The World Assembly Strangers' Bar

[Krasnovian Peoples Republic]

The stout sips his stout (don't think too hard about that) and smiles. "No, but I'm getting to be." He stands and offers a salute, crisply snapping his open hand against his chest - a fine salute, spoiled only by the mug in his other hand, and the froth on his mustache. "Captain Regan Vanderwaldt, First Krasnovian Infantry (Retired), Special Envoy on behalf of Captain Alistair Krum, First Citizen of the Republic."

The Captain sits, and shakes his head. "It's such a GOOD idea, though, at least, abstractly speaking. I mean... letting just any old country launch rockets into the sky? Madness." He glances at Ahume. "Karaoke, you say? Isn't that a Japanese dish?"

[Frustrated Franciscans]

A Franciscan Friar enters the bar.

"First Order, Mr. Narrator," the friar insisted. "Please narrate properly."

Friar John Sanders, OFM Ambassador and WA representative, walked briskly into the Stranger's Bar. He was dressed in the traditional dirt-brown robe with a single white knotted cord and Birkenstock opened toed sandals without socks and appeared to be considerably tanned. Entering the bar he proceeded to a bar stool and ordered a "black and tan."

"When I came back from my retreat," John said to the bartender, "I thought my secretary said I had a lot of foxes in my office. Turned out to be faxes."

"You went on a retreat," the bartender replied. "Must have been outdoors."

"Indeed," John replied. "Eighteen glorious 'holy' shrines which one approaches with reverence and awe, taking a course that in general never seems to be direct with visits to both sand, water, trees and rough."

The bartender didn't seem impressed.

"In other words, I was golfing."

"That's better," the bartender replied.

"But it is a religious experience never the less," John insisted. "A perfect example of putting 'true joy' into practice."

"True joy?"

"You've never seen me play, I suspect. It's penance for me, the rest of my foursome and anyone who has to play through me."

[Krasnovian Peoples Republic]

"So it's true, then?" the Captain asks. "God doesn't place at dice? He plays at golf?"

[Wrapper]

Ambassador Vanderwaldt, our pleasure.

He glances at Ahume. "Karaoke, you say? Isn't that a Japanese dish?"

Ahume? Answer the man.

(The assistant speaks nervously and very quickly.) "Karaoke, it comes from the Japanese meaning literally empty orchestra, it's an artistic performance in which a team sings along with recorded music or a music video, using a microphone and amplifier, and while the music is typically made of well-known popular songs minus the lead vocal, advanced competitions tend to subtract percussion or other instruments as well, which can be added by a performer vocally or by percussing a performer's body, but not with the use of instruments or other implements other than the microphone. Lyrics are usually displayed on a video screen, along with some moving symbol, to guide the singer, but not in some professional competitions, where it is expected that the singers know the lyrics ahead of time. In some countries, namely Chin--"

THAT'S, that's quite enough, Ahume, the good Ambassador gets it, surely. (The bartender places two sandwiches in front of the Wads.) Ah, thank you, Neville. So anyway, sir, we're, umm, trying to avoid the debate floor for the next 24 hours, there's been some, erm, rumors of violence about to break out as soon as the repeal up for vote takes effect. And we Wads, we, uh, tend to avoid any gratuitous displays of violence. Bad for our complexion, or something like that. Ha ha. (Ari motions toward his sandwich) Ah, you don't mind, do you? It's not very healthy to engage in wormhole travel on an empty stomach, eh? Heh.

(Ari takes a big bite out of the sandwich, and within moments spits it all out.) What the bloody.... (His assistant, Ahume, shrugs, takes a bite of his sandwich... and within moments spits it all out as well.) What the hell, Neville, we asked for chicken sandwiches, what the fuck is this, chicken shit sandwiches?

(Neville points over his shoulder to a copy of a poorly written resolution -- chicken scratch, quite literally -- that reads, "BAN CHICKEN MEAT".)

Oh for crying out loud, Neville, you know that's a fricken joke! You see, Captain, you see, that's what we're talking about! Ugh. You'll have to excuse us, Ambassador, we'll have to hunt down these sentient chickens and give them a good plucking-- (Ahume nudges Ari's arm) --er, a good, talking to. Come, Ahume.

[Krasnovian Peoples Republic]

"Good hunting, sirs!" he offers, finishing off his stout. "Nothing like fresh poultry, I always say!"

The Captain turns to the bartender. "Do you take Plasticreds?" he asks.

Grumbling, the barkeep swipes the Captain's card. Signing with a notable flourish, the Captain smartly salutes.

"Good travels to one and all! Sadly, our visits here are few and rare, but I feel we have accomplished much. Now to find that worthless assistant..." He stalks out.

[Imperium Anglorum]

Oh for crying out loud, Neville, you know that's a fricken joke! You see, Captain, you see, that's what we're talking about! Ugh. You'll have to excuse us, Ambassador, we'll have to hunt down these sentient chickens and give them a good plucking-- (Ahume nudges Ari's arm) --er, a good, talking to. Come, Ahume.

Parsons: (deadpan) I swear, if the threat of animal rights legislation reemerges, I will be moving ahead with the Housecat Memorandum. Think of the housecats! Think of the cute pictures!

[Sierra Lyricalia]

(Ari takes a big bite out of the sandwich, and within moments spits it all out.) What the bloody.... (His assistant, Ahume, shrugs, takes a bite of his sandwich... and within moments spits it all out as well.) What the hell, Neville, we asked for chicken sandwiches, what the fuck is this, chicken shit sandwiches?

(Neville points over his shoulder to a copy of a poorly written resolution -- chicken scratch, quite literally -- that reads, "BAN CHICKEN MEAT".)

Oh for crying out loud, Neville, you know that's a fricken joke! You see, Captain, you see, that's what we're talking about! Ugh. You'll have to excuse us, Ambassador, we'll have to hunt down these sentient chickens and give them a good plucking-- (Ahume nudges Ari's arm) --er, a good, talking to. Come, Ahume.

Steph is finishing the last bite of her beautiful pink ribeye when she sees the stomach-lurching debacle of the Wads' sandwiches go down. Turning an alarming shade of pale green, she gags, downs the rest of her cheap beer to keep everything from coming up, and runs from the room, muttering "Kill it! Kill it with fire and burn the desk it was written on, kill it! Last time I make the mistake of eating in here... wring that goddamn bird's scrawny neck, I don't care how sapient it says it is..."

[Imperium Anglorum]

(Ari takes a big bite out of the sandwich, and within moments spits it all out.) What the bloody.... (His assistant, Ahume, shrugs, takes a bite of his sandwich... and within moments spits it all out as well.) What the hell, Neville, we asked for chicken sandwiches, what the fuck is this, chicken shit sandwiches?

(Neville points over his shoulder to a copy of a poorly written resolution -- chicken scratch, quite literally -- that reads, "BAN CHICKEN MEAT".)

Oh for crying out loud, Neville, you know that's a fricken joke! You see, Captain, you see, that's what we're talking about! Ugh. You'll have to excuse us, Ambassador, we'll have to hunt down these sentient chickens and give them a good plucking-- (Ahume nudges Ari's arm) --er, a good, talking to. Come, Ahume.

Steph is finishing the last bite of her beautiful pink ribeye when she sees the stomach-lurching debacle of the Wads' sandwiches go down. Turning an alarming shade of pale green, she gags, downs the rest of her cheap beer to keep everything from coming up, and runs from the room, muttering "Kill it! Kill it with fire and burn the desk it was written on, kill it! Last time I make the mistake of eating in here... wring that goddamn bird's scrawny neck, I don't care how sapient it says it is..."

Parsons: (Blackadder-style annoyed) The one thing I hate about being sentient is this total semantic bullshit pedantry about the meaning of a single word, 'assessed', in an ancient resolution. (throws a dart at the other side of the room; it passes over the lantern which was delivered some time ago, now burning even brighter, and lands on the outside ring of the target.)

[Frustrated Franciscans]

"So it's true, then?" the Captain asks. "God doesn't place at dice? He plays at golf?"

"From what I hear he plays golf with dice. ... Everyone else needs clubs."

[Separatist Peoples]

"So it's true, then?" the Captain asks. "God doesn't place at dice? He plays at golf?"

"From what I hear he plays golf with dice. ... Everyone else needs clubs."

"Making par must be a cantrip for him. I bet he never needs more than a 1d4, either."

[Krasnovian Peoples Republic]

OOC: My delegates may have returned home, but I had to laugh out loud at Sep. Peo.!

[Ainocra]

Alcon finishes his drink and waits patiently until he can hear the sound of snoring form inside the evil skull. Grinning to himself he hastily and quietly rearranges the shrine of the cute one to feature a new somewhat bony centerpiece. Walking back over to take a seat by Bell he chuckles "Dimensional rip in 3.....2......."

[Separatist Peoples]

Alcon finishes his drink and waits patiently until he can hear the sound of snoring form inside the evil skull. Grinning to himself he hastily and quietly rearranges the shrine of the cute one to feature a new somewhat bony centerpiece. Walking back over to take a seat by Bell he chuckles "Dimensional rip in 3.....2......."

The C.D.S.P. ambassador chokes down a laugh at the absurd sight. "You realize that we'll have to watch the backs of our ankles for weeks if he even suspects we had a hand in that, right? Wait! Take a photo! Oh, man, do we need a photo of this!"

[Ainocra]

Alcon finishes his drink and waits patiently until he can hear the sound of snoring form inside the evil skull. Grinning to himself he hastily and quietly rearranges the shrine of the cute one to feature a new somewhat bony centerpiece. Walking back over to take a seat by Bell he chuckles "Dimensional rip in 3.....2......."

The C.D.S.P. ambassador chokes down a laugh at the absurd sight. "You realize that we'll have to watch the backs of our ankles for weeks if he even suspects we had a hand in that, right? Wait! Take a photo! Oh, man, do we need a photo of this!"

"You are absolutely correct, fortunately I wear thick boots." Alcon exclaims and hastily he pulls a tablet out of his inner pocket and snaps a picture.

[Whovian Tardisia]

Ambassador Pink, still slightly tipsy, decides to take this opportunity to photobomb. However, in his stupor, he knocks the skull off the shrine. It is at this moment he realizes he has indeed screwed up...

[Bears Armed]

Alcon finishes his drink and waits patiently until he can hear the sound of snoring form inside the evil skull. Grinning to himself he hastily and quietly rearranges the shrine of the cute one to feature a new somewhat bony centerpiece. Walking back over to take a seat by Bell he chuckles "Dimensional rip in 3.....2......."

Artorrios o Southwoods pauses briefly from his meal, closes his eyes, and prays silently that this desecration of the shrine won't trigger another outbreak of zombified wildlife...

[Murray the Evil Skull]

Ambassador Pink, still slightly tipsy, decides to take this opportunity to photobomb. However, in his stupor, he knocks the skull off the shrine. It is at this moment he realizes he has indeed screwed up...

(ooc: you better believe it buddy. )

With a sound *CLUNK!* Murray hits the floor. A cry of pain issues forth from the skull,
"Owwww!!!! I almost broke my skull!"
Very quickly though, Murray's pain turned to malevolent anger...
"Who was the foolish mortal who dared lay their hands on the EVILEST talking skull in all of the festering snakepit? Answer me before I put an evil curse on everybody in the bar!!!!! That's it, you all are cursed. You all are going to have such a rash!!!!"

At this point Murray notices the chuckling Aincoran ambassador. Murray's eye sockets
begin to glow a malevolent red...summoning up the sheer force of his evil will, Murray rolls toward the ambassador and starts attacking his ankles.

[Bright Waters]

"He did what?!"
"Well you see your predecessor was so drunk...errr....enamored of the passing of the WSA repeal that he went to celebrate"
"By shooting himself out of a cannon?"
"I'm sure he didn't realize the cannon was aimed at a WSA ship containing the supporters of the Irritable Bowel Syndrome Act"
"How, pray tell, am I to explain this?! My predecessor died in a fiery, drunken stupor, literally surrounded by sh-"
"Died in most honorable service to a cause he believed strongly in"
"And what do I get from this appointment, exactly?"
"You'll get a personal assistant! And we have arranged for a prime office in the WA! Great location! I'd suggest you get coins for the office. Have fun in the United Nations Bar!"
"Don't you mean World Assem-"

*CLICK*

Her phone now away, the new Chief Diplomatic Envoy for Bright Waters surveyed the chaos of the bar, particularly the sight of a skull snapping at an ambassador's ankles.
"Coins? What possibly could be near my office that would require coins? Oh well. Barkeep! A scotch, or it's equivalent please! I feel I will be visiting this place quite often...and why does it seem like everyone has a rash around here?"

[Whovian Tardisia]

Pink decides that now is the best time to leave, and avoid returning until Murray has cooled off. Whilst scratching his new found rash, he pulls a strange, pen sized device out of his pocket. Activating the device causes a strange noise to begin in the plaza outside the bar, and as he leaves, he wonders whose office he will pay an unannounced visit to...

[Separatist Peoples]

Seeing Alcon Enta's sturdy boots take such punishment, Bell glances down at his own loafers. His highly trained, if somewhat rusty, tactical mind lurches into action, and he comes up with a brilliant solution in only moments.

Raising his feet off the floor and into the stool's rungs, Bell leans over to Alcon, shoulders shaking with laughter, "I'm going to need three or four backed up electronic files of that photo. I'll trade you some boot polish for them, looks like you'll need a new coat."

[Ainocra]

Ambassador Pink, still slightly tipsy, decides to take this opportunity to photobomb. However, in his stupor, he knocks the skull off the shrine. It is at this moment he realizes he has indeed screwed up...

(ooc: you better believe it buddy. )

With a sound *CLUNK!* Murray hits the floor. A cry of pain issues forth from the skull,
"Owwww!!!! I almost broke my skull!"
Very quickly though, Murray's pain turned to malevolent anger...
"Who was the foolish mortal who dared lay their hands on the EVILEST talking skull in all of the festering snakepit? Answer me before I put an evil curse on everybody in the bar!!!!! That's it, you all are cursed. You all are going to have such a rash!!!!"

At this point Murray notices the chuckling Aincoran ambassador. Murray's eye sockets
begin to glow a malevolent red...summoning up the sheer force of his evil will, Murray rolls toward the ambassador and starts attacking his ankles.

"Ow! Ow!Ow!Ow!Ow!" still snickering Alcon leans over and waves his flask back and forth in front of Murray's eyes and in a droning hypnotic voice recites "You are growing thirsty....eating boots is hard work why not have a drink instead." Whispering conspiratorially Alcon continues. "Besides I know you've wanted to check out the shrine for a while now, I see the way you keep looking at the cute one..... have you thought about buying her a drink?"

Hastily retracting his hand from the snapping jaws he somehow manages to deftly snag the skull and get it up onto the bar again. "Sorry about the tumble, seems Pink can't hold his booze. Nigel another for Murray and some of that good polish he seems to have a scuff mark or two." Taking the proffered drink from Nigel and positioning the straw for Murray he winks at Bell. "I'll send it tonight, fortunately I have plenty of analgesic creme in the office."

[SS Thief]

Bosporus Callig was unmistakenably drunk as he stepped into the bar, seeming to stumble upon it rather than purposely walk in. This was supported by his wide-eyed gaze that panned across the room for a few moments before fixing itself on the bar itself. Further supporting this already proven theory of his pre-inebriation was the wide grin that came across his face as he dragged himself to a nearby stool and collapsed onto it. Before he could slur at the bartender for a drink, his aide George ran in, out of breath. He stopped as he entered, heavily taking in the air of the bar before looking around for the man who signs his all too low paychecks. It didn't take him long, thanks to the ambassador's bright red scarf flowing with his drunken swaying like the world's shittiest cape.

George quickly ran up to the ambassador, and, after a few more moments to catch his breath, said
"Sir, we still have a lot of work to do, the paperwork for the-"
"Quiet and get me a martini!" Bosporus yelled at the boy. The boy sighed and merely nodded at the bartender, staring at the two with an unamused look. George sighed again as he sat next to the ambassador, putting a few Kons from his pocket onto the bar and muttering to the poor bastard behind it to open a tab for them. He rubbed his face as the ambassador sipped his martini, then turned to him, obviously angry.
"Sir, with all due respect, I know you're still celebrating the destruction of the WSA, but we've been bar hopping for nearly 24 hours now."

The ambassador slammed his martini onto the bar powerfully in response, spilling a large portion of it.
"You don't get it! You weren't there! I pressed the buttons and the ships went like:" the ambassador put his hands together and then slowly seperated them in a sphere while making a poor impression of an explosion, spittle flying from his lips. George sighed at this.
"Sir, I was there, I had just as good of a view as you because I was right behind you, and yes, it was impressive, but at some point we have to stop celebrating!" The ambassador tried to think of a response for this for several minutes before making a dismissive noise with his tongue, belching loudly, and going back to what remained of his martini. George groaned and looked away at the others of the bar, desperate for someone to interact with him other than the drunken ambassador he was all too used to.

[Bright Waters]

Bosporus Callig was unmistakenably drunk as he stepped into the bar, seeming to stumble upon it rather than purposely walk in. This was supported by his wide-eyed gaze that panned across the room for a few moments before fixing itself on the bar itself. Further supporting this already proven theory of his pre-inebriation was the wide grin that came across his face as he dragged himself to a nearby stool and collapsed onto it. Before he could slur at the bartender for a drink, his aide George ran in, out of breath. He stopped as he entered, heavily taking in the air of the bar before looking around for the man who signs his all too low paychecks. It didn't take him long, thanks to the ambassador's bright red scarf flowing with his drunken swaying like the world's shittiest cape.

George quickly ran up to the ambassador, and, after a few more moments to catch his breath, said
"Sir, we still have a lot of work to do, the paperwork for the-"
"Quiet and get me a martini!" Bosporus yelled at the boy. The boy sighed and merely nodded at the bartender, staring at the two with an unamused look. George sighed again as he sat next to the ambassador, putting a few Kons from his pocket onto the bar and muttering to the poor bastard behind it to open a tab for them. He rubbed his face as the ambassador sipped his martini, then turned to him, obviously angry.
"Sir, with all due respect, I know you're still celebrating the destruction of the WSA, but we've been bar hopping for nearly 24 hours now."

The ambassador slammed his martini onto the bar powerfully in response, spilling a large portion of it.
"You don't get it! You weren't there! I pressed the buttons and the ships went like:" the ambassador put his hands together and then slowly seperated them in a sphere while making a poor impression of an explosion, spittle flying from his lips. George sighed at this.
"Sir, I was there, I had just as good of a view as you because I was right behind you, and yes, it was impressive, but at some point we have to stop celebrating!" The ambassador tried to think of a response for this for several minutes before making a dismissive noise with his tongue, belching loudly, and going back to what remained of his martini. George groaned and looked away at the others of the bar, desperate for someone to interact with him other than the drunken ambassador he was all too used to.

Saoirse Thelian, scotch firmly in hand, watched the Ambassador's reenactment of the WSA ships exploding at his (obviously inebriated) commands. Leaning over to George, she said,
"My good man, can I assist you in paying the good ambassador's tab? Were it not for him and his support, the WSA would still exist and I would not be here". As she slipped several large batang denominations into his coat, she whispered sotto voce,

"And was my predecessor with your boss last night? This could explain his last official act as ambassador I was just hearing about..."

[SS Thief]

Bosporus Callig was unmistakenably drunk as he stepped into the bar, seeming to stumble upon it rather than purposely walk in. This was supported by his wide-eyed gaze that panned across the room for a few moments before fixing itself on the bar itself. Further supporting this already proven theory of his pre-inebriation was the wide grin that came across his face as he dragged himself to a nearby stool and collapsed onto it. Before he could slur at the bartender for a drink, his aide George ran in, out of breath. He stopped as he entered, heavily taking in the air of the bar before looking around for the man who signs his all too low paychecks. It didn't take him long, thanks to the ambassador's bright red scarf flowing with his drunken swaying like the world's shittiest cape.

George quickly ran up to the ambassador, and, after a few more moments to catch his breath, said
"Sir, we still have a lot of work to do, the paperwork for the-"
"Quiet and get me a martini!" Bosporus yelled at the boy. The boy sighed and merely nodded at the bartender, staring at the two with an unamused look. George sighed again as he sat next to the ambassador, putting a few Kons from his pocket onto the bar and muttering to the poor bastard behind it to open a tab for them. He rubbed his face as the ambassador sipped his martini, then turned to him, obviously angry.
"Sir, with all due respect, I know you're still celebrating the destruction of the WSA, but we've been bar hopping for nearly 24 hours now."

The ambassador slammed his martini onto the bar powerfully in response, spilling a large portion of it.
"You don't get it! You weren't there! I pressed the buttons and the ships went like:" the ambassador put his hands together and then slowly seperated them in a sphere while making a poor impression of an explosion, spittle flying from his lips. George sighed at this.
"Sir, I was there, I had just as good of a view as you because I was right behind you, and yes, it was impressive, but at some point we have to stop celebrating!" The ambassador tried to think of a response for this for several minutes before making a dismissive noise with his tongue, belching loudly, and going back to what remained of his martini. George groaned and looked away at the others of the bar, desperate for someone to interact with him other than the drunken ambassador he was all too used to.

Saoirse Thelian, scotch firmly in hand, watched the Ambassador's reenactment of the WSA ships exploding at his (obviously inebriated) commands. Leaning over to George, she said,
"My good man, can I assist you in paying the good ambassador's tab? Were it not for him and his support, the WSA would still exist and I would not be here". As she slipped several large batang denominations into his coat, she whispered sotto voce,

"And was my predecessor with your boss last night? This could explain his last official act as ambassador I was just hearing about..."

George happily accepted the money, foreign it may be, but snorted at the question.
"The 'honorable ambassador', no matter what you mean by 'with', has been with many people these last few days."
"Haha! Hey, remember the blonde?!" Bosphorus asked the boy way too loudly. George sighed.
"Yes, I remember the blo-"
"She could put her leg behind her neck! It was awesome!" George rubbed the bridge of his nose in response, them motioned for the bartender.
"Just get him to pass out so I can go home please." He whispered. As the bartender began looking for the strongest vodka available, George turned back to the kind woman.
"This happens... a lot, actually. Name's George. He's Bosphorus, the result of a man failing the psych test for the military then cheating on the next one to become a politician."

[Bright Waters]

George happily accepted the money, foreign it may be, but snorted at the question.
"The 'honorable ambassador', no matter what you mean by 'with', has been with many people these last few days."
"Haha! Hey, remember the blonde?!" Bosphorus asked the boy way too loudly. George sighed.
"Yes, I remember the blo-"
"She could put her leg behind her neck! It was awesome!" George rubbed the bridge of his nose in response, them motioned for the bartender.
"Just get him to pass out so I can go home please." He whispered. As the bartender began looking for the strongest vodka available, George turned back to the kind woman.
"This happens... a lot, actually. Name's George. He's Bosphorus, the result of a man failing the psych test for the military then cheating on the next one to become a politician."

"A pleasure to meet you and your ambassador. Sadly, it seems as though I will not find out what happened to my predecessor. It appears as though in the display of alcohol and depravity that was the celebration of the WSA repeal, someone helped him in firing himself from a cannon. While it did succeed in destroying another pesky WSA ship, full of Irritable Bowel Syndrome supporters, a fiery ball of alcohol and excrement is not exactly a story I can bring back to my homeland"

Saoirse sighed, noticing her lovely scotch disappeared far too quickly from the glass. "Barkeep!" she quickly called, "another scotch for me, and two more for my two friends here!".

Turning back to George, who continued to rub the bridge of his nose and watch Bosphorus with despair, Saoirse said to him quietly, "The qualifications to be an ambassador are...curious to say the least. My predecessor seemed to have no abilities for the job, except for an encyclopedic knowledge of stamps used in other nations, and a decent ability to bribe others. I was but his assistant for two and a half weeks and I was deemed, 'unbelievably qualified' ".