Ambassador Grugov Redenksi felt relieved when the small private jet finally broke through the surface of the black, sick looking clouds and into the bright afternoon sky. The modified Gulfstream V Gregov was sitting in had originally been painted a gleaming white, but years flying in the smog covered skies had stained it a dull gray. Not that Grugov cared about that; it was better than swimming the whole way. And the planes interior was still one of comfort. The seat he was in was bolted next to a small table where a coffee mug and a stack of papers sat. The table was made of fine polished oak, the seat of Italian leather, both rare materials almost never used on Defesian made furniture.
And it swiveled, which was an added bonus.
Grugov raised one of his well manicured hands, to beckon the stewardess towards him, tracking the attractive woman with his fierce blue eyes.
"I'd like more coffee," he asked in a refined Defesian accent, "this flavor does not appeal to me, and the creamer is stale."
The stewardess bowed ever so slightly, a friendly smile plastered on her face.
"Yes sir, would you like anything else?" She asked politely, receiving an irritated wave for her troubles.
"No, go away I have work to do."
"Yes sir."
She left, her smile never faltering. Grugov was now alone, and finally cracked open the packet of papers on the desk next to him. It was filled with information on Cyrupe, an Imperialistic Republic residing in Azhukali East. He had been told diplomatic relations were being reconnected, including a long list of reasons why. But Grugov knew half of the items the list touched upon were garbage just being used to take up space and make it look more official. The bottom line was, Cyrupe had something Defese wanted. An educated guess would say it had something to do with Defesian companies being in complete control of the designing and manufacturing of a sizable chunk of Cyrup's naval fleets, a detail that made it close to impossible for the foreigners to refuse anything that was demanded of them.
And, as usual, he turned out to be right. The next pages he stumbled upon detailed exactly why he was to coerce the naval power, and, for once, Grugov felt a devilish smile snake it's way along his normally indifferent features.
Kaltz's Carleton International
The sun was just slipping behind the distant horizon, casting a pleasant orange glow across the evening sky. In the other direction, the city lights of the capital city twinkled against the growing darkness. It all looked peaceful, but the moment Grugov had stepped out of the idle plane and took the first step down the small staircase, the hot, humid air hit him like a blast furnace.
"By Elgr," the ambassador swore quietly, using the name of the old Defesian god of Earth, "how do these people survive here?"
He took the final steps down the stairs, and his feet were firmly planted against the warm asphalt of the tarmac. His massive 6'2" frame fit snugly in his custom made gray suit, which boasted a look of cold hearted efficiency, was already threatening to become drenched with sweat stains. He bowed slightly to the officials who were waiting for him just off the tarmac, speaking as he greeted them.
"Hello there, I am Grugov Redenski, a loyal servant to Chancellor Nathaniel. I come to discuss our nations relationship."
