A Summer Rite (Open Party RP)

[Roania]

The first days of summer in the Radiant Empire are the Rain of Flowers, a week-long holiday and celebration with fetes and fairs. The very first day of summer, though, is the day of the Peach Ceremony, where the nobility of the Empire first flock to their favorite orchards and have the first fresh peaches of the season. The most important of these, though, is the Imperial Peach Welcoming Ceremony, this year to be led by the Illumined Princess, Asen NaiLin. The holiday this year coincides with her obtaining the age of majority, and the Present Empress upon the Throne and Her Consort, Duke Selevar, have issued an invitation in her name to the nobility of the empire, the ambassadors, and other grandees of the galaxy.

[Roania]

Princess Nailin was undoubtedly a fascinating sight. Her skin was pale, almost translucent; those portions of it that were revealed to the sky almost glowed in the light of the lanterns. Above the rest, she wore a traditional dress that hung to her lower thighs, concealing but not hiding the beauty of her torso; the delicate curves of her bosom and hips, the graceful roundness of her shoulders. Upon what were undoubtedly fine, delicate feet she wore two slippers, evidence of a life spent in avoidance of all obstacles that may have blocked her path. Her dark eyes gleamed, and her plump red lips smiled as she whirled in circles, arms outstretched.

Around her, two-dozen men dressed in fine silk robes danced as well, tracing patterns visible from the air -- a tree, a flower, a star, a sun-wheel. She stood in the center of the throng, though, the locus of all energy, while the spectators stood on a rise in the gardens, high enough to see the patterns but not so high they couldn't discern the individuals involved. All around stood the ready guards, just in case one of the westerners or locals tried to interfere with the ceremony.

Finally, the musicians placed their instruments aside, and the ranks of the priests parted. The princess walked down the line to the tree and reached up, taking a plump peach in hand and biting it. At once, the musicians began to play again, a stirring song of summer and joy. In a few slow, languorous bites she ate the fruit, before placing its seed into a hole that had been prepared earlier. Afterwards, Nailin turned to the audience and held her hands out, smiling as she welcomed her guests.

OOC: It's a party! It takes place in the Closed City, where the Empress and her Secretaries dwell, but not in the palace proper. Instead, it's in the imperial peach orchards. Anyone who's anyone is invited, whether or not your state has diplomatic relations with the Empire or not. There's a full bar (with an emphasis on peach flavored drinks), a buffet (with an emphasis on peach sauces), so don't worry about food. Only a couple of rules, but they're important ones.

No weapons. None whatsoever. Not permitted. They will be taken away upon entrance to the closed city and may not be returned afterwards
No obvious artificial intelligences. The Roanians will shoot to kill.
Non-humanoids pay their money and take their chances. Your introductory post will determine how well the Roanians treat you.
Be Polite
Be Respectful
Enjoy yourselves.

[Sunset]

Demi applauded politely, standing as she was somewhere in the middle of the crowd, until the Princess Nailin made her welcoming gesture and it broke forward to spread into the rest of the orchard. Why was she there? That part was easy; Opportunity. Undoubtedly a permanent ambassador would be assigned to the Radiant Empire but for now, at least for the rest of the day, she was the highest ranking diplomat from the Republic within a thousand light years.

"A lovely ceremony," she smiled as she walked forward, looking over to her escort, "Wasn't it?"

(Insert Escort for a sexy human Ambassador from the Republic here!)

[The Prism Fleet]

Just a few hours previous...

“So... what's it like there?”

Lieutenant Commander Vìe Riez raised her brow and turned her gaze to the young man who had posed the question, who was at that moment staring out the window of a Prism Fleet diplomatic shuttle. White, fluffy clouds whipped past, soundlessly sliced by an equally white wingtip; both were tinged a warm and pleasant gold by the fading afternoon sun.

“It's nice,” The older – but not much older – woman said. “The first thing you'll notice is the smell. They don't call it the 'Rain of Flowers' for nothing, you know.” She was interrupted briefly as the pilot announced their imminent landing. It wasn't Ms. Riez's first trip to the Radiant Empire; far from it, she had made the trip many times, though this was her first since she'd been promoted to Prism Fleet's prestigious Ambassador Corps. The same could not be said of her young charge, the enigmatic young man she'd been tasked to accompany. He went by Lain. Just Lain, no last name given, and he was, by all accounts, just a simple nobody. Some orphan kid in the care of the Fleet, who would have continued living a quiet and anonymous life had he not somehow averted the worst potential diplomatic disaster in the fleet's short history. It was for this fortuitous set of events that he'd been granted a special invitation direct from the Princess herself.

“The people are very, well... different, than what you are used to,” Ms. Riez explained. “Don't let it put you off, though. You'll find that Rudan Prime has its own unique charms. You'll like it, I'm sure.”

---

And so the ceremony had come to pass. As Princess Nailin took that first sumptuous bite of the season, the Prism Fleet delegation watched from the middle of the crowd of onlookers: a charcoal gray Segonune with a bright smile, and a comparatively younger Kitsuite with vermillion hair and wide red eyes full of admiration for the stunning Roanian royalty, both dressed in crisp and fashionable diplomatic uniforms adorned in the Prism Fleet's usual military stylings. Their applause at the ceremony's conclusion was polite, but full of sincerity, and as the crowd began to move into the orchard, the young man Lain found himself hoping that he could catch the Princess's eye.

[Tiburon]

"Oh, molto molto bravissimo! Very good show!" proclaimed a stout, middle-aged man, applauding with a somewhat bombastic flourish. "Don't you think so?" he added, turning to his much younger and taller aide, who simply bowed slightly with a slight smile. "Of course, sir," she responded quietly.

Adorned in a bright blue decorative khalat with several golden and silver medals polished to a brassy shine, the short, bearded man provided an incredibly stark contrast to his thin, bespectacled aide, wearing a simple (yet quite flattering) ghagra choli, adorned with a subtle gold-threaded pattern. "Sir," she added, "might I suggest we try to get ourselves acquainted with the others in attendance?"

The man guffawed at the suggestion. "Wonderful idea! In fact, Signy, I'd like for you to try your hand at this by yourself. I daresay I think you have the talent and that you've earned the opportunity! Shabhash!" he responded. With a considerable amount of difficulty, the woman attempted to hide her radiant smile at his response. "Thank you tremendously, sir. If you'll excuse me, then," she replied, making her way away from him and towards the crowd. The stout man, meanwhile, left towards the bar and buffet, hoping to make new acquaintances and friends for his nation over a full plate.

This is roughly what the man looks like (without weapons, of course, and with this outfit), and this is roughly what his aide looks like, for reference. These are just loose suggestions, though.

[The Boundless Legion]

"Nice show. And the ceremony was good too," quipped one of the three irregulars standing not too far away from the others. This man, all of 6' and dressed in a layman's estimate of what a military uniform SHOULD look like, was promptly given a swift elbow in the ribs by the irregular to his right. The motion was so fast and expertly precise as to be otherwise imperceptible. Given that the second irregular was dressed like an actual career officer, his skill in playing off his quick assertion of rank was masterful. It just appeared that the first man suddenly had some form of chest pain.

Unconcerned with either of these men was their tousle-haired charge, adorned with no medals or decoration of any kind beyond an emblazoned sigil on his tunic's chest, a stylized "B" encircled by a pair of sharp wings. Flanking his shoulders was a long black coat, its collar turned up just enough to shield most of his face from view from all angles except the front. His feet were clad in armored greaves, stylized with great sweeping wing shapes as if they could spring to life and carry him forward.
His eyes merely took in what he saw before him. Wordless, expressionless...for now.

If she concerned herself with spacers such as they, so more the honor to them. Evidently, someone among the Legion Commander's contacts on Rudan Prime saw fit to inform the Empire of that little trick he pulled back on Tanaab. He had no idea there were Roanians in that transport; "the Legion's duty is to the galaxy" as the Code says. The black-coated man was surprised to receive the invitation, and attended just as much out of simple curiosity as it would be to explore his potential reach within the Roanian world...over AND under.

[Roania]

The Imperial Peach Orchards were built on a promontory looking out over the river Yah, at the point where it branched around the island the Closed City was built on. There was more than just peaches, of course; the scent of flowers hung heavy in the warm evening air. The guests were drawn past the gates to the sitting area, where none but the elite of Imperial society were ever permitted to dwell. Nailin, of course, had obviously ordered an exception made for her guests this evening, though it was dubious if any of the westerners present would appreciate their good fortune.

Western European Republic

The princess herself was under close watch by the guards, but she found it an easy matter to slip from her watchers during the rush of people into the gardens. The young woman moved into the crowd with ease, in her own fashion clearing a space for herself wherever there was room. It was not perhaps the wisest choice; that was discovered when she was approached by Vice President Wilson. NaiLin's eyes widened when he reached for her hand, and stepped back, almost knocking over a Tijeki sheikh, who stepped away hurriedly rather than be found guilty of intruding on the imperial presence. "Oh, uh... um. Have we been..." She spoke in a fast, distracted fashion, almost accentless.

"Her Imperial Highness has not yet chosen a husband," said a voice to the side. An older man, dressed in long gray robes, made his way through the crowd to join the pair of them. "I believe you are Vice President Anthony Wilson of the Western European Republic?" The man placed his hands together and bowed repeatedly. "I am Secretary Fell Malhim. You could refer to me as the Foreign Secretary, I believe."

The Princess was not willing to miss this opportunity. She vanished back into the crowd, moving away from any possible interruptions.

The Prism Fleet

"Lain!" NaiLin appeared from the crowds next to the fox-boy, a delighted expression on her face. "You did come! The Grand Duke," meaning her father, "said you weren't to be permitted to, but the Present Empress on the Throne," meaning her mother, "told him that what was done was done, and that if I wished to see you, you should be invited!" She spoke in short, sharp staccato; plainly delighted, and for the moment at least unconscious of the vast gulf between their statuses. Just for a moment, and then someone caught her eye and she realized that here she had to be different to how they had been on their last meeting.

With a brief sigh she drew herself up to her not-particularly-impressive height and placed her hands together, bowing lower than she should have, strictly speaking. "That is to say," she said somewhat formally. "I am most pleased to welcome you to this celebration. Both of you." She glanced at Lain, a slight smile playing on her lips, still gleaming with the juices of the peach she had just eaten. "On behalf of the Lady of Ten Thousand Years, and the promising relationship between our two people." Her eyes were lit up, though and playing across Lain's nose was a scent much like the filling of a cherry pie.

Sunset

Asen Ailiese released her daughter from her gaze for a moment, plainly not particularly pleased. The years had been kind to her, as had her pregnancies, but she was no longer the young and vivacious woman she had once been. With her hair bound up and tightened on her head, she bore the appearance of an Empress far better than she had when she had first come to the throne. With a slight nod, she pointed to the ambassador of Sunset with her fan. The word passed down the string of guards until the one at the end hurried to the ambassador from Sunset. "The Lady of Ten Thousand Years commands your attendance."

Her handsome escort, who had been about to reply something along somewhat blase lines, immediately fell to his knees and kowtowed.

Tiburon

The buffet was a light repast; the weather was too hot and too humid for anything particularly heavy. Peaches floated in various thick sauces, sugary and otherwise. Cold noodles sat in bowls waiting for someone to eat them, alongside a selection of grilled meats and vegetables. There were rows of servants waiting to assemble whatever combination of goods a man could ask for. A line was beginning to form at one end of, many of them men of foreign countenance, but a few Roanians, easily made out by their litheness. Still, one could easily join the line; at the rear was a large Roanian, marked for his weight among his countrymen, dressed in fine blue damask. He waved the Akashan ambassador over. "Ah, a fellow gourmand! Please, join me! I am Archchancellor KouRan." He made a somewhat low bow, prevented from going too far by his stockiness. "And what might we call you, and where do you come from?"

The Boundless Legion

"Ah, I was hoping you would have come." A man dressed in silver-and-gold approached the three men. They had been left mostly to their own devices; no one had really known why they were there and their militaristic bearing had risen hackles amongst the fiercely protective Guards. This man, however, walked much like they did. His sharp angular face was cool and mostly emotionless, and though he sounded pleased, his pleasure did not leach into his cold dark eyes. He stopped a few feet back from the three men, trailed by his own string of guards, though he looked perfectly capable of taking care of himself. "It is always a pleasure to meet men of honor and integrity. I heard that you had done some of our people a great service." He placed his hands together and bowed ever so lightly, just enough to show respect. "While it would be beneath the dignity of the Empress to meet with you herself, at least at such an event, I thought such valor deserved... full recognition." He clicked his heels together and placed one hand over his heart. "Captain-General Selevar." He introduced himself; a common enough name, but everyone with any briefing would know it was the name of the Empress' consort.

[Kytalan]

Nykko Cimma stabbed his fork into the mound of noodles and meat on his plate and stuck it into his mouth. "So, congratulations to Princess Nailin, I suppose." He realized that his wife was clearly not in the mood for talking, wrapped up heavily in her long silver-embroidered robe totally unsuited for summer wear and scowling. "Aw, musu, you're not enjoying it here?"

"The atmosphere is nice, but I'm not really comfortable with the culture-shock. I'm a politician, dear, not a diplomat attuned to foreign cultures." She looked around. "Besides, I'd bet they don't want us to be here any more than I do."

"I know it's not home, but there's no going back until... well, I'm not sure when. So in the meantime we should enjoy the occasion, unorthodox though it is. Right, Fjúri?"

The other, younger, man was too busy greeting some of the Roanians. "Ytoci!" He crossed his hands behind his back, unsure whether the hosts would understand the gesture. He cracked a wide smile revealing a mouthful of sharp teeth. "Kenhin Fjúri - first, thank you so much for hosting this event. My compatriots and I are all quite happy for your Princess Nailin. If we seem quiet or removed to you, it's just because we're all still a little confused."

Yes indeed, it's (eye roll) that guy again. Your fellow oldtimer seems to have directed me here, probably based on my obnoxious skill at stretching out a fancy dinner to two and a half pages of RP, so here goes!

[Scolopendra]

It'd taken some doing, between the extremely soft pressure of Triumvirate Interstellar Trading showing that there were no hard feelings nor bad intent and the far more kinetic diplomacy of Magnus Hesche and his unicorn friend, but the Federated Segments of Scolopendra had finally proved to the Radiant Empire that it was actually safe to talk to on a formal basis. Certainly there were still points of disagreement, between religion and sapient rights and forms of governance and other such ideological specifics, but the Segments had proved adept in looking the other way before for the benefit of interstellar peace and harmony and the Roanians were now officially convinced that the Segments wouldn't jump down their throats at the drop of a hat.

Unofficially, opinions may have varied, but that's what opinions do unofficially.

In celebration--or at least recognition--of this unexpected diplomatic coup, International Relations Section Advisor Thong-un Kraisee had convinced Supreme Emperor Iballa Ipolla to attend this very important festival in an official function. He'd additionally convinced her to go without him playing wingman; after making nice with Naiya of the Dominion, he figured it was time to take the training wheels off and let his superior sink or swim on her own skills. Elected as a wartime leader, she was actually making do quite well as a peacetime diplomatic leader... after sanding off the rough edges, of course.

It didn't really help that she still looked like a wartime leader: neutrally stern face, piercing green eyes, black hair going grey along the edges. The standard duty uniform of the Segments government did nothing to reduce this image either, from its high-collared double-breasted formal variation on an Eisenhower jacket to its no-polish combat boots. Adding to the list of things that made her look more like a soldier than a diplomat was her stance, which tended towards falling into a modified, looser parade rest when she didn't have to talk to anyone. As a former Mobile Infantrywoman, certain habits died extremely hard.

She wasn't alone, thankfully. Standing next to, and quite a bit taller than, her was one Fulanah al-Fulaniyya, listed officially as an aide. Athletically built, with clear-complexioned bronze-tinted skin and narrow aquiline features, she could have reasonably been a model. Instead, here she was, apparently aiding the SupEmp in a sleek civilian suit of a kind not particularly uncommon in the Segments, with a short Mandarin collar and a buttonless double-breasted jacket tailored close to her frame. She wore her hair--dyed a blue so dark that it appeared black, but reflected blue in the light--close to her head in a series of braids of varying widths, narrow towards the front and wide towards the back, all bound together in the back to form the business end of an Age of Sail enforcement device.

Certain people¹ may have found her oddly familiar. Otherwise, she looked perfectly formal and at ease in formality.

The third member of the party actually made it international, after a fashion: Fabian Mancuso², recently retired from diplomatic service to the Dominion, stood slightly taller still than the tall woman. Despite being officially retired, apparently he either couldn't get away from the game or had more pull than one would expect from a Non-Democratic Alliance functionary.

They watched the ceremony and kept their thoughts to themselves. For her part, as the standard-issue liberated woman of the Segments, Ipolla found the whole thing somewhat demeaning. From the arguable sexual symbolism--okay, she was an ex-jarhead, but she wasn't dumb--to the entire concept of 'debuting' a young woman at her age of majority, the connotation of 'wares on display' bothered her on a fundamental level. This being said, it wasn't her place to judge; according to The Book that Kraisee had forced upon her all such symbolic meaning had been effectively lost to time and whatever Spacepedia said the official line about it was, was effectively all it meant: hurrah, see the new princess, she's pretty and awesome, and peaches are pretty and awesome as well. Fair enough, all things considered.

On a personal level, the slippers as a signifier of absolute privilege struck Ipolla as a nice touch, but perhaps not in the way that was intended. There were two levels of this; first was that this privileged upbringing was actually explicitly recognized. The second was that, well, occasionally getting kicked in the teeth built character. Alessa had been kicked in the teeth more than her fair share, and thus having her daughter avoid that was understandable, but it still indicated that Nailin would have to be monitored for character growth. It'd taken a lot of time and hard work for the Segments to get this far--seeing friendship as preferable to fear to keep those around in line--and it'd be for the best if it wasn't all put at risk by whimsy.

Finally, on a basic level, she thought that Nailin was indeed quite pretty--she'd have to be--but the princess was much, much too young for her tastes.

And so they stood, off to one respectful side. The SupEmp at least should have been milling about, but she was never very good at it and was instead waiting for some sort of semi-official cue to tell her what she should semi-officially be doing.

¹: You know who you are. If you don't know who you are, then you aren't. In any case, to be played by Zero-One.
²: To be played by Dread Lady Nathicana or otherwise just hang in the background. Present by mutual agreement.

[Sunset]

Asen Ailiese...

"Of course..."

Demi didn't kowtow. Firstly, that just wasn't the way things worked in a Republic. Second, she doubted the Empress really needed an eyeful. The dress was a Mercati; Two narrow layered shoulder straps that plunged to the waist after crossing under the chest and widening out to become a long skirt that once again folded down the center to provide some detail near the hem, which was all the way down at the ankle. It rose along both legs to the mid-thigh, both for ease of movement and to show off her legs, and there was the same pleating hidden away under the slit.

As this was the Radiant Empire, the dress was a silver cloth with a very subtle pattern to the weave. A platinum filigree clasp below the cleavage kept things in place, and it was matched with bracelets and a pair of dangling earrings that flashed and shone for a moment whenever she turned her head. These were mostly hidden under her hair though, which was styled and curled to tumble down across one shoulder and the bare back of the dress.

Leaving her escort behind, she followed the guard as he made his steady way back to the Empress. When he stepped aside, she nodded respectfully, eyes almost looking down, and for a suitably long time. Even in the Republic the wheels of society worked better when they were greased, so she waited to be acknowledged rather than introducing herself.

[Pey]

Jacob Newmark applauds the performance. Feeling thirsty, he makes his way to the bar, and grabs 2 beers. "Drink?" He offers to his escort. "Nah. Still need to escort you back home." He murmurs. Jacob shrugs, and drinks a beer.

He scans the crowd, trying to spot a familiar face. He finds none, so he makes his way back to his escort. After 5 minutes of pestering, he finally accepts a drink. "Come on, man! Don't be so serious. Come on, let's see if we can find something to do." Newmark says.

[The Emerald Dragon]

Rain Of Flowers Festival, Palace Peach Orchard


Aata Heke stood watching, his blueish-white hair was spiked like a gauntlet and his ebony-black
coloured shirt swayed like a loose sheet. As a 16 year old, young and full of intrigue, he'd been sent on an assignment to the country from the Shador Council; the ruling but secretive rulers of his country. His skin was incredibly delicate and pale, compared to an oil painting, numerous times and regarded to smell like a frozen red rose. Educated well, and poised to become the 'tamer' of the Shador Council and with it, the entire country.

He was quiet, modest and with an adorable blush. In truth though; he hated it, receiving fanmail from besotted teenage females who scared the life out of him, and he was feeling close to breakdown.


OOC: The title sounds like a fanfic.

*Tamer is an Emeralderic term for ruler.

[The Emerald Dragon]

Jacob Newmark applauds the performance. Feeling thirsty, he makes his way to the bar, and grabs 2 beers. "Drink?" He offers to his escort. "Nah. Still need to escort you back home." He murmurs. Jacob shrugs, and drinks a beer.

He scans the crowd, trying to spot a familiar face. He finds none, so he makes his way back to his escort. After 5 minutes of pestering, he finally accepts a drink. "Come on, man! Don't be so serious. Come on, let's see if we can find something to do." Newmark says.

"Hey! Over here" Shouts Aata, blushing furious after several shouted remarks that he was 'cutelicious' by several passing females. If they continued, lava would be pouring out of his nose and burning himself and the ground.

[Roania]

Sunset

Ailiese smiled as the Sunseti ambassador approached her. She indicated with her fan that the other woman could rise from the half-bow. "It has been a very long time since I had the pleasure of meeting a citizen of Sunset." The Lady of Ten Thousand Years sipped her drink and smiled again, waving her hand to indicate that Demi could sit. "I believe you're the woman responsible for my Empire opening relations with your republic?" She lifted her drink in a toast. "You made quite an impression on my Grand Secretary."

The Western European Republic

Grand Duke Selevar, the Imperial Consort, husband of the Lady of Ten Thousand Years and Captain General of Her Armies, dropped his drink. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, and servants immediately began to make their way to clean up the mess. Selevar pulled himself to his full height, his muscles tensing. "Who. Are. You?" The Grand Duke clenched his fingers into a fist. "You come here, having just met my... child... and you think you may marry your bloodline to our house? I should have your skin flayed from your bones. I should... I will......"

Ailiese placed her hand on top of Selevar's free hand and squeezed it tightly. The two of them glanced at one another, and Selevar sighed, his body visibly relaxing. "...no."

"Oh Great Lady of Ten Thousand Years! Master of the Armies!" Malhim came running, falling to the ground and kowtowing, then running faster, until he reached the imperial couple, grabbing Anthony's hand and pulling him to the ground for a quick moment. "Forgive your poor servant, he has allowed this man to get drunk. Please, I will lead him off to become sober." At a tight nod from Selevar, Malhim grabbed Anthony by the arm and pulled him away.

Once they were safely far away from the Empress and the Grand Duke, Malhim rounded on Anthony Wilson, his eyes narrowing. "Are you drunk? Or just mad? You can't go up to the Lady of Ten Thousand Years like that!"

Scolopendra

Not too far away from the Supreme Emperor, a young man stood alone in the crowd. Somehow, the crowd of officials and elites passed him by without penetrating the bubble around him. He wasn't particularly striking in appearance, not noticeably prepossessing in any way, but as he moved closer, the Roanians and their subjects in the crowd parted like the red sea. The answer, of course, was in his grey eyes and reddened hair, cut close to his head in a military fashion. The fabric of his robes may have helped with the identification, too. They were of a beyond anything an ordinary Roanian could hope to see, even though there was something military about them. "Hyalee." Damalin, Crown Prince of the Empire, rested his hand over his heart and bowed ever so slightly; a greeting, but not an obsequious one.

He didn't recognize any of them, but he was intrigued by the sight of women in uniform - even moreso, women in pants. His own were safely concealed below his robes, and he'd never before been exposed to the idea that women would publicly wear men's underwear.

Kytalan

"Have you been properly welcomed, as yet?" Said a handsome, silver-haired man dressed in a tight robe. He spoke without an accent, rare for Roanians, and was accompanied by a busty, lovely woman whose long purple-black hair hung down his waist. "Cheruv Nesar, at your service." He clasped a hand to his chest and bowed slightly. "And my wife, Lady Daeri."

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

“Ma’am,” Mancuso began in his usual soft-spoken manner. “Fulanah, would either of you care for a peach? It would seem they’re more or less up for grabs. I’d be happy to accompany you further in, or bring one back if you’d prefer.”

He did indeed have some pull, if one wished to call it that. Membership had its privileges, as did simply not being a constant pain in the proverbial ass. Granted, he had been on the side of ‘problematic’, in regards to some of their allied interests. The previous Imperatrice had kept things interesting now and then. Never betrayed, no, but … worried certain sectors. He was certain some were still worried with the change in leadership, for various reasons, but there had yet to be a call for the previous paranoia from what he’d heard.

Retired, but finished meddling? Perhaps not entirely. His reach, and abilities, not to mention potential targets, had simply shifted. Growth and change could be a good thing. In his case, he certainly felt they had been.

He was dressed appropriately to the situation. He usually was. Understated, but classy, in an ecru jacket and suit pants made from a light material that was made for warmer climes. The jacket itself covered a buttonless shirt that appeared more silken in nature in warm white. Completing the look was a simple Panama hat with a black band, covered his somewhat tousled dark blonde hair, now graying at the temples. And matching sensible yet stylish shoes, of course. His posture was relaxed, his expression content, much-worn smile wrinkles showing at the corner of his hazel eyes.

All in all, he figured this to be a rather pleasant opportunity to mix and mingle, and experience something new. The princess was quite pretty, and he was familiar enough with the coming out traditions and such to appreciate the meanings behind it. He could have sworn however, that the last he’d heard, the familial situation here had been somewhat … different. Still, Roanians. One never knew quite what one might run into in dealing with them. They were historically, to the Dominion mind at least, a rather mercurial people.

Not that this was a particular bad thing, when one was looking for new and interesting experiences. Which, he was.

He arched one brow in question, looking to the ladies he had been quietly taking in the scene with, seeing who might take him up on his offer, if either.

[Scolopendra]

Moments Before With Mancuso

"Peach?" Ipolla ran a quick self-diagnostic. She'd eaten before they arrived, and, to be honest with herself, had butterflies. "No thank you, Mister Mancuso." She not-quite-smiled in a way that looked appreciative, compared to her usual gruff image. "Thank you for the offer, though."

With the Crown Prince of Bel-Air Roania

Mballa Ipolla instinctively returned the greeting with a short bow from the hips in the 'Pendran fashion, no deeper than the one offered, while cognitively she dialed up her headware clockspeed to slow down perceptive time. This gave her the opportunity to pull up a facial recognition check against The Book, which set her up with a name, a rank, and a form of address. With that information handy she dialed things back up well in time to complete her bow and smile. The expression actually suited her, transforming her face from 'tip of the spear' to 'cordial acquaintance;' the mild folds in her face, however, indicated that it was not extremely common. Those who were generous said she reserved those muscles for when she really meant it. Those who were less so simply figured her to be made of iron and incapable of weak human emotions such as 'levity.'

"Your Highness." It'd taken a great deal of time for any Scolopendran of any type to get used to noble titles; eventually the cultural shock had settled on the agreement that 'your umpitiness' was fine while 'my poobah' was right out. Nevertheless, they tended to settle towards sirs-and-ma'ams very quickly after the initial acknowledgement. As there'd been no formal introduction or announcements, that guided the next step of the required diplomacy. "I am Supreme Emperor Mballa Ipolla of the Federated Segments of Scolopendra," she introduced herself, and followed up with gestures to her compatriots: "Doctor al-Fulaniyya, my aide, and Mister Fabian Mancuso, late in the service of the Dominion."

She wasn't really sure why he was there, but 'al-Fulaniyya' brought him along and so there he was. As far as she was concerned, he was an ally and seemed a good apple that she could rely on for diplomatic backup seeing how Kraisee had finally chucked her in the deep end without water wings. The bastard.

Beat.

Slow down time as she pondered what came after introductions. Couldn't open the drop tubes too wide, as this was supposed to be a happy social no-real-business occasion. Weather was too cliche. Topic at hand.

"If you'll pardon the pun, your sister certainly appeared sufficiently radiant. Your family must be proud." She looked around at the milling crowd. "She certainly disappeared quickly, though. Hopefully all is well with the royal family?"

That's about when a glass shattered and Ipolla whipped her head around with the practiced-to-the-point-of-automation motion of a cap trooper. She found herself extremely aware of two things: one, it looked like Captain-General Selevar--she naturally knew that name and title--was about to burst a blood vessel. Second, that she was unarmed, as even the standard diplomatic variable-setting wand wasn't permitted. Well, 'unarmed.' Any of her rank pins poked through a wrapped handkerchief she carried for that sole reason could make a good set of knuckledusters and the metal belt of her Class As would be a serviceable chain, but that was just the old trooper adage of 'there are always weapons to be found' at work.

The only visible sign of all this would have been that when she whipped her head around, it wasn't accompanied by a cringe. Instead, her entire body merely tensed, fists balling.

"Pe-r-r-rhaps I spoke too soon," she said, unconsciously rolling her 'r' in drawing out the word. "Was all well until that--"

The apparent target of Selevar's apoplexy was unceremoniously dragged away by what had to be that guy's greatest friend in the universe, even if he didn't realize it yet.

"--which appears to have been sorted." She relaxed and turned back to Damalin. "I swear, I've never been to one of these things where everything goes right. There's always got to be at least one hair in the soup. Here's to hoping that's the only one."

[Zero-One]

He arched one brow in question, looking to the ladies he had been quietly taking in the scene with, seeing who might take him up on his offer, if either.

"A peach would be lovely," hummed the jade-eyed aide in a deep, feminine voice. With all of these particular qualities, she could have been Pat Savage rather than simply an 'aide' if it weren't for, well, the hair and eye color and the fact that she was in fact acting something like an aide right now. She would note to anyone who cared that there was a particular emphasis on 'acting.'

She'd always wanted to visit the Radiant Empire... officially. Her native form, on the other hand, would have caused... problems with this. Not that it really would have mattered; most of the rules against her kind didn't actually apply to her. Everyone was remarkably honest as to why: they were deathly afraid of her. Absolutely and completely so. She couldn't really blame them and, to be honest, she did little to discourage it since fear was a form of respect and it was oh so useful in this case. Still, it would've been distinctively impolite to actually take advantage of this special dispensation, at least, it would be to do so publicly. Hence her current disguise was something of a polite gesture to the security services of Roania.

She expected that they knew, after all. 'Fulanah al-Fulaniyya' wasn't even a proper name. She may as well come as 'Madame Toulemonde,' 'Numeria Negidia,' or 'Josephina Everywoman' for all that it mattered, but she'd insisted upon the legend of acting as Ipolla's 'aide.' She insisted mostly because it annoyed Polly, and she enjoyed annoying Polly because she knew Polly would get her back somehow and she looked forward to seeing that. That meant that she'd carry an Arabic placeholder name. How she wore her hair, and the slightly metallic glint to her skin, were additional subtle clues. The biggest clue, however, would be Mancuso. Ever since Naiya's coronation they'd been spending quite a bit of time together and not making any effort to hide this fact.

Therefore, she figured, everyone who needed to know knew and everyone who didn't, well, she was Polly's aide. Taking notes mentally, perhaps.

"We could hardly just leave you behind, Fabian," she teased. It could perhaps be noted that she stood well closer to him than Mballa. "You'll just have to follow along as our Fearless Leader takes us." She grinned from behind closed lips at them both.

When the Crown Prince approached, the 'doctor' bowed shortly once upon approach, and again with a smile on being introduced. Otherwise, she let Ipolla handle this for the time being.

[Senkaku]

Pheakdai Khouean, Ambassador of the People's Democracy of Singakher to the Radiant Empire, and Vice-Commissar of the Foreign Ministry Sub-Intelligence Committee, sipped his drink, glancing over slightly from the random corporate type he was chatting with as the Duke appeared to have a minor seizure and crushed a glass. Dressed in a fairly nondescript formal blue uniform, the Khayan, aside from his green skin and some differences in bone and muscle structure, bore a strong resemblance to the many Homo sapiens sapiens present at the party.

Which, as usual, he was not really enjoying. Pheakdai had never been one for formal parties and galas like this, and compounding the issue was the fact that he abhorred Roania and Roanians, though he had to pretend not to, being Singakher's ambassador.
He suppressed a sigh and kept chatting with this corporate fellow, Azad, who was apparently a big name in shipping and robotics, and something of a dataraja as well. Pheakdai knew he'd heard of the man many times, and under other circumstances would probably care much more, but he was so bored he felt like he'd just had his hippocampus hit with a small mallet. He could barely remember anything, and was feeling rather depressed as well. The Khayan simply couldn't make himself care.
Once I've talked with everyone I need to talk to, I think I shall get very, very drunk, and then leave.

[Pey]

Jacob Newmark applauds the performance. Feeling thirsty, he makes his way to the bar, and grabs 2 beers. "Drink?" He offers to his escort. "Nah. Still need to escort you back home." He murmurs. Jacob shrugs, and drinks a beer.

He scans the crowd, trying to spot a familiar face. He finds none, so he makes his way back to his escort. After 5 minutes of pestering, he finally accepts a drink. "Come on, man! Don't be so serious. Come on, let's see if we can find something to do." Newmark says.

"Hey! Over here" Shouts Aata, blushing furious after several shouted remarks that he was 'cutelicious' by several passing females. If they continued, lava would be pouring out of his nose and burning himself and the ground.

"Did someone just call us?" Jacob asked glancing around suspiciously. "I believe it was him, sir." His escort replied. "Oh. Isn't that guy named Aata or something? Let's check him out."

[Tiburon]

The portly Akashan joined the portly Roanian in line and responded in kind, bowing as deeply as his circumference would allow him with a broad, warm smile. He responded in a naturally somewhat booming voice, "Anders Vikesh zum Lykketoft, Deputy Minister of External Affairs for the Akashan Union. It's quite a pleasure!"

He motioned his head slightly to the large array of sumptuous dishes at the front of the line, and added, "If it's not too much of a bother, I'd be quite interested to hear your recommendations! I must say, I'm very much looking forward to something more genuine; I'm sure that what filters through to us in the West is a pale imitation! In fact, I was thinking just the other day that—"

The opportunity for Anders Vikesh to explain his thoughts from the other day passed him by, however, as he was interrupted by the sharp sound of glass shattering. A legion of heads turned to watch the unfolding spectacle, with his one of them, his face slowly adopting a look of wide-eyed shock and incomprehension. As Mailin ran forward to intervene and whisk his charge away, Anders Vikesh found himself able to eke out a mere "My word..." in a low tone.

Even after the scene had ended, his gaze was still transfixed in that direction for a few seconds, before he turned his head back to the archchancellor and added in a somewhat flustered tone, "I... yes, well, I... where was I? I... yes, yes, the ceremony. I – I've had the opportunity to read some books on the meaning and history of the ceremony, but if it's not too much trouble I'd be quite interested in your views on the matter. For my trouble, I've found that a secondhand account of such things can never beat the genuine article."

[The Emerald Dragon]

"Hey! Over here" Shouts Aata, blushing furious after several shouted remarks that he was 'cutelicious' by several passing females. If they continued, lava would be pouring out of his nose and burning himself and the ground.

"Did someone just call us?" Jacob asked glancing around suspiciously. "I believe it was him, sir." His escort replied. "Oh. Isn't that guy named Aata or something? Let's check him out."

"H-hey, great party, really, your name's Jacob right?" Aata said quietly, with a hint of impending dread. He was quiet, always shy, and he was coping quite well, until a girl tried to kiss him. Causing him to backflip away in shock, but that was five minutes earlier. He sure as hell hoped that nobody would try anything now. Behind his back, he was twiddling his thumbs in absolutely cute fear of the fact, that someone else might try and kiss him. He knew, this Jacob fellow wouldn't because, Aata would have a nervous breakdown, as fresh hormones coursed through his bloodstream.

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

Scolopendra/Zero-One/Roania

“Of course, ma’am. And how could I possibly complain, when in such good company,” Mancuso replied smoothly to them both. If there were perhaps the hint of a wink in the subtle twitch of one eye as he looked at Fulanah, well so be it. He was smiling easily when the introductions came. And on his turn, after each of the ladies of course, and the ah … interruption … he bowed politely in the usual Dominion style.

“It is an honor, your highness,” the man said simply, not wanting to overshadow. To Ipolla’s concerns, he added in a more subtle tone, hoping to put all at ease. “I’m sure our hosts have everything well in hand. There’s always at least one inexperienced diplomat, after all. If not more. They’ll learn soon enough.”

And so they would. Selevar had always been rather touchy when it came to his Divine Empress, and his family. A dedicated man, Fabian had thought then, and had no reason to have changed that opinion now. It isn’t as though it were a custom for guests to lose their heads, but stranger things had happened, one supposed, to those who showed up with neither reference, nor common sense, attempting to tread the often deep waters of Roanian politics.

It sometimes made Dominion politics look tame, come to think of it. That in itself was amusing. And held some promise .

[Pey]

"Did someone just call us?" Jacob asked glancing around suspiciously. "I believe it was him, sir." His escort replied. "Oh. Isn't that guy named Aata or something? Let's check him out."

"H-hey, great party, really, your name's Jacob right?" Aata said quietly, with a hint of impending dread. He was quiet, always shy, and he was coping quite well, until a girl tried to kiss him. Causing him to backflip away in shock, but that was five minutes earlier. He sure as hell hoped that nobody would try anything now. Behind his back, he was twiddling his thumbs in absolutely cute fear of the fact, that someone else might try and kiss him. He knew, this Jacob fellow wouldn't because, Aata would have a nervous breakdown, as fresh hormones coursed through his bloodstream.

Jacpb noticed Aata was a bit nervous. "Want a drink? I got some cash on me." He said. His escort immediately rushed off and got 2 beers. ''So, what's up?" Jacob asked, handing a beer to him.

[The Emerald Dragon]

"H-hey, great party, really, your name's Jacob right?" Aata said quietly, with a hint of impending dread. He was quiet, always shy, and he was coping quite well, until a girl tried to kiss him. Causing him to backflip away in shock, but that was five minutes earlier. He sure as hell hoped that nobody would try anything now. Behind his back, he was twiddling his thumbs in absolutely cute fear of the fact, that someone else might try and kiss him. He knew, this Jacob fellow wouldn't because, Aata would have a nervous breakdown, as fresh hormones coursed through his bloodstream.

Jacpb noticed Aata was a bit nervous. "Want a drink? I got some cash on me." He said. His escort immediately rushed off and got 2 beers. ''So, what's up?" Jacob asked, handing a beer to him.

With a sip of his beer, Aata began to nervously speak, his hands were shaking pretty violently. "P-people keep calling me cute, and trying to kiss me" He was doing well, when he had to avoid another female trying to tackle him to the floor. He choked on the beer in his mouth and coughed it down. Aata almost DIED of embarassment right there, his face resembled the planet of Mars, and a man even asked how he'd received such good quality dye.

[Elemental North]

Allison McAllister, Undersecretary of State to Elemental North, slowly drove up in her limo. The tall imposing walls of what she thought was going to be a simply peach orchard, imposed a shadow on the Bentley she was currently in the back of. On an otherwise deserted dirt road, she tapped on the glass of the dividing window to tell the driver to pull over. After he did so, she got out of the car, and looked around. Dressed from head to toe in a peach colored ball gown, she fanned herself in the tropical heat of the nation. She pulled out her cellphone and groaned.

"No reception, hell."

She put the cellphone in her handbag, and looked at the driver who was leaning against the car.

"Got any ideas?" she asked him.

He shrugged his shoulders and started whistling.

"How the hell do I get into this place?" She whispered slightly to herself...