THE OFFICE: General Assembly Edition!

[Bears Armed]

OOC: The sub-level mutants thing was FL's kick; I don't think many other players were ever part of it.

OOC: One of those few others being, if memory serves me truly, Ausserland whose offices were also undergound (as befitted a nation of Dwarves, after all). Anyway, there's nothing to keep anybody else from reviving the idea is there?

[Wrapper]

OOC: Eh, I'll take my chances on sub-level 2. What's the worst that can happen? I kill off another ambassador?

[Araraukar]

OOC: Eh, I'll take my chances on sub-level 2. What's the worst that can happen? I kill off another ambassador?

OOC: You get eaten alive?

[Abacathea]

OOC: Eh, I'll take my chances on sub-level 2. What's the worst that can happen? I kill off another ambassador?

OOC: You get eaten alive?

OOC: I'm tempted to roleplay the release of a horde of some beast at some point into the basement just to that end

[Louisistan]

Mrs. Finch opens the door of the Louisistanian Office Suite and pins a notice on the door.

To whom it may concern,

both the Special Ambassador and the Deputy Ambassador have been temporarily recalled to Louisistan by order of the Foreign Minister. As such, the Confederacy will not be able to partake in Assembly debates for the time being. In urgent cases, please contact the chargé d'affaires ad interim Senator (suspended) Johannes Keller.

OOC: Exams are coming up. Will only drop by sporadically ;-)

[Louisistan]

Mrs. Finch picks up the telephone and dials a number.
"Oh my. An answering machine." she waits silently until the machine allows her to have a message recorded. Yes, hello. Is this the office of PPU? Gladys Finch here, Executive Secretary of the Louisistanian delegation. On behalf of Special Ambassador Schneider and Associate Ambassador Barber, I would like to arrange a meeting. Please call me back at your convenience to arrange the details. Thank you. Our phone extension is -1337."

[Potted Plants United]

On behalf of Special Ambassador Schneider and Associate Ambassador Barber, I would like to arrange a meeting. Please call me back at your convenience to arrange the details. Thank you. Our phone extension is -1337."

The Liaison Officer Johan Milkus was just wiping the antibiotic fluid off of his right hand, when his communicator beeped. "What now?" he sighed, half-dreading to check the message. Fortunately it wasn't another urgent distress call from the Bar's cactus.

Sender: Hivemind
Subject: Phonecall
Message: Answering machine. Ask if want direct contact or text.

So after listening the answering machine message, he rang up the Louisistan office to explain that at PPU's actual office, there normally weren't any plants capable of holding a spoken conversation, thus the answering machine, but if the ambassadors insisted, a speaker plant could be brought in. Or the conversation could be done on a computer screen in text on the plants' side. They could hear very well.

The air would be moist. There would be dry places to sit, and the air would be purged of extra carbon dioxide so breather masks weren't needed. Beverages and edibles could be had. No firemaking equipment, even matches, were allowed inside. It would be unwise to make threatening moves towards the larger plants, as some of them were carnivorous and able to defend themselves. A symbolic gift of nutrients or water would be appreciated.

And yes, he could be present if the ambassadors so wished, but he had no more instant connection to the hivemind than anyone else whose phone number they knew and could send text messages to. Emails worked too. Any other questions or requests?

[Louisistan]

From: barber@louis.ga.wahq.wa
To: milkus@ppu.ga.wahq.wa
Subject: Meeting

---

Dear Mr. Milkus,

thank you for getting back to us. We would prefer a meeting including a speaker plant. Your presence is requested, so as to iron out any inter-species-misunderstandings which might arise. The conditions you described are acceptable for us, as long as we have the hivemind's word that we will not be harmed while we abide by your rules.

Please tell us when we can stop by your office.

Yours sincerely,
Julian Barber, Associate Ambassador

[Potted Plants United]

From: hivemind@ppu.ga.wahq.wa
To: barber@louis.ga.wahq.wa
Subject: Meeting

---

We have but two laws of our own. One: Do not harm sapients. Two: Harming sapients is only allowed if they are trying to kill one of our core selves.

Your ambassadors are sapient. Unless they initiate violence, they are safer visiting us than visiting the Strangers' Bar.

Purging the suite's atmosphere of carbon dioxide will take us several hours, and cause a significant drop in our oxygen output into the building's ventilation. We will need some time to prepare. Earliest two days from now, at noon.

Johan Milkus and a speaker plant will be waiting for you outside the door in the hallway.

I bid you warmly welcome.

Yours, Potted Plants United

OOC: This should be the first time the hivemind has messaged someone as a single super-personality, using the pronoun "I". The speaker plants always use "us", because they are just parts of the whole.

[Omigodtheykilledkenny]

OOC: if this is going to turn into an extended RP, you should probably start your own thread.

[Louisistan]

OOC: You mean because this thread is so very much frequented?

Anways, I gues we should consider it. I won't be able to come up with something good before tomorrow evening anyway. ^^

[Araraukar]

OOC: if this is going to turn into an extended RP, you should probably start your own thread.

OOC: *shrug* It's about nations' offices - visiting someone's office should fit the bill just fine. Also:

OOC: So what exactly is this thread for, other than making a floor plan of the ambassadorial offices? Does it mean we can post little blurbs of RP of what actually happens in the office, or is this for like other ambassadors visiting the offices or what?

Essentially both it started with the intention of the former ie: blurbs and a directory but if it encompasses everything you just suggested we have the ideal of what the kennyites and I wanted

But since I was initially going to do the RP elsewhere with Abacathea anyway, before he got busy, I might just as well tweak the stuff I had planned, to fit the new situation.

[Omigodtheykilledkenny]

It's considered polite to adjourn to your own thread if your own personal RP interludes can't be resolved (relatively) briefly. (And I mean that in the kindest, most respectful manner possible. )

[Hakio]

Smokes crystal meth, twitching looking around.
What?! A fucking reality show? Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Cameras are already here aren't they?!

[Araraukar]

It's considered polite to adjourn to your own thread if your own personal RP interludes can't be resolved (relatively) briefly. (And I mean that in the kindest, most respectful manner possible. )

OOC: It's ok, we decided to take it to the NS forum. Will likely drop a link here, once we start on new posts there.

[Louisistan]

It's considered polite to adjourn to your own thread if your own personal RP interludes can't be resolved (relatively) briefly. (And I mean that in the kindest, most respectful manner possible. )

OOC: It's ok, we decided to take it to the NS forum. Will likely drop a link here, once we start on new posts there.

Here is the link: viewtopic.php?f=4&t=309643

[Abacathea]

I have no issues with whatever direction this goes as long as it's enjoyable for all those participating and stays true to the original idea. I'll continue to update the main thread as requests come in (i have one or two pending in my inbox to do this week) beyond that though, have fun. That was the purpose all along

[Wrapper]

The Wrapperian WA office. It is dark, dank and quiet, as it has been for the past couple of months. A barely visible strand of cobweb runs from a hand-shaped urn containing one-third of the Ambassador Emeritus, Wad Dawei DeGoah, deceased, to the corner of a sleeping computer monitor.

Suddenly, it comes to life. (That is, the sleeping computer monitor, of course, which comes to life, not the cobweb, and certainly not the cremains of the former ambassador, who's not only merely dead, he's really most sincerely dead.) The screen flashes:

>>>>INCOMING WORMHOLE

The closet doors open, revealing an eight-foot, ring-shaped portal. A puddle of shimmering, watery light pools and fills the circle. The assistant ambassador, Wad Ahume Orliss-Dorcke, steps into the room. In one hand, he carries a large briefcase; in the other, a bouquet of slightly wilted flowers. He sniffs the air, shrugs, then looks back as the ambassador, Wad Ari Alaz, enters from the portal. He too carries a large briefcase, as well as a rather small, microphone-shaped trophy, inscribed with the words "SECOND PLACE".

Wad Ahume sighs, drops his briefcase on his side of desk, discards the flowers into the trash can, and rubs his temples.

Wad Ari sighs, drops his briefcase on his side of the desk, discards the trophy into the trash can, and rubs his temples too. (That is, his own temples, not Wad Ahume's. Rubbing someone else's temples in this setting would be kind of creepy.)

"Unbelievable," says Ari. "'Umculi Esibi'? As a final performance piece? You know what I think about that selection?"

Ahume sighs as if he's heard it before. "Insane."

"Yes, Insane! It's a practice piece, nobody sings it in competition!"

"It worked for them."

"Of course it worked for them, any odd ditty would have worked for them! You know why, Ahume? Do you know why they would have won, no matter what song they performed?"

Ahume sighs. "Big boobs."

"Yes, big boo-- NO, not big boobs, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Well, uh, you did notice that all but two of the judges were heterosexual males, right?"

Ari raises an eyebrow, then shakes his head. "Eh, never mind, we'll get 'em next season. So, anyway, my dear assistant ambassador," he says as he opens his briefcase and removes a few folders, "let's get back to work. What piece of tripe is on the docket today?"

Ahume taps in a few keystrokes on the computer. "Ummm, 'Protected Status in Wartime'."

"WAR? Another bloody war proposal?" Ari shudders. "Urrrgh, when will these primates learn that peace is good for business? All right, so, bottom-line it for me."

Yes, I'm back. Sorry, been busy, with work getting mongo-crazy, and a two-week trip to Alaska, and, oh, did I mention getting married?

[The Mid East Federation]

Information required
Office Name: The Great Penny-Pinching Office of Jewish Mid East Federation
Delegates residing within: Delegate to the GA: Elizabeth Joel, Delegate to the SC: Sitar Meir
Floor 2- 40: 32
Description of the office in question: The most bland Jewish office, covered in grey, yet everyone is so f-ing rich. The office has two rooms built into it for each delegate and in the center is a secretary picked off from the beaches of Tel Aviv, she doesn't know what she does, she just looks pretty. Besides the grey furniture and grey everything their is one cactus plant that sits their, doing its own thing.
Noteable Fact: The menorah is made of the cries of oppressed arabs

Im Jewish I can have fun with this.

[Sierra Lyricalia]

Office Name: WAHQ Office of the Sierra Lyricalia House of Diplomats (f/k/a Custodial & Maintenance Annex 13-B)
Delegates residing within: Lyrical Ambassador; secretary (SLhD lifer, indistinguishable from Dirk Gently's housekeeper); three to six interns (number fluctuates seasonally).
Floor: 13, North Wing
Description of the office in question: Smack in the middle of the northern wing of the 13th floor, in a narrow hallway devoid of legitimate offices, S.L. diplomatic staff by order only enter & exit the office during WAHQ shift changes & rush hours, in order to throw off the gnomes. Parabolic mirrors strung through the ventilation system provide an eensy amount of natural sunlight into the Annex, keeping small pots of mint, basil, and rosemary alive. The herbs and the regular scrub-downs keep the main space from stinking like such a tightly packed room ought to. The annex's mop sinks keep the Lyricals' restroom bribe expenditures well below average, and the booze and office supplies budgets are pumped up by renting cleaning supplies out to other delegations.
Notable Fact: Over the years both interns and ambassadors have salvaged a ton of random stuff, ranging from brass pipe fittings to posters to lighting elements to large tapestries and silk screens, and put it up on the walls and ceiling for decoration, giving the space a kind of steampunk-art-museum visual aesthetic. Whispers among the current flock of interns, when not complaining about constantly smelling like Murphy's Oil Soap, suggest Ambassador Zakalwe is quietly seeking something in stone to round out the collection.

Too impatient to follow the Official Office Application and Placement Procedures, and too dumb to get a hacker to manipulate the office assignments the way most nations probably have to in order not to wind up in boiling Venusian acid saunas or genitalia-snapping sub-Arctic cold, former ambassador Vinny went a-wanderin' one cool gray November afternoon and found a large janitorial space closed for repairs to its ventilation system.

Vinny and one of his interns (read: one of the interns) figured out the problem was a single stuck fan coupled with a faulty oxygen sensor. He assigned (read: assented to the suggestion) another intern to put in (false) maintenance requests for critical systems all over the WAHQ building to keep the maintenance gnomes from ever attending to this particular problem. This became a permanent internship position in the S.L. House of Diplomats, with dual credits for diplomacy and HVAC system proficiency, until the very last Intern for WA Office Survival one day inserted a virus into the WAHQ maintenance system source code, essentially removing C&M Annex 13-Bravo from the list of actionable maintenance zones, while appearing to show regular inspections.

A particularly tiny intern climbed into the ventilation system one day and, over the course of her internship, installed a series of very carefully aimed parabolic mirrors leading from the building's main air intake array all the way down to the Annex. As a result the vent in the upper office wall emits reflected sunlight onto a tiny herb garden just outside the Ambassador's office. The intern, Delilah "Biggie" Smalls, was awarded the Medal of Sanity by the S.L. House of Labor Rights for this valorous improvement of working conditions in the S.L. WA office.

M E M O R A N D U M

From: The Ambassador
To: S.L. WA Staff (all)
Secrecy Level: OFFICE SURVIVAL

Alright, you bunch of hazy retreads from the scrap heap of office mechanics, I can't stop the existence of television, nor its most hideous facet, "reality programming;" but if you tasteless philistines think you can just let a bunch of cameras in here, of all places, without immediate horrific consequences, you're even more hungover than you all look (and than some of you smell). Let me be clear: it is of paramount importance to your jobs that we remain in this space. Some of you have been a little lax lately about your timing coming in and out - we have no indication you were discovered, but if you had been, defenestration would be the least of your problems. So the first person who lets a camera anywhere near here before getting a legal waiver, signed with the blood of the production company's attorney or its CEO's virgin offspring, stating that the S.L.h. of Diplomats has total control and final cut veto power over censorship of door numbers, hallway signs, rug patterns, rug stains, ceiling tile leaks, building sounds, regularly scheduled or otherwise distinctive sex noises (you know the door I mean!), wall dents, external door decorations, and any and all other visual and auditory cues that might serve to identify the floor or section in which our office is located - that person is going to find herself being drafted as the moving company to schlep all our shit (this entire office) to whatever fresh hell they assign us. I happen to like it here, and believe me, there's lots worse than what we've got in this building. I've seen some of them, you don't want to be in those places for a meeting, let alone for a living.

Anyway, I can't control (and wouldn't if I could) our being on The WAffice; but if we wind up on an episode of GOLEMS!, there'll be hell to pay.

-- SAZ