his head. Something special… yes, it truly was something special. As his arm slipped around her waist, she felt a shiver run over her body, not brought on by the cold, but by the good feeling that filled her. She pressed herself closer to him, her own arm slipping around his back, in a mirror imaged. They continued on towards the Bridge, neither speaking, just walking in silence, as words were not needed to show how they were feeling, being in each other’s company was enough.

And so they walked through the joyful streets, the stars shining brightly in the sky. Both plunged into their own thoughts and yet their thoughts were the same. They did not speak a word until they reached the old wooden bridge. “Ponte del Galetto” Ithun read on the sign. They walked onto the bridge, getting into the middle of it, water below them, illuminated by the moon and the stars, the dark waves sparkling with silver. Slipping out of his embrace, the scene stealing her breath away, Angelina walked over to the side, and leant her hands on the balustrade, looking out over the river, the lights and the moon reflecting, casting a million diamonds over its surface. “Ithun, it’s wonderful.” She looked back over her shoulder, smiling at him as he walked towards her. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” As she turned back to admire the view, a mix of excitement and the cooling night air caused her to shiver. He walked up slowly towards her from behind, smiling mysteriously as thoughts ran through his mind. He admired her grace and her beauty, her hair that seemed to be made of the purest silver under the light of the stars. He felt that he was carried away, that one more step and he’ll be lost. And he made a step towards her, getting closer to her. His heart was beating harder than it ever had, his breath was irregular. He saw her shiver and smiled, taking his black officer jacket off and setting it upon her shoulders, covering her, his hands remaining on her shoulders as he got even nearer. Feeling the weight of the jacket being placed on her shoulders, Angelina smiled, and pulled it around her, enjoying the closeness of the man, who was standing just behind her, his hand resting on her body. Turning slowly, she moved in his arms until she was facing him, her eyes filled with something unmistakable. “Thank you.”

She raised her hand and gently caressed his cheek, sliding her fingers over his skin until they reached his lips, tracing their shape. Her hand dropped, as she brought it to rest on his chest, her gaze never once leaving his. Tilting her head slightly, she began to lean closer to him, her lips barely millimetres away from his. He felt her breath upon his face as he leant slightly forwards, his burning lips touching hers. His right arm circled her, caressing her back as his left one caressed her cheek and placed itself behind her head. He brought her against himself, his hands caressing her from behind as he tasted her lips slowly at first and with growing passion, losing himself entirely in her, ceasing to exist, only the taste of her lips on his and her shivering body in his arms, the beating of her heart as he held her tightly against his chest, as she slipped her arms around his body, pressing herself against him. No longer bothered by the cold or anything else that what happening around her, she threw herself into the kiss; tender at first, the passion growing with each lingering moment, until time seemed to cease, the world nothing more than a background to the way they felt as their lips caressed.

Finally pulling back, she looked into his eyes. Her gaze was tinged with surprise and delight. Although she could feel something between them, she was unsure whether he had felt it too; the kiss had done more than prove to her that he did. She stood for a moment unable to speak, not sure what to say, or do, other than stare at him, her fingers still resting against his chest as he stroke her hair one more time, not saying a word, too scared of ruining the moment. No words were needed as they stood in silence, looking each other into the eyes. He still felt the taste of her lips, her body against his and his lust for her was only increasing with each heartbeat. He smiled at her simply and sincerely, without any artifice or hidden though, and finally dared to break the silence after a good moment of it. “Well, Angelina, I think that we have just signed an alliance treaty, speaking in Diplomatish.” “Perhaps we should just make sure that it’s properly signed.” She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling, as she moved her hand from his chest and placed it lightly on his neck. “Just to make sure we haven’t missed anything.” She pulled him towards her, once again claiming his mouth in a kiss, this one full of desire. And yet again he felt her heart against his, beating in disorder, her body his arms. He kissed her passionately, biting her lips gently. Finally, he broke the kiss, putting his fingers gently on her mouth and looking her into the eyes, smiling. “I think some ratification is in order now.”

Angelina frowned slightly. “You want to leave the sights already?” She broke into a large grin, as she moved her hand again, and took hold of his, her fingers intertwining with his. “Lead the way. And don’t spare the horses.” “I obey the Lady’s command.” He said, bowing slightly, putting his arm around her waist and leading her off into the direction of the Piazza. They walked quickly, as if both flew on the wings of the wind. Several times on the road one of them pulled the other closer and they shared yet an other passionate kiss. Time seemed to have vanished and none of them even noticed as they finally made it back to the security perimeter outside of the Piazza San Bernardi. The two presented their ID cards and were allowed in. “I wonder how will Miloludov react if he spots me.” Ithun grinned as he looked at all of the masked delegates walking around. “I say we try to sneak into the Doge’s Palace unseen. Of course, for that we’d need to get out of the crowds” He laughed as he led her through the crowd of costumed people. They were the two with no costumes and no masks and, frankly, Ithun did not really care much what others thought of him.

Angelina, however, tried to slip through the crowds unseen, keeping her head down, not wanting to be spotted by Lord Stratton. The last thing she wanted was to put off her plan with Ithun, and although she could have sworn that she had seen him during the passage through the party, she was sure he had not laid eyes on her. She pulled her arm tightly around him, not wanting to become separated in the throng. And he held her close to him, making sure she would not go further than half a toddler’s step away from him, as he literally flew through the crowd, surely not wanting to be spotted by Miloludov. Not that he risked much, but he would have to explain where he was and what was he doing and how is the city and what are the local folks and the local customs and… He suddenly spotted the red robe of a Strelets in the crowd. Miloludov’s Adjutant in his costume was looking at the pair. Ithun brought the big finger of his free hand to his throat and made a quite explicit motion as if slitting the neck with a knife. The adjutant nodded and turned to look elsewhere. The Lieutenant grinned as they burst into the Doge’s Palace. “Well, I think we are out of danger now.” He smiled as he inquired the local staff about his room. The young woman sighed with relief once they had made it through the ball. She stood silently, trying to get her breath back as they were given directions to Ithun’s room. Making their way down the corridors, she turned to the man whose arms she felt very comfortable in. “Are you sure you are allowed girls in your dorm?” She grinned feeling a little like a naughty school girl, though relishing every minute of it. Angelina had not thought coming to the Dominion that something like this would happen, she had envisioned nothing more than attending the coronation then having more than a little too much to drink. She was not foolish or naive, and knew that this kind of thing happened, and she was sure she would not be the only person to wake up in another’s bed, but she really had not expected it to happen to her. Smiling happily to herself, she nestled closer to Ithun; an excitement rushing over her body, as she knew there was nowhere else she would rather be, and no one else she would rather be with.

Her company only smiled back at her as he opened the door to his room, leading her in. He did not see the room before; he did not even know if it was a suite or a room! He did not really care, for he immediately took her into his arms, the jacket he gave her falling on the floor. He kissed her passionately on the lips as he also took care of her own little jacket beneath… And as he took her into the kiss, her own hands were already working desperately on the buttons of his shirt, a hunger burning through her body. She barely noticed whether the door had been closed behind them, nor did it bother her that they were standing in the darkness. She had one thing on her mind, and she needed neither bit of information to perform the task. Popping open the final fastening, she slipped her hands under the material, her fingers touching his bare flesh, tracing the contours of his body, leaving no doubt about his fitness. Sliding her hands up, she pushed his shirt down his arms, until it joined her jacket on the floor.

He shivered as he felt her burning fingers against his own burning flesh, his own fingers already making their way through the buttons of her shirt, his lips already sliding down her neck. Finally her garment suffered the fate of its colleagues already on the floor as he picked her up and carried her off to somewhere. He did not know where the bedroom was, his lips too busy with her lips, her neck, her shoulders, his eyes too busy devouring every cell of her body. It was, thus, no mystery that they at first ended up in the bathroom, where her bra was left to hang on the shower. He pressed her against the wall, his lips touching every bit of her body he could reach without letting her go from his grasp. The cool wall against her back made her murmur against his mouth, something that could have been ‘I don’t think this is the bedroom’, but as her lips were busily pressed against his, it would have been hard for him to tell for sure. She ran her hands over his skin, not finding it smooth, but rough. And although it was a surprise at first, she knew that people who when into battle usually brought mementos back with them, and not all of them might be nice.

He kissed her neck, her chin, her forehead, went below the neck to return to the shoulders as he carried her out of the bathroom into some opening in the wall. It was dark, and although his Taraskath inheritance did allow him to see better in the dark than the common of mortals, he did not actually even care to look around. Finally, he tripped over something and they fell onto something very wide and soft, not to say comfy. ‘I think we have finally found the bed’ he murmured as his lips made their way down from her neck, exploring every bit of her body, going lower and lower, his hands pulling her skirt off.

Laughing as they landed, Angelina reached out and touched the object they were lying on. “I think you might be right.” She once again found him in the darkness, and began to fiddle with the fastenings on his trousers. “But, we’ll make do even if it isn’t.” Her urgency was conveyed in her voice and in her actions.

It was not before he felt himself free of the bonds of clothes and he made her feel the same way. He kissed her legs, resting for a moment between them and then went on with his journey up, yet again kissing and biting tenderly every single cell of her skin on his way up to her lips, which he covered passionately.

He could feel her legs wrap his body, her hands on his back, her burning body against his one aching with lust. Ithun made the first move and time ceased to exist.

The Ballroom

The silver king of the Greater Kindred of the Kantrishakrim mills easily near the refreshments, taking in the surroundings. Despite lacking the size of the fictional Kantri, the dragon stands easily, at once relaxed and yet poised for sudden motion, the light striking bright glimmers from his silvered hide.

The winged Keeper, face obscured by his veil, opts to wander aimlessly about, taking extreme care not to step on anyones' elaborate costuming with his taloned feet, and careful not to smack anybody with the adorned wings visible through his robes.

"Refreshments sound ideal. If you would pardon my escort, audible speech is not capable to his people's strain of our genus. Their stories tell this is the price they pay for having certain 'talents'. And my esteemed colleague does not take liberties in communicating in the way his people do with others not of the genus. It is quite disconcerting to some." Phooush nods his head slowly, with both sets of eyelids closing one after the other in a layering effect.

"As for mingling, it is not my forte. The eyes of the enemies of the Empire are everywhere, and I keep watch for them at all times." The refreshment station comes into Shaar's field of view behind the mass of people mingling, carousing and over all having a good time behind their guises. Some more than others as not-so-subtle overtures of an ellicit nature are suggested on the dancing floor.

"And my gratitude for your compliment on our guises. It took some time for us to decide how to cover ourselves, and the Fire Salamander idea seemed appropo." From within the irisdescent crimson cloaks covering their bodies, both Shaar and Phooush reach out clawed, scaly hands to clasp goblets of a dark red wine. "Perhaps sending the diplomatic corps to this would have been a better idea, but I have personal reasons for being here. On top of it being an order from the Emperor."

Phooush, in the meanwhile, has been observing silently, when a thought hits him. "Admiral, I suspect we are in the company of one who could rank with a Scion of the Pantheon. This is only a guess, but it's the best I could do wothout closer scrutiny."

Dancing happily with Yvonne, Carlos looks about at the crowd of masked people and smiles behind his mask, his hands tightening their grip on Yvonne's waist. "A very wonderful night isnt it?" He asks her softly as they dance, her soft laugh the only answer.

Taking her hand he leads her towards the drink section of the get to gether, and leans heavily on the table before ordering a scotch for himself and a wine for her. Looking over his shoulder he spots Lidric sitting at a table, watching the dancers intently, his eyes shining behind the ridiculous mask.

"He's going to be a great man some day." He comments to himself as he collects their drinks and the two parents head over to the table and sit with their son, his masked face nodding to them happily.

"Enjoying yourself m'boy?" Carlos asks and gets a nod in return, laughing he pats his son on the head and leans back in his chair, watching the gathered people enjoy the night and listening contently to the music playing.

Agwene takes a glass of wine, sipping it delicately. "If you have security concerns, then I suppose I must yield to them. I don't suppose either of you dances?"

And the camera stayed over there so as to make fluid time manipulations as painless as possible.

Marcus smiled at the satyress hanging from his arm, "Well... thank you. I try to keep my manners about me." He grinned, "I would hate to think I have offended you, even if I insisted on keeping my shirt on."

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

"It's a pity," Isidra snuggled a little closer as she felt Ingrid's arm around her shoulder, "the city is really quite beautiful. You've only just seen this small little section?" She smiled, "It's quite a bit more involved. There's some lovely canals, museums, cafes, anything you could imagine, and all of it's been done with class."

She sighed, "As opposed to home. All steel and concrete there. No... soul." She grinned again, "Devras, on the other hand, is quite the... romantic city."

"You'll have to show me around, then. 'Tis not much like Ctessangard, back home - that burnt down in the eighteenth century, so 'tis mostly brick and stone in the old quarters."

"Ctessangard? That your home town?" She hesitated, "I'd... I'd love to see it. Um... if I'm in the area of course," she finished lamely. Still nervious? Jeeze... what am I? In high school?

Audible coughing comes from beneath Shaar's costume, as a high-pitched whistling comes from Phooush. It almost sounds like a laugh. After much blustering and composure-gaining, Shaar manages to speak again.

"Well, for us, the dance is reserved for ..... coupling rituals. We've become accustomed to seeing others dance, as we know for them it is entertainment, exercise and so on. For us, it is....well.....hrrrmmm. Let's just say I would be the talk of the Empire." She downs the goblet of wine and refills it.

Mephet’ran had entered the masquerade of course, though he had made a point of letting Sirithil depart on her own for the duration. By now his dress was somewhat changed to an ancient, unbelievably so, mythological figure called Halan, a sun god. The outfit he wore was now a brilliant mix of silver and gold robes hanging off his form, with a rather intimidating mask that seemed metallic, flowing from place to place, moving within a crimson frame, textures akin to stylised stars and planets and moons, falling leaves or flying animals appearing, fading, or moving across it. He paused, sensing a presence in the milieu of snatched that he had felt before. Extending his senses a little, he narrowed it down. Changing direction gracefully, like a yacht tacking in the wind, he walked over to Annika, and smiled, practically the only part of him visible around the metallic mask, “Hello,” he said, refraining from adding ‘child’ as had been his first instinct, “would you care to dance?”

The reploid raises an eyebrow at Maile's comment, hope of getting some action sometime during the evening rekindled. "I will keep my eyes open, m'lady."

With a wink and a brief curtsy, "Pat" goes to the door. "I am terribly sorry I am something I cannot change m'lord." This is addressed to Alkanphel. "I hope you enjoy your evening."

With a sweep of skirts, the reploid carefully exits the room of ill repute and makes tracks for the quarters given to the Shogunate delegation to get changed into costume.

The reploid raises an eyebrow at Maile's comment, hope of getting some action sometime during the evening rekindled. "I will keep my eyes open, m'lady."

With a wink and a brief curtsy, "Pat" goes to the door. "I am terribly sorry I am something I cannot change m'lord." This is addressed to Alkanphel. "I hope you enjoy your evening."

With a sweep of skirts, the reploid carefully exits the room of ill repute and makes tracks for the quarters given to the Shogunate delegation to get changed into costume.

Alkanphel snorts. "It's bad enough she worked for the Shogunate," he notes, plucking the gloves off his hands. "Still, I suppose it's my fault at least in part," he adds with a snicker. "This has progressed rather...quickly, I must admit." His eyes fly from the door to Maile as the reploid makes 'her' exit, and he stands.

"Well then," he starts with a snicker. "I guess this just means you get all the more attention now, hmm?"

Agwene blushes faintly, turning her gaze downwards demurely. "A coupling ritual? I suppose such a thing would be rather intimate for the occasion." She arches a brow as she gazes around the room, qualifying her remark. "...for official diplomats, at least." With a light smile, she inclines her head. "We shall speak again."

After leaving the delegates from Sakkra, Agwene makes her way over towards the man dressed as a sungod. "Why, sir, it is a rare honor to see a god at a ball, even such a glorious one as this."

Maile smiles, rolling over on the bed. "I suppose it does, at that. However, I have been waiting to tell you something, m'lord. I do not truly work for the Princess."

"Yai, 'tis. Actually, I was born and raised in Raetlani, but mine Da and I moved in to Ctessie when I hit the upper school, and when I went to Uni I stayed there when he moved back to the farm. Been there ever since.

"Perhaps you could come see it sometime ... I'd love to show you 'round."

A low bow is offered to Agwene by Shaar. "Of course, Lady." She watches as the Princess makes her exit. Whispering low to the Major, she casts a baleful eye at him. "Not a word of this. To anyone. Ever."

More whistling sounds come from Phooush's nostrils. "Why, Admiral! I am no gossip. Although several periodicals would have quite a time with this one." Louder whistling sounds now, as the Major's costume visibly shakes from laughter. "I can see it now. Admiral engages in courtship ritual with mysterious female of another species. Offspring chances low, say bet-hedgers."

"Rrrrrr! Enough of that. Let's see what other 'surprises' these guests have to offer." She casts her eyes about the drink station.

The silver dragon with the green gem in its faceplate approaches the costumed Sakkrans on all fours, the creature almost flowing across the floor with a liquid grace. "Greetingsss." It bobs its head in a sinuous variation of a bow, tone indicating a great deal of mirth barely held in check. "It isss good to sssee I am not the only non-Gedri attending tonight."

The dragon shifts stance slightly, weight borne mostly by its sturdy hind legs. "Until the midnight hour, I am Khordeshkhistriakhor, sssilver king of the Greater Kindred of the Kantrishakrim." It chuckles, a sort of hissing laugh, winking. "Though if that isss too hard on the tongue, Akhor will sssuffice. You and yoursss are doing well, I asssssume?"

"We see. Humans, unfortunately, are seldom so efficiently colour-coordinated, and we find it necessary to assign them on an individual basis. We assume, given your stated position on genetic engineering, that the norms developed through an ordainary evolutionary process of adaption to conditions?"
The Red slowly taps her antennae together, then chuckles softly. "In short, yes. The interior of Alpha, and its various conditions dependent on what roles one plays aboard a generational colony ship, is good for that kind of thing. It would stand to reason that those in... freer biomes would be better at mixing or what have you."