Where Everything Happens [IC; ATTN: New RPers]

[Maltropia]

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Info, Sign-ups & OOC Thread Here

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A flurry of static and high-pitched screeching alerted the thousands of people milling about that there was about to be an announcement. Despite the importance it carried for well over a hundred men and women, the vast majority of people ignored it as speakers throughout the huge building sprang back into life for the millionth time that day.

"Would passengers Ez-ra Donn-ell-y and Tho-mas Mc-In-tyre flying aboard Aer Maltrópa flight AM204 to Peace Valley please make their way to Gate 3. That's Ez-ra Don-nel-ly and Thom-as Mc-Int-yre. Thank you."

Almost nobody cared as the message leaped suddenly into their lives and, as spontaneously, departed again. Everyone going to the Aurora Confederacy was already on that flight, aside from those two delayed men, so who of the thousands of inadvertent listeners was concerned? They had their own places to be, be it sitting about and drinking a coffee or staring blankly at televisions announcing yet another flight delay. The patient people - and a few impatient ones - seated everywhere ignored everything except one in a dozen proclamations, as the click-click-click of wheeled baggage and the crying of young children engulfed the stuffy air.

This was Aerfort Chorcaí Nua, "Gateway to Paradoxia".

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Somewhere in the immeasurable crowd shuffling past the check-in desks, two flustered men were rapidly perusing the flight lists and trying to track down a gate number. Every time they caught sight of the sought-after destination, it would flick away and be replaced by a flight to Mizialand or ViZion or Auremena and the younger man would kick his small suitcase.

"This stii-uuuupid airport can't just tell us where to go, can it?" he growled frustratedly. "I mean seriously, we've been looking for -"

He was cut off by his companion, a man maybe three years his elder, elbowing him sharply in the ribs. "Shuddup and listen," he said sternly, just in time to catch the flight number and the rest of the only useful announcement of the day.

McIntyre's mouth slowly widened to a gape. "Tha... that's us!" He pivoted to face the air just vacated by Donnelly, gaped for maybe two more seconds, and took off after him at a run, dodging among groups of other perplexed passengers and leaping over abandoned luggage.

No one cared. They had better things to do.

[Taurenor]

Anemosi Labunda was lost.

The Freemasonic Foreign Council was not really an institution one must underestimate, for its constant daily activities expressibly forbid the wanton inflexibility associated with most senior diplomats. Rumours were spread of Councillor Higginsen's timidity with 'slackers' who should be 'put into their place' and 'brought to bear for their callousness'. And Labunda was certainly included in that very long list of 'slackers', for he was the appointed consul of the Association to the government of Maltropia.

The man's experienced was admired, and it was that very experience - serving the office of previous senior diplomats - that the single, successful bachelor - if not quite an old bachelor at that - was able to climb up the chain of Association hierarchical pyramid with such an astonishing speed. And even up to this very day that he continually lavished this luxurious lifestyle of him, and him alone.

But why should I care... right? the man thought, standing beside that attractive Maltropian receptionist across the departure gate. Left hand holding an Aer Maltrópa boarding pass, right hand adjusting his brown coat, the future Aurenorian plenipotentiary walked closer; chin upward, confident expression a natural attraction of him, and only him alone. Approaching the receptionist, he extended his right hand to allow for the scanning of the pass. The receptionist was gullible, of course, for such would be the fact of life itself.

And without further ado, he smiled.

"Greetings, most pleasurable day...?"

[Maltropia]

The receptionist at the desk found herself smiling inanely as the man approached, boarding pass in hand. What it was in him that had sparked this, this.. giddiness was beyond her, but there was definitely something about Labunda that was pleasantly reassuring.

"A lovely afternoon sir, absolutely stunning," she found herself saying - a distinct change from her habitual boarding passes? boarding passes? that most passengers received. "I am sooo sorry for the mix-up with the flights. A goat got onto the runway - God knows how it got there - so they had to land the plane on the wrong runway and then they couldn't find a gate free because they were rewiring the normal gate and have been since last Tuesday would you believe - I'll take that pass there, thanks - oooh, a diplomat, sorry sir. Please, go ahead. Enjoy your flight to Argensborough."

She coughed politely and turned slowly towards the next passenger, ready to snatch his boarding pass.

[New Waterford]

Hans was in Terminal C, at the check-in for a flight to Cathair na Naomh. He stood out from the rest of the passengers in his Lederhosen and Bollenhut. When he reached the front of the queue, he couldn't understand what the attractive young woman at the check-in were saying. Iompar na Nua Phort Láirge hand-picked adolescent New Waterfordian females of a, er, certain posture, but unfortunately or Hans, none of them were fluent in German. While German was an official language in New Waterford, it was still in the minority, with very little education on the subject in the national curriculum. Whenever the girl tried to ask Hans for his boarding pass, he replied with "Ich kenne kein Englisch," "Ich spreche kein Irisch" and the like. Eventually, the girl managed to ask him, in broken German, for his boarding pass and passport with the assistance of a conveniently placed German dictionary, and Hans was on his way to the gate.

[Taurenor]

The receptionist at the desk found herself smiling inanely as the man approached, boarding pass in hand. What it was in him that had sparked this, this.. giddiness was beyond her, but there was definitely something about Labunda that was pleasantly reassuring.

Labunda awaited the reaction which he had expected to come as wanting, and certainly he was not the so-called archetypal Association 'gentleman' portrayed by the latest Freemasonic political journal. She looked exactly like the penultimate plaything that he would have thought of coming from previous similar experience. Straightening his coat with amusement, the plenipotentiary candidate of the Association was certainly - and for the most gullible - a stereotypical man of dignity, and though tempting as it was to further his bait, he could not but found her - in comparison to his previous significant others - as lacking.

"A lovely afternoon sir, absolutely stunning,"

"Indeed a fine day it has been... and thank you", Labunda blindly ignored her words, for she was not the loose fish he thought she would be, after all. And perhaps the archetypal stereotype was right, in a sense. He was a man of dignity, if not restrained by conscience and obligation.

She coughed politely and turned slowly towards the next passenger, ready to snatch his boarding pass.

And Labunda politely, and slowly, grabbed the pass back.

He walked at a dignified pace befitting that of his place, looking straight and eyes locked, to look for his plane.

It was an economic class flight too.

But why should I care... right?

[Cicunda]

A tall, buff-looking woman approached the line for the front desk. She stood out considerably, not just for her size, but her facial markings that covered most of her face. She was at the end of the seemingly never ending line holding her small suitcase in her right arm, searching in it for her purse. She pulled it out, and placed it in her pocket closing the zip on the bag again. It wasn't often she travelled, but her new business plan meant that she had to explore her options, and this was only one of the many stops she'd have to do.

After a while the line seemed to have all moved their seperate ways. Between all the discussion and crowding in the airport, she was zoning out considering if the airport would be a nice place for her business. She walked up to the ticket booth, and glanced gently at the desk staff. "Hello, my name's Brodie Davidson, I would like to book a ticket for the next flight please, here's my ID." she handed over numerous documents to the staff that had her ID on it.

She grabbed her ticket and proceeded towards security.

[Tryienne]

(t)

[Maltropia]

The vast sea of preoccupied people moved in waves throughout Terminal C, most of its volume heading slowly but inexorably towards the gates where they would then depart. Most of this crowd was moving at roughly the same speed, but in places there were stationary groups or rushing people. Among this number were Ezra Donnelly and Thomas McIntyre, racing to catch the last flight of the day to Peace Valley, and utterly heedless of the people in their way.

For the most part, the crowd simply parted to make room while the two Maltropians darted through the gaps that formed. Unfortunately for them, one hapless foreigner, totally lost in this impersonal place, was too busy trying to decipher the multilingual signs, none of which made use of a language he spoke. Oblivious to the collision course he was on, Thomas found himself bearing down rapidly on Hans, the German-speaking New Waterfordian, and stopped a second too late. The pair fell to the ground while the crowd reformed around them to observe this strange situation. Ezra, who had fallen behind the heedless Thomas, arrived on the scene moments later.

[Cicunda]

Brodie approached Terminal C after going through security. She could see a dense crowd of people gathered off in the distance, noticable even through the largely over-capacity crowd that was in the terminal. Size was definatly an advantage in this situation, as she had a higher view above the crowd instead of looking into the thousands of people passing by. She approached the dense group of people, swerving her way inside to see what the comotion was. Two men were laying on the floor, one shouting in a foreign language and another being assisted by a person. Brodie walked over to the foreign speaking man and held out her hand to offer him a lift up, without saying a word, but instead smiling at the man.

[New Waterford]

"Maltropisch Schwein! Passen Sie doch auf!"
Hans looked up to see Brodie holding out her hand. He gasped. His pupils dilated. His heart fluttered like a butterfly. He was in love.
"Ah, d-danke schön, F-Fräulein."
He seemed to forget the little incident with Thomas. Instead he was entranced by Brodie's build, her fair hair and her eyes, oh her eyes...
He wasn't bothered by the markings on her face. After all, love is blind. He then asked her:
"Sprechen Sie D-Deutsch?"

[Cicunda]

The man just laid there, speaking in a language unknown to Brodie. She caught a glimpse of his face, which had the expression that she had only seen in romance movies on the plane. Her smile grew into a grin, and she slightly giggled at the man's awkward speech. She heard a few words that had reminded her of a language she partially learnt on another trip. She crouched down to the mans level, and looked him in the eyes. "Ich spreche nicht sehr gut Deutsch..." Brodie didn't know German very well, let alone speaking it, but had to learn general terms as part of her job, where she had to deal with many different languages. "Sprechen Sie Englisch?"

[Maltropia]

Ezra dragged Thomas to his feet and berated him in Irish.

"You eejit you, look what you've done."

Thomas looked at Hans. It didn't look like he'd done anything wrong.

"What d'you mean? I've helped two people discover true love!" A quick glance at his companion revealed that Ezra still didn't approve. "It's no good apologising anyway, Ezra, I've no idea what language he's speaking."

"Your one speaks English," noted Ezra, unconvinced.

"That doesn't matter - he doesn't."

Ezra's argument died on his lips as the airport tannoy once again cut through the air like a rusty chainsaw. Once again, their names were being called. The two men glanced at each other and ran.

[Meranthya]

Gustaf was hurrying to the gate, dragging a small bag, filled with his necessities, after him.
"Ich borde verkligen skynde mig nu, dags att steigen på das flyg."
He was speaking in the unique language of Meranthyan, a Germanic language. It was more of a mix between the already existing Germanic languages and it truly was a strange language.
"Und var ist min gate?"
He walked quicker and quicker, looking around himself for his gate number. Gustaf was hurrying so much he didn't notice Hans and Brode infront of him. Unlucky for them all, Gustaf tripped when his bag hit his heel, and he flew right into both Hans and Brodie.
He cramped on the floor, sighing for himself.
"Sorry, I'm so very sorry... By the Gods, this is a bad day for me..."

[Stattr]

Star was in the captains lounge of the airport finishing up her brunch. That was. Breakfast and lunch. She smiled to herself and bowed at some of the other captains and got ready. She let her hair down quickly and then let her bands which she quickly moved off to the side down and the short hair of her back up in a ponytail. She then put her hat on and left. She arrived at the plane and walked up the steps and smiled at Labunda and just took her cap and moved it down slghtly in greeting. She then motioned herself next to her.

"How goes it Labunda?" She then looked around the cabin and smiled again slightly. She never really smiled all that much, due to her past history. She then thought of her training and shook her head and shivered at a thought that popped into her head. See, star wasn't just a person. She was more of an alien, with her pale skin and shallow eyes. Her frame skinny, but looking strong. Her long thin fingers and legs. She shrugged uncomfortably at the thought that came again and nodded her hat in a goodbye way and headed to the front of the plane and took her seat as main pilot and made sure the radio worked and everything else, not starting up the plane just yet.

[Cicunda]

Just as Brodie had finished her question to Hans, there was a sudden crash as another man tripped and fell into them. Brodie lost her balance and fell beside Hans, taking the oppurtunity to check him out. He was a very handsome guy, not something Brodie had thought often about foreigners. She heard the man's apologies but took little attention off what she was seeing. "That's... fine..."

[Maltropia]

As the situation on Terminal C's floor developed, the crowd assembling around it grew large enough to fill several CCTV cameras. Accordingly, airport security decided they should check it out, and a Garda* walked over with heavy tread. The horde shifted to make room for this authority, who pushed his way through the turbulent sea and attempted to disperse them.

"Imigí, daoine, le bhur dtoil. Imigí, imigí, níl rud ar bith le feiscint anseo." Most of the crowd spoke Irish and understood his fairly bland orders; for those many foreigners who were not of Maltropian blood - which, unusually, included the entire incident - he continued in English. "Go on, scram. Nothing to see here." He reached the heap of people on the ground and, stern and imposing, looked down at them from above.

"Anois, cad í an fhadhb?" he asked, completely unaware of the language barrier separating him from most of the pile.



* Garda = Maltropian policeman, from the Irish.

[Felix Terra]

A young woman, followed by two guards, walked into the airport. She was tall, thin, white and had short black hair and blue eyes. She was wearing a corporate-looking suit and glasses. She looked rushed, as if stressed. She looked like the perfect businesswoman.

But she wasn't. She was much more than that.

She was Ashley Perkins, Supreme Chancellor of the United Republic of Felix Terra...

[Meranthya]

"Erh... What?" Gustaf looked up at the guard, seemingly confused by this language.
"English?" He did know many languages, but not this one. This was surely an awkward situation.
He pushes himself up and tidied himself. He picked up his bag, fixed his tie and looked at the guard.
"Well, I have no time for this. I'm in a rush."
The man quickly skidded away towards his gate number when suddenly...
"Who's that? Seems very similar..."

[New Waterford]

As the situation on Terminal C's floor developed, the crowd assembling around it grew large enough to fill several CCTV cameras. Accordingly, airport security decided they should check it out, and a Garda* walked over with heavy tread. The horde shifted to make room for this authority, who pushed his way through the turbulent sea and attempted to disperse them.

"Imigí, daoine, le bhur dtoil. Imigí, imigí, níl rud ar bith le feiscint anseo." Most of the crowd spoke Irish and understood his fairly bland orders; for those many foreigners who were not of Maltropian blood - which, unusually, included the entire incident - he continued in English. "Go on, scram. Nothing to see here." He reached the heap of people on the ground and, stern and imposing, looked down at them from above.

"Anois, cad í an fhadhb?" he asked, completely unaware of the language barrier separating him from most of the pile.



* Garda = Maltropian policeman, from the Irish.

Hans looked up to the Garda officer, dazed and confused.
"Offizer, ich spreche kein Irisch. Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"
He then offered his New Waterfordian passport as a form of identification.

[Maltropia]

The Garda continued to stand forbiddingly as Gustaf picked himself up and excused himself, and shook his head as Hans spoke German. While he didn't speak German, a sufficiently large minority spoke it in Maltropia that he recognised it. He accepted the proffered passport, and flipped through the pages. Most of it was in Irish, so he quickly learned the man's origin. He just couldn't connect it with Hans' German-speaking, failing to realise that, if there were German speakers in Maltropia, there could be some in other countries too.

He shook his head again, this time more sternly, and said, "I'd like to check this passport. Come with me please."

[Cicunda]

Brodie lifted herself from the floor, grabbing her bag on her way up. She walked towards her gate, and sat down, drinking a bottle of water. She watched all the people who scrambled past. Not only Maltropians but all kinds of nationalities. She saw a young looking woman being followed by two men in suits. Brodie stood up, and approached the men, feeling that they were suspicious with the woman. She stood in their path, glancing down at them.

[New Waterford]

While he didn't understand the language the officer spoke, Hans could tell by the officer's tone of voice that something was up. He decided instinctively to follow the officer.
Meanwhile, another New Waterfordian was searching the flights board for his flight to Cathair na Naomh. At that moment, two men, one in police uniform and the other in Lederhosen, walked past him. He recognised the Lederhosen as traditional dress in the German-speaking region of New Waterford, and assumed the man wearing it was a fellow citizen. Wondering why a New Waterfordian citizen would be escorted by a Maltropian Garda, he decided to intervene.
"Er, Officer, may I be of assistance?"

[Miskito Coast]

Zende Yaa, stood in a line outside the terminal, cars approached, people got out. Businessmen, tourists, a woman shouting at her kids, a celebrity or two. He had just seen a face he recognized, some politician from tv. Politics was another world to Zende. He lived only for today, with what he earned that’s all he could do.

He looked along the line; twenty or so faces stared back at him, a mix of all races and nationalities, all poor, all with nothing better in life. Why else would anyone be an airport porter. This was his 12th hour of work, he could go home earlier, he doubted anyone would notice or care but he needed the tips. He had been sick earlier in the month and was behind with his rent. Rest could come later.

Zende was not sure how old he was or when was his birthday. He had no papers, no passport, technically he did not exist. He knew his body found it harder to stand all day and the grey hairs speckled through his black hair gave him away despite his muscular build.

He gazed around the terminal, some random strangers finding love, the Gardai were escorting some poor sod away. A bump from behind forced him to turn his eyes back to the line. The porter behind him mumbled something in a foreign language. They were all younger than him. Recently he had found himself wondering about the future. How much longer could he do this job, he had no savings and no education. What would he do when the time came. He needed one big payoff.

Finally he arrived at the top of the line, just as a car was stopping outside the terminal. He rushed forward, “Porter, Porter”

[Meranthya]

Gustaf walked quickly up to this recognizable person.
Howver, so had Brodie.
"Chancellor Perkins! Good to see you!"
Gustaf wasn't the usual Meranthyan business man that used to come here.
He was one of the Dukes of Meranthya, out on diplomatic missions.
"Not too long ago we saw eachother, now was it?"

[Felix Terra]

"Ah, Gustaf! I don't I've seen you in a while. My memory might be fuzzy though, a lot has been going on lately."

The Chancellor's memory was indeed fuzzy. She had attended many banquets and drank lots of wine...