The World Assembly Strangers' Bar

[Cardoness]

Lord Andreas comes to a part of the book he is reading that is written in an old and almost extinct dialect of Cardonessian. He has no idea what it says but can sound out the phonetics. He whispers the lines while looking for meaning is a word here or there. Suddenly, the book ignited and fire consumed it. He yelped in surprise and jumped back falling off his stool in the process. The fire quickly spread from the book to the bar, hungrily consuming the many exotic alcohols pooled there. He looked up at the bar in amazement as fire raced toward the end.

OH NO! The book!

He lunged to his feet and made a move to save the book but paused when he saw the book was an inferno. Uttering some curse under his breath he reached in and closed the book intending to pull it off the bar and smother it in his satchel. But as soon as the book closed the fire went out. Not just the fire burning the book but all along the bar as well. On top of that his hands were red and tender but not badly burnt and though the bar top showed obvious signs of damage, the book itself was untouched.

It can't be! He said with wonder, gazing at the red cover with eyes wide.

[Kingdom of the Polar Bear]

Aurora saw the fire and Lord Andreas race to grab a book. She said, "F*** this s***!" and bolted to the other side of the room. She grabbed a Fire Extinguisher from the wall and was about to pull it, when the fire went out. She set the thing down and went over to Mr Andreas and said to him, "Me thinks your book is cursed." she said pushing her hair out of her face.

[Applebania]

Claire continues sipping her beer.
"Did you get that book from Joshua's bookshelf?"

[Rotwood]

Jericho slightly staggers in from the bathrooms
"Someone has be writing on the walls again..."

[Applebania]

"Goddamn robots gone berserk again?"

[Ardchoille]

... though the bar top showed obvious signs of damage ...

"This. Is. Going. On. Your. TAB!" Neville spat. He whisked a bowl of tired peanuts out of Lord Andreas's reach. "And there'll be no more har snacks for you until it's paid for," he added sternly. "No pickles. No chips. No bits of indeterminate meat on toothpicks. You will starve until you give me back my bar. Unless --" He eyed the red book consideringly. "-- unless you can put it back better than ever. If you can magic something nice in, ummm ... Arabescato Orobico Rosso, we're quits."

Was that just a glint of disdain in the aristocratic Cardonessian's eye? Neville looked down, slightly embarrassed. "Yeah, I know it's a bit flashy," he admitted. "Kitsch, even. But it doesn't show the blood. They had it on the counter-tops of the prac bars at BarLord U, and I've always wanted one. Anything that can stand up to the students in my grad year should be proof even against the GA's corps diplomatique."

[The Palentine]

Lord Andreas comes to a part of the book he is reading that is written in an old and almost extinct dialect of Cardonessian. He has no idea what it says but can sound out the phonetics. He whispers the lines while looking for meaning is a word here or there. Suddenly, the book ignited and fire consumed it. He yelped in surprise and jumped back falling off his stool in the process. The fire quickly spread from the book to the bar, hungrily consuming the many exotic alcohols pooled there. He looked up at the bar in amazement as fire raced toward the end.

OH NO! The book!

He lunged to his feet and made a move to save the book but paused when he saw the book was an inferno. Uttering some curse under his breath he reached in and closed the book intending to pull it off the bar and smother it in his satchel. But as soon as the book closed the fire went out. Not just the fire burning the book but all along the bar as well. On top of that his hands were red and tender but not badly burnt and though the bar top showed obvious signs of damage, the book itself was untouched.

It can't be! He said with wonder, gazing at the red cover with eyes wide.

Zara Blackthorne sat sipping her Blue Marlin and watched the firey conflaguration. She gave a disdainful sniff and said,
"Amateurs playing around with the Arts! Silly fool ought to know not to mess with old tomes. Needs to learn to annunciate better as well or next time he'll really be sorry. Probally turn himself into a newt or something."

[Elke and Elba]

... though the bar top showed obvious signs of damage ...

"This. Is. Going. On. Your. TAB!" Neville spat. He whisked a bowl of tired peanuts out of Lord Andreas's reach. "And there'll be no more har snacks for you until it's paid for," he added sternly. "No pickles. No chips. No bits of indeterminate meat on toothpicks. You will starve until you give me back my bar. Unless --" He eyed the red book consideringly. "-- unless you can put it back better than ever. If you can magic something nice in, ummm ... Arabescato Orobico Rosso, we're quits."

Was that just a glint of disdain in the aristocratic Cardonessian's eye? Neville looked down, slightly embarrassed. "Yeah, I know it's a bit flashy," he admitted. "Kitsch, even. But it doesn't show the blood. They had it on the counter-tops of the prac bars at BarLord U, and I've always wanted one. Anything that can stand up to the students in my grad year should be proof even against the GA's corps diplomatique."

Alethea looks over, and commented, "Well, we can pay for that. My younger sister Elena's making some purchases and as State Minister for Beautification apparently she's got some sivec and Arabescato Orobico Rosso coming in.

I'm quite sure I could get more than enough for the bar top - hell, I hate random colours on my tables. I'd rather go for the sivec, although Elena wants me to take the latter. Never mind though, I'm sure she doesn't mind, sisters don't get angry with each other forever, after all.

A drink, then, please?"

[Rotwood]

Jericho raises an eyebrow as Mel enter's the bar
"You know you're mother and step-mother forbade you from getting alcohol here..."
Mel rolls her eyes at him
*The usual, Neville.* She waits patiently until Neville slides her a red sparkling drink *What? It's a raspberry soda. We're not all drunkards like Felicia.*

[Kingdom of the Polar Bear]

Hearing all the shouting at the bar from the book fire, Aurora took out her iPod from her purse and was like, "f*** this, I'm listening to Slayer,"

[Wrapper]

The Wrapperian ambassador surveys the damage. "Ah," he thinks to himself, "so that's why this place was evacuated for hours this morning." Looks like business as usual now....

[Rotwood]

Felicia walks in, looks at Mel before slapping Jericho on the back.
"Tag, your turn to deal with those zylgyccac..."
She reaches over the bar to grab a bottle of tequila before Neville smacks her across the hand and hands her the usual white rum. Suddenly, she picks up an odour from Mel's drink
"Hmm, was Jericho too drunk to notice?"

[Damanucus]

"This. Is. Going. On. Your. TAB!" Neville spat. He whisked a bowl of tired peanuts out of Lord Andreas's reach. "And there'll be no more har snacks for you until it's paid for," he added sternly. "No pickles. No chips. No bits of indeterminate meat on toothpicks. You will starve until you give me back my bar. Unless --" He eyed the red book consideringly. "-- unless you can put it back better than ever. If you can magic something nice in, ummm ... Arabescato Orobico Rosso, we're quits."

Was that just a glint of disdain in the aristocratic Cardonessian's eye? Neville looked down, slightly embarrassed. "Yeah, I know it's a bit flashy," he admitted. "Kitsch, even. But it doesn't show the blood. They had it on the counter-tops of the prac bars at BarLord U, and I've always wanted one. Anything that can stand up to the students in my grad year should be proof even against the GA's corps diplomatique."

Alethea looks over, and commented, "Well, we can pay for that. My younger sister Elena's making some purchases and as State Minister for Beautification apparently she's got some sivec and Arabescato Orobico Rosso coming in.

I'm quite sure I could get more than enough for the bar top - hell, I hate random colours on my tables. I'd rather go for the sivec, although Elena wants me to take the latter. Never mind though, I'm sure she doesn't mind, sisters don't get angry with each other forever, after all.

A drink, then, please?"

"At least, our good BarLord, it was only the countertop that was destroyed," Steph noted. "Had the flames reached the alcohol, I think you'd find a lot more enemies of the Cardonessian ambassador make their way of of the newly-varnished woodwork. Which reminds me"—and with that statement she was brisk in collecting the accursed book—"may I suggest we immolate this...object of pyromaniac tendencies before it does the same to the entire bar?"

[Cardoness]

don't believe it! Lord Andreas stood with breathless wonder looking at the book, the bar, and the assembled patrons.
I'm sorry Neville! I thought this was a commentary, not the...well, not something else. He looked nervously down as he gripped the book tighter. It was given to me by an old monk who said he had been told to give it to me, or something like that. I didn't really understand it at the time, and I understand it less now. I will be happy to pay for the damages and go in with Alethea on that new counter top you want!
He looked over at Ambassador Aurora. Thank you for your assistance, and sorry for the scare. I don't think the book is cursed, though I don't think it's supposed to do that either.
He turns to hurry from the bar. If this book is what it thought it was then his world just got turned upside down. He had to learn more about it, but who to trust? A priest of Ignis would want to take it from him but another sect would either trivialize it or try to destroy it. He had much to think about.

Oh, um, Neville, a round of drinks on me.

[Applebania]

Claire takes a seat near the shrine of the Cute One.
"You know, I'm thinking of buying a kitten for the Applebanian WA office."

[The Eternal Kawaii]

Claire takes a seat near the shrine of the Cute One.
"You know, I'm thinking of buying a kitten for the Applebanian WA office."

The old Kawaiian nekomusume tending the Shrine of the Manifestation smiled at Claire, taking note of the three or four Sanrio kittens milling about the Shrine (apparently putting out a few stray embers that had floated over from the flaming Cardonessian tome). "The Holy Ones are not ours to buy or sell, my dear," she said warmly. "If you are fortunate, though, one may choose to adopt your office. I believe there are several more wandering the Headquarters building; more than I can keep track of, at least."

[Wrapper]

Saturday night. But this one is different, as there is a new Wrapperian ambassador, sitting by himself in the corner where the light barely shines. He is sipping the ice melt from what was a diet soda with lime -- it would be wildly inappropriate and irrational, he thinks to himself, to indulge in any alcohol today. Not after his predecessor....

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and is reminded of a silly riddle about a tree falling in an isolated forest. If an ambassador dies on the floor of the General Assembly, and no one notices...?

His thoughts are interrupted by the approaching waitress, carrying a carefully balanced tray with what looks like his refill, plus two martinis, a white wine, and three colorful cocktails with an umbrella and some kind of tropical fruit in each one. She deftly grabs the soda and gently slides it in front of the old teetotaler. Not a drop is spilled.

The new Ambassador -- the former assistant, Wad Ari Alaz -- ponders his quick ascension to the delegation's top position. Just a week ago, he was not much more than a glorified secretary. With Deputy Ambassador Orliss-Dorke's abrupt retirement (gone to live on some planet no one on earth has heard of), and Ambassador DeGoah's... demise, "assistant" Ari was the last man standing.

Ari squeezes the lime and stirs his drink with a too-thin straw, and contemplates the chain of events that led to the former ambassador's death. The weeks spent drafting their peace proposal, the encouraging support from fellow ambassadors, the enthusiastic endorsement of just-inaugurated President Duen ("Auntie Emma" to Ari though the two are unrelated), the approval of the World Assembly delegates...

...the rush of said delegates to vote against the proposal, even as a slim majority of nations voted in favor. The surprising retirement of the deputy ambassador. The ambassador's self-destructive descent into an alcoholic and drug-fueled stupor as the final votes were counted. The embarrassing statements about the current proposal at vote. The ambassador's collapse. The unheeded call for help. The ignorance of others, who instead were so focused on the arguments for and against the seventeenth or eighteenth repeal attempt of an abortion resolution, they did not notice -- or perhaps, did not acknowledge? -- the death of one of their own.

A sad day for Wrapper.

Yet just another day in the World Assembly.

The realists will say that Ambassador DeGoah has only himself to blame. That the man could not handle his liquor. That any idiot knows not to mix barbiturates and ethanol, particularly when said ethanol is injected directly into the veins.

The idealists, including the folks back home, will blame it on the stresses of being an Ambassador, the strain of trying to carry the mantle for pacifist nations everywhere, even the unfair vote-counting process that turned a 50-50 chance into a surefire losing proposition.

Ambassador Wad Dawei DeGoah, the East Wormhole City News said, was, in a sense, trampled to death by a rush of ballot-stuffing super-delegates.

Ari knows better. The old fool died because he killed himself... whether he meant to or not.

It's getting late. There is a lot of work to do. A staff to hire. An office to rearrange. Personal effects to send back to Wrapper. And, a country to represent on the world stage. The new ambassador sighs, and thinks to himself, I must not... I mean, WE, must not let Auntie Emma down.

[Applebania]

Saturday night. But this one is different, as there is a new Wrapperian ambassador, sitting by himself in the corner where the light barely shines. He is sipping the ice melt from what was a diet soda with lime -- it would be wildly inappropriate and irrational, he thinks to himself, to indulge in any alcohol today. Not after his predecessor....

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and is reminded of a silly riddle about a tree falling in an isolated forest. If an ambassador dies on the floor of the General Assembly, and no one notices...?

His thoughts are interrupted by the approaching waitress, carrying a carefully balanced tray with what looks like his refill, plus two martinis, a white wine, and three colorful cocktails with an umbrella and some kind of tropical fruit in each one. She deftly grabs the soda and gently slides it in front of the young teetotaler. Not a drop is spilled.

The new Ambassador -- the former assistant, Wad Ari Alaz -- ponders his quick ascension to the delegation's top position. Just a week ago, he was not much more than a glorified secretary. With Deputy Ambassador Orliss-Dorke's abrupt retirement (gone to live on some planet no one on earth has heard of), and Ambassador DeGoah's... demise, "assistant" Ari was the last man standing.

Ari squeezes the lime and stirs his drink with a too-thin straw, and contemplates the chain of events that led to the former ambassador's death. The weeks spent drafting their peace proposal, the encouraging support from fellow ambassadors, the enthusiastic endorsement of just-inaugurated President Duen ("Auntie Emma" to Ari though the two are unrelated), the approval of the World Assembly delegates...

...the rush of said delegates to vote against the proposal, even as a slim majority of nations voted in favor. The surprising retirement of the deputy ambassador. The ambassador's self-destructive descent into an alcoholic- and drug-fueled stupor as the final votes were counted. The embarrassing statements about the current proposal at vote. The ambassador's collapse. The unheeded call for help. The ignorance of others, who instead were so focused on the arguments for and against the seventeenth or eighteenth repeal attempt of an abortion resolution, they did not notice -- or perhaps, did not acknowledge? -- the death of one of their own.

A sad day for Wrapper.

Yet just another day in the World Assembly.

The realists will say that Ambassador DeGoah has only himself to blame. That the man could not handle his liquor. That any idiot knows not to mix barbiturates and ethanol, particularly when said ethanol is injected directly into the veins.

The idealists, including the folks back home, will blame it on the stresses of being an Ambassador, the strain of trying to carry the mantle for pacifist nations everywhere, even the unfair vote-counting process that turned a 50-50 chance into a surefire losing proposition.

Ambassador Wad Dawei DeGoah, the East Wormhole City News said, was, in a sense, trammpled to death by a rush of ballot-stuffing super-delegates.

Ari knows better. The old fool died because he killed himself... whether he meant to or not.

It's getting late. There is a lot of work to do. A staff to hire. An office to rearrange. Personal effects to send back to Wrapper. And, a country to represent on the world stage. The new ambassador sighs, and thinks to himself, I must not... I mean, WE, must not let Auntie Emma down.

Claire speaks to the new puddle jumping ambassador.
"Hey, who are you?"

[Wrapper]

Ari briefly notes the ambassador with just a hint of suspicion. Friend? Foe? It's going to take awhile, he realizes, until he can properly categorize them all. Of course, outwardly, an effective diplomat must treat everyone cordially. For someday, even a foe can be a friend just for the moment, depending on the debate at hand. Except for that dreadful mister Russell, of course. And his lookalike... Fulton, was it? And that Floodian... thing, whatever it is.

But wait... this one, she looks familiar. Isn't she the one who tried to blast the Dourian ambassador's face off? Or... no, he remembers her now. She was the one standing on her desk, shouting something about overthrowing all the super-delegates. Now that's a policy we can get behind, Ari thinks to himself, as he starts to smile but catches himself. Act cool, he thinks... I'm a diplomat now.

Hi... ummm, Ari. Ari Alaz, new Wrapperian ambassador. Nice to meet you... er, sorry, still learning everyone's name.

[Applebania]

"Great to meet you! Name's Claire. Claire McLeod."

[New North Aqmuland]

The Aqmul delegate to the WA walks in to the bar.

[Rotwood]

Mel types furiously on her tablet, and looks up at the new ambassador for Wrapper
*Nice to meet you, Ari Alaz. Can you get the corpse of your former ambassador out of here, it's starting to stink the place up*
Felicia returns just in time to catch this, and ruffles Mel's hair
"Don't be so serious. Have you turned this into your new office?"

[Wrapper]

Er... that's... not my predecessor, he's already been, ummm, sent home. No idea what that malodorous mass on the floor is, but it does appear to be snoring....

[Goddess Relief Office]

*Goddess appears*

*looks around*

*buys everyone a round of drinks*

Bartender, I'll have tea please. =)

[Rotwood]

Mel inches as far away from the body as she can
*Uh, an undead that snores!*
Felicia quickly downs her bottle of rum in shock and reaches for another