A Turn of the Page -- Open IC (Coronation/Masquerade)

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

The Piazza San Bernardi is truly a sight to behold this day, elegantly appointed in the rich black and red colors of the Dominion, representations of falcons in tasteful abundance. The hanging baskets and gardens and planters had been refreshed and showed reflections of the same theme. Every building had been cleaned, and where needed, given a touch-up of the previous restoration efforts around twenty-five years previously.

Ample seating is set out for the guests between the Library and Doge’s Palace, with large panels of light material stretched on lines high overhead providing shade against the mid-afternoon sun. Comfortable chairs are placed in rows of six, spaced with ample elbow and leg room, to prevent anyone from having to resort to ungraceful clambering over one another, and to allow the easy passage of the Dominion servers carrying trays of liquid refreshment to the guests, it being considered terribly rude to have anyone thirst during their wait.

The event itself would be broadcast on several channels throughout the nation (and beyond, where carried), as well as relayed to the outlying territories. What news teams are there have been restricted to an area a respectful distance away from the guests that they have been ordered not to pester, and forced to content themselves with quiet commentary and observation. Any previous requests by governments to respect their representative's privacy is carefully handled with a five-minute delay in broadcast - ample time to blur any necessary images.

Similarly to her mother’s coronation, there were nods given to their past history, in some of the more ornamental guards - the most visible ones, and a number of the staff who were making the rounds, or assisting with seating or other guest needs. But the overall theme was not kept in full. Instead, it was more of a blend of the past, and the present. And when the time came for the ceremony to begin, it was the Chancellor, not a bedecked herald, who called the crowd’s attention.

Cesare Calabrese was an older yet distinguished man, dressed in an impeccable black suit of high Dominion design, with a deep red cravat and an ornate pin of ruby and gold holding it in place. His use of the wolf-head cane he carried didn’t manage to look weak, but dignified. A pause, and a generous bow to those in attendance, and he proceeded to address the crowd in a rich, resonant voice accustomed to making speeches.

“Majesties, Highnesses, Lords and Ladies, honored guests and fellow citizens - may I present our Imperatrice, Nathicana D’Aquisto, Dread Lady of the Dominion, and Principessa Naiya D’Aquisto, heir to the imperial throne.”

As he spoke, the hallway that lead to the landing outside the Ducal Palace], had been lined with black-garbed honor guards, their faces and features masked by full helmets. The double doors opened, and two women stepped forward, the older, raven-haired of the two clearly escorting the other. She was dressed in a simple but flattering black dress, and wearing an equally simple gold crown, whose last use had been her own coronation. Her dark hair was pinned up in back, to fall down around her shoulders in an array of curls, lightly touched with silver here and there, though her face and body were in keeping with a woman much more youthful than she was rumored to be.

The younger woman, her brown hair done up in an elaborate twist, was dressed in white, with red details at the hems, framing the neckline and underskirting. Tiny gold dragons had been embroidered over the red trim, accented with seed pearls. They both walked to the front of the dais, as Cesare bowed to both, and drew back with a flourish. Behind them were two others, one bearing a sword still in its scabbard laid across a folded mantle, and the second holding a golden staff of office.

Cleo, on the left, licked her lips very briefly before they were fully out into the glare of the Piazza, and to her credit, her eyes only widened a fraction for a brief moment as she did so. Her arm extended holding the sword between them in front of her. It was rare for her to be out in public, in uniform and without the traditional facial coverings.

In many ways she was committing a big risk in doing so, but this was a special occasion and she was not part of the honour guard, nor the ‘extra’ guard that were posted within the area. Her uniform had been cleaned and pressed immaculately, yet at the end of the day they were loose, simple robes and for some reason, she liked the clean simple lines of it.

Especially in comparison to the bright and contrasting pageantry around her. In all, the whole situation was very strange and she felt honoured to be there. Especially as it was Aeturnus who asked her to be there at this moment, a representative of his people, The Lost.

Aeturnus himself, standing on the right, wore the uniform he’d chosen when Naiya freed him, the grey and black with the golden dragon on his chest, over his heart. The golden staff of office felt strange in his hands. He had never understood the need for ceremonial things such as these, but then people he’d seen always took great care and reverence around them, and with the way the Piazza was set up, he chose to do the same now.

At their arrival, all the native Dominion representatives and guests rise to their feet. It is not required of the others, nor is it asked - they are, after all, only the leader of these people, and to demand such from guests would be considered in poor taste. It is quietly left to the individuals to decide, each according to their customs, with no judgements passed.

"My fellow countrymen, friends, allies, and honorable guests," Nathicana says in a clear voice, carried at pleasant levels across the Piazza via the tastefully concealed sound system. As she raises her hand in a gesture of recognition, the locals relax and sit back down. "I thank you for your support, and attendance, as we take a new step forward in continuing the vision of change I have had for the Dominion." Her expression softens as she continues, her gaze going to the young woman at her side.

"The right of Sovereignty, I willingly pass on. From my hands to hers, I bequeath all the rights I claimed at my own ascension in full, to my beloved daughter. May she carry her responsibility with dignity, and in accordance with the provisions of the Laws of the Dominion."

Naiya nods respectfully to her mother, each exchanging a quiet smile as she makes her initial statement. “I willingly accept the responsibility, and swear to do my utmost to carry it with honor.”

Nathicana turns to her left, nodding slightly to Cleo, and draws out a sword from its simple scabbard. She holds it forth horizontally, slightly above her head, and displays it to the crowd. It is a damascus blade, with a black leather-wrapped grip, a onyx cabochons mounted in the pommel and crossguard which holds a gold inlay design sporting falcons. The words "Imperium, Cupiditas et Dominatus " have been etched along the center of the blade closest to her hand - the motto of the Dominion. Power, Ambition, and Domination.

"Thus do I pass on this Sword, forged in the old traditions, and laden with the symbols of the Dominion, to my daughter, and all the rights and responsibilities that go with it.” She hands the weapon hilt first to Naiya, who takes it up, holding it aloft.

“I swear to henceforward restore the things that are gone to decay, maintain the things that are restored, punish and reform what is amiss, and confirm what is in good order," the young woman states, as her mother carefully belts the scabbard around her daughter’s waist.

Lowering her hand, Naiya brings up her left, lightly resting the blade along her palm. In full view, she tilts it, and slides the sword briefly along her hand. She then raises her fist, clenching it tightly and away from her body as she keeps the sword out and steady before her. Blood from the shallow cut trickles slowly from between her fingers, dripping quietly to the flagstones at her feet.

"I, Naiya D'Aquisto, by oath and by blood, tie myself to our ancient homeland, and in doing so solemnly swear to hold, guard, and govern by all proper means the Peoples and Lands of the Dominion, whether our native soil, our Colonies and other Territories, properties, and holdings to any of them belonging or pertaining, according to our laws and customs." She looks over the gathered guests, and ministers, and other native citizens present as she speaks, her voice strong, her resolve clear. "I will to my power cause the Law, in such Mercy as may be allowed, to be executed in all my judgements concerning the Citizens of the Dominion and her Territories."

"I shall to the utmost of my power preserve unto the various Corporations, Organizations, and Clergy of the Empire, and to those persons and properties committed to their charge, all such rights and privileges, as by law do or shall appertain to any of them, for as long as they continue to uphold the Sovereign Law of the Dominion." Her gaze touches on the various members of the local clergy, and those others known to her that represent their faiths here today as she reaffirms the arrangement that her mother had made official with her ascension. "I promise to be the shield and protector of the Dominion and her people, swearing to uphold and recover those rights of the realm and possessions of the Empire and her peoples if ever they be unlawfully usurped."

Here, Nathicana gently removes the crown from her head, holding it above her in both hands, and displays it to the crowd. "As I take up this crown by the rights heretofore established, I reaffirm the official reign of my lineage, passing on the title of Imperatrice of the Dominion Empire, to my daughter and heir, Naiya Stephania D’Aquisto,” she said to the crowd, and finishing facing the young woman. She gently passed the simple crown to Naiya, who accepted it, then held it above her head.

“I vow that the things which I have here promised, I will perform and keep, to the best of my ability. So do I swear before all those who stand witness this day." Naiya carefully sets the crown atop her head, as Cleo and Aeturnus step forward to hand her the scepter and drape the mantle across her shoulders, sealing the ceremony. With a brief whisper of thanks to each, she settles the scepter in her left hand at an angle across her chest, the sword she lightly rests point down, right hand resting on the pommel. Each movement was choreographed, each had a specific meaning, from the passing of the symbols of power, to taking them for oneself rather than having them granted by some higher power or other worldly organization.

"Let it be known I will respect the old ways and offer to consider clemency to those who request it on this day of celebration. These oaths and traditions will be passed down from generation to generation, ruler to ruler, for long as this Empire shall stand. So say I, Naiya D'Aquisto, second Imperatrice of the Dominion." The forgiving of offenses was an old tradition, acknowledged on a number of levels. What she did not do was take on a name to be known by, as her mother had when she’d first taken over. The years of violent takeovers and short-termed dictatorships was over, and she had chosen not to continue that aspect.

Her next step was also was something that had not been a part of her mother’s coronation. She half turned, sliding the sword into the scabbard resting lightly on her hips, then held her undamaged hand out to Aeturnus. “And to stand at my side, as my Imperial Consort, Sergeant Aeturnus Thinicolous of the Greater Kingdom of Midlonia. I further declare our children, Gabriel and Lucian, as my heirs - each with all the legitimacy and rights accorded to a Dominion Principe.”

There were audible cheers and applause from the piazza at this point, especially so among the Dominion higher ups, and those who had come to now the newest ruler in the months and years leading up to this shift in power. Cleo and Nathicana were clutching a newborn each, wrapped in traditional swaddling clothes. Gabriel remained oddly quiet in spite of the noise and lights, but Lucian, in Cleo’s arms, cried and struggled a little.

"Honored guests,” Naiya says, addressing the crowd and smiling warmly, standing close to Aeturnus, her hand still clasped with his. “I wish to again thank you for your attendance. The time is yours to do as you will, and we hope that you will take full advantage of and enjoy our humble hospitality. The festivities will begin officially at sundown. Until then, I bid you farewell. Should any of you require a personal audience in the interim, my Chancellor, Cesare Calabrese will arrange it."

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

In other parts of the city, depending on where one was at, people might be watching the broadcasts on television or handheld devices, listening on their radios as they sat around visiting in their local campos, viewing over the internet, getting their celebration on early, or simply going about their everyday lives. For some, this changing of the guard changed nothing - another face, the same Dominion, and life went on much the same as it ever did. There was still business to take care of, livings to earn, and in some cases, the people who could affect your life most were not those at the top of the social or political ladder. They were those who could reach out and touch you - usually not in a good way.

The socialites who didn’t rate top tier invites had their own parties going on, plenty of others had their own plans as well. All in all, throughout the city, there is a feeling of celebration and a break from the usual, where people could manage. And where they couldn’t, well …

Devras is an open playground for those wanting to take advantage of it. From the tourist hot spots, to the more everyday sorts of activities, down to the gritty underground. Whether one is involved in the coronation, or any part of the masquerade that is planned for the evening, from the Piazza and throughout the city, there are entertainments to be found, and adventures to be had. Or even simply a night out in a different city, surrounded by new faces. All that’s left is to decide what one wants to do.




OOC Thread Link

[New Edom]

Queen Mara had applauded with enthusiasm along with the members of the court. She had enjoyed the ceremony; it was simple yet elegant, and she found it interesting to see foreign traditions. “That was pretty good, yeah?” she had commented quietly to Count Thomas Lalery, her cousin, who was accompanying her.

“It wasn’t too bad. Lovely ladies here.” Her cousin said with his eye a-gleam.

Mara laughed. “New worlds to conquer, huh? Well, let me know how it goes. Hopefully it goes better than my various courtships.”

“Now, now…”

They had made their way back to the Palazzo Ducale (the New Edomite embassy was rather small here; while the government was thinking of improving it the expense and the lack of formal relations made it unlikely, and so there wasn’t really anywhere appropriate for the Queen and her staff to stay.) and Mara admired the setting. “It’s funny, it’s like it’s this blend of Roman, Renaissance and modern in a splendid blend. I like it! I met someone from this country. Somewhere. I can’t remember, it was some party but I got SO drunk—“

“What a shock,” mused her cousin. “I think it was that one where you met Tia.”

Mara’s face fell. “Yes. Tia. I really liked her, I hope we can make up one day. I hope she’ll forgive me…anyway I hope we can have some fun tonight.”

Before she went to the masquerade, though, she wanted to explore the the place a little more, and so typical arrangements were made to have Royal Protection Service (who would have coordinated with the Dominion's security, explaining that the Queen liked to have an illusion of freedom but that with two of her predecessors assassinated it was unthinkable in reality) she had slipped out of her formal dress into a yellow and white sundress, high heeled sandals with a little purse, her dark hair casually flowing to her shoulders. Count Lalery, in a white suit, blue silk cravat and carrying an elegant beak headed cane (that was a sword cane), a musucular young dark haired dark eyed man of average height, accompanied her as they went to what he had derided as "some hippie cafe". Mara had left most of her entourage at the Palazzo, including her little dog Precious, who was being walked by her maid Tegan.

[Heirosoloa]

"Oh, but I do love myself a coronation," Theodosius drawled, briefly turning away from the spectacle to talk to his aide. "Not sure if I enjoy the decorations quite as much," he added, gesturing subtly at the banners of black and red. "Such ugly colors, if you ask me." His aide grunted quietly in response. The pair stood some ten meters away from the main seating area, under the shadow cast by the Library. Theodosius was not here to mingle with representatives of lesser republics and minor monarchies; he was here to do a job—two jobs, to be exact.

Clad in a lilac suit, the Heirosoloan representative clapped politely. He did love coronations; it was no accident that it was Theodosius who had been sent to represent the Oceanic Republic. His family had ties to the old monarchy, and yet he was in solid favor with the republican government. Theodosius was, in one man, a representation of the fractured history of Heirosoloan politics.

As he watched the ceremony, the Heirosoloan—one of the few of obviously Greek descent—sipped delicately at a mint julep; he was truly a spectacle of the Greek lifestyle in Heirosoloa—old money, old ways. He was a titan in lilac; the creation of centuries of breeding and training. He was the perfect guest, the perfect date, and the perfect host. The bureaucrats in the Council of Foreign Affairs must have thought they made the perfect choice, he mused. I bet they thought they were picking some derelict in pastel colors.

He murmured in disapproval as Naiya cut her hand, covering the noise with another sip from the glass. "It's traditions like this that really do give the rest of us a bad image," he commented quietly. Theodosius' aide grunted again in agreement, the young man lost somewhere in his own thought.

As the royal progeny was produced, Theodosius turned away, his disinterest masked by fanning his face with his hand. "It is hot out here Valens," he announced, motioning at his aide with his free hand. "I do think it is about time we returned to the hotel and freshened ourselves up. We're going to have a busy night."

Valens drew away from his thought slowly, turning and nodding at his superior. "I'll summon the coach." He drew a cellphone from his interior pocket and fired a quick message before giving an affirmative nod at Theodosius.

As the pair walked away from the Piazza, Theodosius put his arm around his aide, drawing the younger man closer.

"Valens, my boy, let's not forget what's at stake here," he whispered. "If the two of us perform our jobs with aplomb, I can assure you we will both be very well rewarded."

Valens grunted a third time in agreement.

[Midlonia]

The Old Guard, Midlonian Delegation

Henry II and Queen Sarah both sat among the official delegations sent to the Dominion for the coronation. As a sign of faith, and the good relations the Dominion and Greater Kingdom had steadily gained over the last few years meant that with them was quite a large group of people. The Royal Family was out in full capacity, showing the house of Hykar-Svard was throwing full weight behind that of what it referred to as the House of D’aquisto-Treznor.

Henry himself had been crowned just 12 years ago now, and Sarah herself was crowned the same day as her marriage to Henry just over five years ago. The same year their daughters, Ellanor and Julianne had been born and the Greater Kingdom found itself fighting a bitter two front war to assume its destiny as sole ruler of the Midlonic World.

It had been a busy year, all things considered.

The whole of the Royal Family was out for this celebration. On Henry’s right was his Brother Freddie, resplendent in his khaki uniform, and next to him was Vogue Haringott. A woman whom Henry still never felt completely comfortable around. Her father had been involved in a highly treasonous plot and was for a time, the most hunted man in the Greater Kingdom. She had chosen a civilian life after the Border Wars, dedicating herself to charities and other matters. She wore a glittering sequined dress which made her and her burgundy hair stand out.

On the far side of them was an elderly woman in a wheelchair, who in spite of everything looked remarkably elegant. She wore a pale blue dress and a glittering diamond choker. Stood behind her, always in attendance was a middle-aged Akuman in a pure white uniform, that of her own household. Samir had been by his mother’s side as her footman originally right when Henry and Frederick had been born. When she lost the use of her legs to a horse riding accident before Henry’s reign, Samir had become her personal servant.

To the right were the more civilian aspects of the Greater Kingdom delegation. William Bagnall with his flopping blonde hair had been somewhat tamed for the occasion, and his suit was neat, clean and impeccable.

Next to him was the Foreign and Economics Minister. George Hillcrest. He had managed to be the Foreign minister now for nearly ten years, and had seen the Greater Kingdom emerge once more onto the world stage, repair its standing and psyche, and now was looking for ways to expand and cement that influence abroad.

Sarah looked to Henry, a cascade of blonde hair nearly covering her eyes. Henry looked back and smiled a little, one eyebrow raised before he nodded to her and he carefully pulled his phone from his pocket, he sent the drafted text and then settled back a little, an amused smile just ghosting to his lips briefly.

The fact was the Greater Kingdom now had one of its citizens (albeit an unusual one) was now a Consort for the Dominion, and the new Imperatrice’s personal bodyguard consisted of tribes who predominantly bent the knee to him personally.

In all, it was quite a good place to stand, diplomatically anyway.

“Got an idea for you Mascarade Masque?” Frederick murmured to Vogue.

“Oh, beleive me. I have a whole costume in mind.” Vogue smiled widely, revealing her fangs, a quirk of the Porphyrian Race. “You however, will have to find me. You’ll have till midnight, don’t worry.”

Freddie narrowed his eyes and then shook his head with a smile. “Alright, I’ll give this a go, what do I get if I find you?”

“Well… that would depend…” Vogue grinned. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I’d best get working hard then.”

The Midlonic, Devras Lagoon

The Midlonic was the personal floating palace of the Midlonian Royal Family. At 400 metres long it was a statement of power and prestige and thanks to the largely maritime nature of the Greater Kingdom, was the vessel most often used to tour the Greater Kingdom itself, and often went further afield as a result when the Royals were required for diplomatic visits and such.

It was once said that a trade agreement had only been signed because of the presence of the Midlonic and its state meeting rooms.

It had been parked in the lagoon since the night before, decked out in coloured red and gold lights to celebrate the coronation, now she was sat in the late evening with the lights already glowing.

Captain Jennarson looked at the console screen on the con as a soft beep informed him of the note. He tapped the screen, read it, then looked to the Commander of the Jaipur, a Birchestese man by the name of Barr. The frigate which often shadowed the Midlonic when she was abroad. The last time she had been here it had not been deemed necessary. This time the Jaipur was carefully docked to the bow of the Midlonic.

“His majesty says to strike at Midnight, Commander.” The Captain said with a soft smile and a nod. “Guess it means you do get to do your final checks after all. By the itinery that would be as the Mascarade ends.”

Barr scratched his wide, dark skinned nose and smiled a wide, pure white smile. “Good. I’ll get the men right on it.”

[The Freethinkers]

Double sided tape chafes

“Well this is fun.” Semphyra, the War Lady of Navarrok, the Sandstalker, the Goddess of her Race, well, and lots of other nice sounding things that sounded utterly guttural when heard in the original language. Straight silver (not grey, for it shined like the precious metal itself) hair, the length long enough to fall to her waist, tidied though kept at its full length. The dress, pure white, was designed only to utterly show off. It was fantastical, in a way, and clung to a body (with the help of double sided tape) that seemed almost artificially designed to be the athletic ideal. Not surgery, of course, and the lady held a poise with such talent that her training and background were obvious to those who knew what to look for. Most though, would be staring at one slit or another of the dress.

Her companions were more modestly dressed, though somehow the vampire’s spectacular décolletage seemed oddly appropriate. There was one man, Sir Alex Broxtowe, in his forties, could have passed for thirty. Blond hair was perfectly gelled into place, a style far younger than he had any right to be, and a suit, sourced locally as all his better clothing was, tailored perfectly to pull tightly over what was, for a human, a pretty good figure. Older now, he had led the Commonwealth for as long as Sarah had been the Midlonian Queen, a few seats ahead he saw his old bossed and smiled. They would need to catch up.

Representing the Royals, Cyriana and Salene, both older now, both dramatically flowered in that particularly wholesome, thoroughly confident Freestian way. Cyriana stood taller, her dragonkin heritage evident in her height, the tallest of the party, now approaching thirty. Salene, a few years younger, still carried youth as a badge of pride. Both wore complimentary outfits, corseted, though light on the pressure, both were naturally the shape the structures beneath their chests enforced on them, though sitting in the gentle heat of Devras bought out the appropriately themed fans they carried. Cyriana’s dress was slightly more conservative, aquamarine, longer, though still with the thigh split. One shoulder lay exposed, the other buried between waves of the thin, expensive cloth. Salene, going fully strapless, and pink, and her hem nicely above the knees, smiled with glamorous intent at her sister. Freestian princesses looked the part. Demurity could go suck a fat one.

“Its always fucking dragons with the Lost.” Semphyra offered, quietly, as the ceremony wore on. “Look at us, we may live in our crap but occasionally we get lucky and bring one down! Arent we amazings?” She whispered in a wonderfully accented voice. The Lost impressed many, rightly considered the finest of human infantry. But to her breed that was like saying your were the most ferocious breed of termite. Still, each to their own.

“Darling.” There was no real love in the word, but friendship certainly from Broxtowe, who smiled his charming smile even as his eyes creased in annoyance. “You didn't have to come.”

“I like them, really, and I have a nation to represent as well.” Semphyra took her own fan out, god knows where it had been hidden. Spare fabric wasn't in overt supply here.

“I think she looks beautiful. Naiya....” Salene offered, in her pitch perfect Princess tone. Cyriana looked momentarily proud. “And you two, please.” She looked at her technically far more experienced colleagues. Semphyra and Broxtowe exchanged a look, one of mutual mischief.

“The Dread Lady still looks good.” Was the vampire’s next comment. “If I was still a man...”

“Oh, like thats stopping you.”

“Old ground, treaded by another close to me.” The vampire offered, extremely quiet. “She has aged very well.”

“Quite.” Broxtowe was long past the day he actively sought the temporary companionship in the quantity he did, though he let himself enjoy the scenery.

After the ceremony had completed, he would their little party to respectful salutations with the Midlonians (after all, the princesses and Henry and Sarah were family), peer networking (after all, he ran Midlonia’s greatest ally and enemy combined. It was like the countries were married really, a thought that crossed Alex’s mind as his eyes coincidentally locked on Henry and Sarah again. She was still radiant now, and his smile turned genuinely endearing once more.

Not that they had done anything, of course, but they had been good friends, perhaps the first genuine female he had without trying to bed (though that had been hard to fight. Even now Broxtowe had to keep his eyes up. Middle age had been kind to her rear, he could confirm from behind. Shouldn't have been looking, of course, but Semphyra had done.

Christ, that woman. The whole realignment really hadn't been matched by a mental equivalent. All Alex could do was shake his head and, as the ceremony wore on, soy some foreign talent.

[The Elsani City States]

Beautiful people, beautiful dresses and a beautiful nation. Anyone could lose themselves in any one of these, or be lost, if the reputation of the Dominion in certain circles is anything to go by.
Everyone has their biases. The dull green toned woman with the Vossyr name on her uniform is here to engage in something hopefully common in this event-paying one's respect to a notable new leader. She is there sans partner, children and seemingly rare here-bodyguards and attaches.
Only those that attract enemies as leaders do need a dedicated security staff, and Katherine Abrielle Vossyr has made a career of the disarming smile. Time to take in the sights, and perhaps shadow those tourists that look like they're more comfortable with the throne room than boardwalk.

On occasions like these, there are always people that stand out more than a short green woman. In less reputable countries gun toting bodyguards are those people. Here, it's the hosts. And it never pays to upset the hosts.

[Scolopendra]

One of the smaller wonders of the multiverse has been the long and generally mutually beneficial relationship between the Dominion and the Federated Segments. Not a few commentators have pointed out how counterintuitive it is that a nation whose fundamental principles are explicitly Machiavellian and another nation whose fundamental principles are explicitly idealistic could get along so well; not a few sociologists have pointed out that both societies are not purely such nor pretend to be. Really, they complement each other quite nicely.

It didn't hurt that both nations were heavily influenced over the yedecemi by strong executive personalities who also happened to be friends. With elections in one and ascension in the other, this era has now passed, replaced with more formal and institutionalized relationships. Officially, at least.

Officially

Supreme Emperor Mballa Ipolla tugged down the broad fabric belt of her standardized Federal Service uniform. The vague fascism of the Mediterranean Segments had only been reinforced by the need for spacer discipline on Titan and as such its emblems, such as double-breasted uniforms and standardized insignia, were commonplace and well-understood. Of course, that vague fascism was just a unifying cover over what some would consider a nearly anarchic society of people arguing and working together in turns so appearances could possibly deceive. Ipolla didn't look much older than when she took office, chocolate face still mostly clear of lines and hair still mostly black, and the intensity behind her green eyes hadn't faded either. That didn't deceive, not on a personal level; the fact was though that she was an iron woman elected for what the nation collectively thought was going to be an iron time and everything had turned out better than expected: crises fizzling, situations fading, and the big wide multiverse just ticking along as it always did whether the Segments were strongly involved or not.

Upon her election, some in the political audience had licked their chops. Finally they'd get to see some real conflict between the 'Pendran and Dominion governments, two notoriously strong-willed women going head-to-head. The situation never came up, not publicly at least, and everything just ticked along as it always did.

"Another day, another event," she found herself saying in Arabic to International Relations Advisor Thong-oon Kraisee, the agelessly precisely flexible man that she always brought along to act as the good cop to her bad. Again, this setup had rarely been required to fulfill its intended function.

"That is not exactly the most useful of attitudes," he pointed out in the same tongue before falling in behind her. She wasn't much for standing still, in crowds or in anywhere else. "Our presence here reinforces the relationships forged by our predecessors."

"Hmpf. Correct as always." She kept her face unreadable, which for her meant maintaining a detached and mildly critical look. "The thing is about shadows is that you don't have to prop them up, even when you stand in them."

"It could be worse," Kraisee said with a quiet smile. "Being nondescript is preferable to being considered incompetent."

"Thank you for reminding me that Hertzfeldt's administration is going to be better remembered than mine."

The chief diplomat shrugged fluidly. "Our egos are irrelevant in service to the people."

"Sometimes, Crazy, I'm not even certain you have an ego." She actually cracked a smile. "Then I remember all the times you played me like a fiddle and I realize you're just really good at hiding it."

"Playing? I prefer to think of it as refining. At any point, let us check our schedules for when we can talk to the outgoing and incoming Imperatrices so we can give our regards."

*-*-*

Semi-Officially

"So, Shorty, tell me." The Triumvirate of Yut Combined Services uniform happens to be identical to the Scolopendran government uniform, minus a few devices, and it always has been. No one of note has ever complained. Sky Marshal Timofeyev Bondayehr therefore looks quite a bit like any other Scolopendran official except for the fact that his uniform is green-on-black rather than blue-on-charcoal, has the Trium roundel rather than a silver centipede curled into an 'S,' and he has additional martial accoutrements such as a green wheel cap and Sky Marshal's cape. He sounds and looks nonchalant, but a certain tension in his movements belie his actual purpose to acting so: distracting himself. "With both the IntRelate Advisor and the Supreme Emperor here, what's your job?"

"Grace your arm, of course." Senior Diplomatic Officer Zinn-Yersha, the Sky Marshal's consort (technically, it's the other way around) replies with a flick of her ears. Her uniform happens to be nearly identical to Kraisee's, though seeing how he is her immediate superior that stands to reason.

"Ah well, I could probably use the moral support." Timofeyev grimaced despite himself. He'd just returned from patrol. Exercise VIGILANT RESPONDER had been a failure, unusual for the Combined Services, and an even more unusual public one at that once Emperor Devon Treznor's disappearance went public. With Devon being declared legally dead, Bondayehr ceased all official search and rescue operations. Even then, he told the commanders of the Rimward Theatre to keep an eye out during their survey patrols, just in case. He'd promised as much. Shorty had briefed him on Nathi's obsession, something he saw coming from a teleconference months ago. He'd avoided visiting since his return last week, but this effectively forced things.

The kzinrret squeezed her consort's arm gently in her own. "It will be fine. The kits are here and she could do with a visit from family."

"It's never fine."

"You'll see."

*-*-*

Ludicrously Unofficially

A ninja and a werewolf sit on a patio, drinking lemon water and watching the crowd.

[Tsaraine]

The sun, beating down on all the white marble of the Piazza, was making the two Tsarainese representatives sweat; their formal black coats were designed for the Mother Country's cooler climate. Serrakhen Inkharent (Lord Protector and absolute constitutional not-a-monarch of the Greater Commonwealth) rubbed surreptitiously at the iron circlet on his iron-grey brow, and wished time would accelerate to the point where he could take the damn thing off. Perhaps the original (now long-lost, molten slag alongside the original capital) had been lighter? He'd not put some surreptitious lightening beneath the old, hard pragmatists who'd held the command before him - though as old, hard pragmatists, not one of them would ever have mentioned it. And so I must emulate their example, and bear this godawful thing with a stiff spine.

"There is a reason I never took up the title," his companion murmurs. "Aside from the fact that Vrathorsenkhora is murder on the ears." Rene Seingult (former Arkhora and not-a-Lady-Protector of the Greater Ascendancy) had had enough personal political power to rebuild Tsaraine from shattered ruins, decades ago, and could have reigned until death with no other title than her name; she'd chosen a quiet retirement instead, and (having technically now no more power than that of titular head of the largely defunct tsaIngult clan) was nominally here merely as a friend of the outgoing Imperatrice.

"Vrathorsarkhor is better?" Serrakhen murmured back.

"It includes arkhor, at least, so you get to feel better about yourself."

"If I hadn't preferred vrathorsa to arkh, I'd have kept your title."

"My crown was lighter than that thing, too. I was really rather proud of it."

Serrakhen shook his head (at least the iron circlet of the Lord Protector was not prone to slipping off). "Too garish for my tastes. You can keep it."

"I believe I gave it to the Municipal Museum, as it happens ... any crown gets heavy, after decades wearing it. You'll find out. Ah - that is proper." Rene noded in approval as Naiya made the blood oath. "Sooner or later, everything comes down to blood."

Serrakhen was less certain, but refrained from disputing with his revered predecessor. The vows following that act were certainly longer than their Tsarainese counterparts; although bracketed before and after by meetings, conferences, and discussions of high level and high security, Serrakhen's own oath of office had been the words of the first to claim the title; "I am Lord Protector. Let those who would dispute it take arms or take flight."

At some point in the coming days, assurances would be made to the new Imperatrice that the Greater Commonwealth stood alongside her (though Serrakhen, given the doubtless large volume of claimants on Naiya's time right now, had elected not to make it today); and assurances would be made to Nathicana that Rene stood alongside her (though Rene had made the same decision, for the same reasons). For now, though, the Tsarainese were willing to retreat to their apartments in the Embassy to escape the heat.

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

“I’ll meet you in the receiving room,” Nathicana said to her daughter, reaching out to lightly lay a hand on the baby she held in her arms. She nodded to Aeturnus as well, and moved to withdraw.

“Mama, are you sure? I don’t want—“

“Naiya, bambi, this is your day. I can’t be seen hovering too much, yes? I’d rather this be something I can enjoy rather than watch from a sickbed, or gods forbid, worse. This was the right decision. I’ll see you there, to help with the babies, hm?” Nathicana smiled reassuringly, though Naiya could easily read the tightness behind the gesture.

“Take your time, mama. Cesare, I suppose it’s time,” Naiya said, as the present honor guard formed up, some helping to carry the symbols of state while the newly-crowned Imperatrice cradled one of her sons.

The group proceeded to cross the Piazza to the government offices in the Gianfigliazi Building, and while they did not stop to converse, Naiya made the effort to gently wave to and smile at everyone she happened to recognize, and even those she didn’t.

Calabrese remained outside the doors while her escort accompanied her into the room set up for receiving.

Aeturnus meanwhile remained fairly stony faced. His eyes darting slightly to try and locate the Lost who had not been part of the honour guard. As ever, they were hidden either among the crowd or elsewhere, somehow blending into the strange location regardless. He glanced to Naiya slightly and gave her a thin smile. He was somewhat uncomfortable in this situation, evidently. It was entirely possible the last time he had seen so many people gathered together was more likely a war zone than a peaceful celebration here.

She returned the smile with a decidedly warmer one of her own as she got the babies settled in their crib in the room just adjacent. “Will you stop worrying? It is ok to relax now and then and just … enjoy the moment, tessoro.”

He tilted his head downward slightly. “I still feel something is off. Could just be my nature talking though. I’ve gone from a Sergeant to a Consort overnight, after all.”

“No,” she said, walking over to him and slipping her arms around his shoulders. “You’ve simply added the title to any and all others you already had. Nothing’s changed in who and what you are. It’s just another name, for the benefit of others more than ourselves. Politics. You’ll be seeing a lot of it.”

“Why do I always feel like I should feel dread whenever you say such a thing?” Aeturnus said with a slight smile, his brow furrowed a little in thought.. “I don’t even know what we have for masquerade costumes…”

----- ----- -----

Nathicana meanwhile, made her way around the Piazza wth her two bodyguards tailing a safe but respectable distance behind, as she’d requested. It was time to say some of her own quiet farewells in her own way, as she could in between the required meet and greet, and appropriate appearances and participation later.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

New Edom

The group from New Edom was more than welcome to take a more extended look at the Doge’s Palace – with the offer of service to their rooms made clear, along with the tour of the elegantly-appointed rooms that were not in use by other delegates.

“If there is anything at all you require, Your Majesty, you’ve but to ask,” assured a young man dressed in a simple but neat black suit, white shirt, and red silk tie. “We were asked to thank you for your attendance, on behalf of the Imperatrice, who hopes that your stay will be a pleasant one.” His name tag confirmed his name as Antonio. What he thought of them heading to Alle Tagliate, he didn’t presume to say, but his brow did arch up slightly when they made their intentions clear.

Located in what was formerly the moneychangers offices, the club had been redesigned on the inside, using whatever parts of the old architecture they could, and then adding to it to keep the gothic feel and dark brooding ambiance. There’s music providing a steady beat, but not so loud as to drown out conversation. There’s already a number of patrons present, some drinking, some smoking, some sampling the pub grub, but all relaxing and enjoying the scenery.

One of the young women wearing a tight black cotton shirt and shorts, clearly some of the employees, greets them as they enter. “Welcome to Broken Wings. What can we get for you this afternoon?”

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Heirosoloa

The guards at the crossing treated the Heirosoloan’s with all appropriate respect, as well as helpful directions if needed, to wherever it was they were headed. The locals they might run into on their ride back to the hotel, seemed to be in good spirits, and having a fairly welcoming, helpful attitude in common.

Should they want to take any side trips on their way back, it was fairly certain their driver would be able to take them there.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Midlonia & The Freethinkers

The Midlonians and Freestians were subtly approached at one point, with one of the staff letting one of their staff know that should they have any needs, to please make the staff aware, and that Naiya appreciated their attendance. Refreshments were made available should they be wanted, and kept out of the way should they not.

No few eyes among the crowd had strayed to one or more of their groups, for obvious reasons. Some were curious about the relationship between the Midlonians and their new Imperatrice besides the equally-new consort. Some were simply drawn by the beauty of the women. Some intrigued by the shocking head of red hair that Henry sported, along with his charming physique.

Reassurances were made regarding any accommodation needs, though on the part of the Midlonians, it was assumed they would be ‘bunking’ out on their rather sumptuously-appointed ship, currently sitting out in the harbor.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

The Elsani City States

The green-skinned officer was treated no differently than any other tourist, especially on an occasion such as this. Over the years, the Dominion had become accustomed to the various oddities of other races – at least here in the capitol where there was a great deal of mixing and meeting.

People in passing smiled or nodded, perhaps a few of the younger folk paused to et a better look, but none of it rudely so much as curiosity. And of course, any shop owners, or transportation workers were happy to accept her money, and assist in helpful directions.

To someone unfamiliar, this might seem to be almost too good to be true. To those who knew the Dominion as she did, it was par for course – the polite, welcoming cover over some of the less pleasant aspects. Oh, the hospitality was real enough, being a longstanding tradition among the people. And a great many of them were as they appeared; simply ordinary citizens going about their business.

The black-garbed soldati that could be seen quietly patrolling the more populated areas were a reminder of the ever-watchful government, and the less respectable elements they protected the uninvolved from – when not working with some of them, of course.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Scolopendra & Tsaraine

It was no secret that the relationship between the two nations was not perhaps as cozy as it had been, at least between the leadership and Ministry. There were many who thought this was a more healthy status. If it seemed there were ample staff on hand to address any needs, well … certainly it was simple politeness.

Another very longstanding ally, the Tsaraine delegates were also offered all due respect and courtesy, as well as offered transportation as needed to and from their embassy.

Scattered throughout the crowd were the various Ministry heads and their assistants, for the most part familiar to those in charge.

Cesare Calabrese of course, waited outside the doors to the government offices. Bernardo di Medici, aging but still hale minister of Trade was touring the plaza, with a younger, attractive woman in red at his side. Antonio Pellegrino, Minister of Central Intel was sitting quietly with his wife, and two tall young men – their sons. Evangelista Ravanelli, Minister of Public Relations, wearing her hair down and long, seemed to have aged well, nodding and smiling as she wove her way through the crowd. Even Niccolo Giraldi, over the Ministry of Religion, his white-blonde hair now fully white, walked more slowly, assisted with a tall cane. One new face was Marius Russo, Minister of Finance who had replaced Donatello Calfa in the months previous. There were others of course, that they might have had contact with off and on over the years, all more or less free to converse, or assist.

Those thought of as famiglia were quietly given more consideration, though they would never ask for it. And those wishing to remain more incognito were given ample leeway to do just that.

[Midlonia]

Dominion et Familiga

The Staff thanked those of the Dominion who had approached the party, and informed them that the Royal Family, and their own guests, would be staying with them on the Midlonic. This was in no way a snub to the Dominion’s own fine places, but merely a consideration on the part of Queen Julianne, the Queen Mother,

Henry smiled good naturedly and placed a hand on each of his daughter’s shoulders who were already looking around for mischief to no doubt commit. Billy Bagnal and Hilcrest both fell into step a few steps behind that of the Royals, as protocol dictated. Henry smiled a little wider before he patted both the children on the head and told them to head with their mother towards the receiving room. Henry meanwhile wheeled around on his heel somewhat, and spotted his cousins just a few feet behind them.

Henry was himself wearing a Dominion-inspired suit, one that had been designed by the house of D’Maco. The Dominion-born designer was himself finding his adoptive country fun to embrace and was now producing unusual designs that seemed to sit between the two differing styles of suit cuts and was even branching out into shoe-styles.

The Midlonian Royals had all in one way or another wheeled back with Samir resolutely pushing their mother back towards the others, with the older Julianne already fussing over her favourite granddaughter, though it seemed Ellanor didn’t mind this one bit.

The wonderful complexities of the Greater Kingdom and Commonwealth Royal Families effectively made them rivals to the same thrones, though various laws passed by both countries in essence restricted such active claims, both houses of Svard could, should anything happen to the other, lay claim to their respective thrones.

Indeed, some had rather salaciously argued that Percival IV had a greater claim to the Midlonian Throne than the current occupants. Though others argued this was mostly because the Navarre-Svards had resolutely kept their Royal House name, instead of accepting more hyphenated names reflecting the realities of their house.

“Take it we’re all saying hello, then?” Henry said tilting his head a little towards their cousins.

“Seems that way, we’re just following your lead after all.” Frederick said with a laugh. “I think we’re just used to following you around at this sort of thing.”

Henry shook his head. “Don’t have to, especially tonight. Don’t know what masks you’ll be wearing after all, though it’s not like we can’t spot each other’s hair.”

By the time they had finished this bit of brotherly banter they were stood before Cyriana and Salene, who had been making their own beeline towards them in the wake of the coronation. A smaller party, the Freestian would have to spread themselves a little wider for the Midlonian crowd, and as protocol dictated it was the royals who went first. Cyriana led a little, the heir to the crown of the Freestians, step forward and curtsied gently, enough of a movement to be respectful without being overt about it, Salene following her wake, the smaller, human, younger girl (now that would be a guiding experience for Julianne the younger one day) followed in her wake. “Cousin.” She offered to Henry, moving forward into a gentle hug. The last family reunion, so to speak, had been a while. At least he was tall enough that her own considerable height did not impact things too much. Salene did likewise in succession before both moved onto Sarah, who’s embrace was a little more Freestian in its totality, though still respectful. “Its been too long, your Majesty’s.”

“Far too long.” Henry replied.

“Always nice to see family. Frederick said with a bow while Vogue herself curtseyed almost perfectly.

Sarah embraced both her husband’s second cousins. The friendliness was also born from their own interactions when she had been Freestian Prime Minister. Gentle kisses on the cheeks, actual contact rather than the air kisses of Midlonian etiquette. Something made her, even now, ever so slightly homesick, though the feeling was soon crushed by the joy of her situation.

“Daddy sends his regards and regrets illness keeps him away. He said he is glad to see his nephew and his wife prospering and as always extends his warm regards to the kids as well.” Cyriana beamed. Genuine happiness, it was infectious.

“We’ll have to get out there and see him, preferably soon.” Henry replied with a nod. Percival had indeed been ill over the last year or so. Age was sadly catching up to his Uncle, he beamed. “Perhaps we can offer a lift back to Navarre?” He nodded towards the bay.

“The offer is appreciated, alas it will probably have to wait, though we have time until the morrow anyway. I envy your luxury of travel, Henry.” Salene stepped in, Cyriana dropping her head to her younger sister. Both had the faint inkling of the red hair that ran through the Svard line. Actually a Mercian trait, if you went back a long, long way, it was a useful identifier for the line. After all, Cyriana was tenth, no, twelfth in line for the Midlonian throne as well.

“The upkeep is not fun.” Julianne noted dryly. “His father and him have sunk goodness knows how much into trying to modernize it.”

“Well, we envy. They’re building Daddy a new one, with conditions.” Salene offered, with a smile, and another curtsey to the Queen Mother. Then she spotted the kids. “Ella, Julie!” The two Freestian counterparts rushed forward and hugged their opposites, Ellanor, already the taller of the two was held in the equally enhanced form of Cyriana, the two Ghouls sharing a moment. Salene in turn hugged the younger Julianne as she lifted her into the air. “Wow, how you’ve grown!”

“Your majesties.” Broxtowe made an appearance with a gentle bow.

“Prime Minister.” Henry said with a nod. “Quite the occasion, isn’t it?”

“Quite, sir,” he offered, with aplomb. “Nice to be here for something other than a new suit or some sight seeing.” He looked behind to the Midlonian politics, though first with a bow to the Queen Mum, who had a decent following in the Commonwealth too. Old dowagers always had an endearing, grandma like quality to them appreciated by most.

“Bagnal, Hillcrest.” He said politely, with a smile that could cause a flood in the right company.

“Mister Broxtowe.” Hillcrest replied with a slight, and stiff bow.

“How are you, Alex?” Billy replied, a warm gust of wind causing the Midlonian Prime Minister’s hair to ruffle into its usual unruly mop. “Not causing too much trouble with that charm, I hope?”

“Oh Billy Billy, our uni days are long behind us.” Well, one well timed year. Hillingdon club was good fun. Alex did smile, deeper and warmly. Sarah raised an eyebrow. Julianne probably rolled her eyes. “Sides, don't need another diplomatic incident now do we?”

“Oh I don’t know, keeps things more interesting…” Billy replied with a boyish grin that had won him so many seats. Hillcrest coughed a little too forcefully, causing the Midlonian Prime Minister to bob his head. “Though, of course, that is more under George’s aegis to clean up, and I doubt his old man would forgive me if he came back completely grey haired.”

If looks could kill was the old turn of phrase. “Quite, William.” George replied with another cough before glancing back towards the door. “So, I assume we’re about ready to be received?”

“Ready when you guys are!” Semphyra made her appearance. Eyes seemed to magically teleport to her neckline. “How goes everyone?” Technically the equal of the royals as the head of state of her tiny nation, Semphyra didn't seem quite at the same height of etiquette. There was no malice mind, not that many would be looking for any at this juncture.

“Semphyra, his Majesty.”

“Familiar.” Semphyra offered with a curtsey. The informality was received as it was. Who was going to argue with her?

Henry did little but smile and close his eyes at Semphyra’s informality. It had been the same since before she was Warlord after all, and was really unlikely to change any time soon.

“I take it you will want to shuffle back into some semblance of order, or would you prefer us all to go in as we are? Would be fun to make at least one member of the Palace choke tonight…” Henry said with a wide grin that was verging on ghoul-like.

“If only.” Semphyra muttered.

[New Edom]

Broken Wings

Mara had thanked Antonio; she liked the service at the Palazzo thus far, very courteous and friendly, even if he had given the "you must be crazy" look, but she got it all the time anyway.

There was a sense of calm but not of peace necessarily about this place. Mara generally felt that such places, if they had any peace, had been drenched in blood at some point, but she was fine with that. In a way it seemed positively normal, and she had the feeling that she was very far removed from region and home life.

So it was that when they arrived at her destination she smiled. "Thank you, I think we'd like a table and menus please." Count Lalery liked the staff thus far--tight clothes on tight young women pleased him--but he wasn't pleased with how it looked. "What is this, the set for Twilight?" he asked.

"Don't be a dick," Mara advised him in Baran. "It's ambient."

"Oh ambient. Fine. But I see one brooding pale soul or any two otherwise normal woman engaging in deep kissing and I'm gone and you can fend for yourself," he said in the same language with a shrug. He wasn't necessarily that keen to flirt with some waitress unless they had attributes he simply couldn't resist. They were paid to be friendly, after all, though he could never resist a heart shaped rump combined with a saucy smile.

"Are you going to be a pain in the ass this whole time? Think of the Masquerade Ball!" Mara thought of her costume with delight as they went to their table. "Thank you," she said, switching back to the local language or English, whichever worked. Mara spoke Latin but not Italian.

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

Midlonia & The Freethinkers

Cesare Calabrese saw the growing group of dignitaries and leaders approaching from across the way, confirmed over Spook – their quiet system of communications – by one of the agents keeping watch over the crowd. By the time they reached the building, he was on his way to greet them, the tip of his cane tapping lightly on the red and grey pavers.

“Your Majesties, your highnesses, Lords and Ladies, it is an honor to have you all in attendance,” he said, offering a respectable bow to the group. It wasn’t as though he were unfamiliar, but there were certain attributes that it was difficult to ignore completely. Clearing his throat after his gaze passed over, and paused, on Semphya, he continued.

“I’m certain the Imperatrice is looking forward to seeing you. Please, if you would come this way,” he said, gesturing to the double doors leading in. “Directly through, just past the entry way – flanked by the gentlemen and women in black. One can hardly miss it.”

Inside, the entry was tall, going up all three stories to show off the stairways, at least in this portion. Light filtered in from the ornate glass ceiling, as well as being lit by warm chandeliers and wall sconces at intervals. On display was the four foot high bronze replica of Il Cavallo received years ago from Alcona and Hubris, along with other smaller historical pieces, cased in glass. The room Cesare had pointed out was straight ahead, with Naiya’s honor guard from the coronation flanking the short hallway leading in.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

New Edom

Ale Tagliate, Broken Wings in the more common tongue, was filled with warm colors and textures, offset by the more modern lights that accented cool shades and caused certain portions to glow. Mara and Count Lalery were offered the usual carafe of lemon water and two clean glasses along with the menus, which consisted mainly of more simple dishes – pub grub, so to speak – and as suggested, copious amounts of alcohol.

One of the options available was shisha, available in a number of flavors and blends. In fact, there were a couple of tables towards the back who were gathered around colorful hookahs, visiting quietly between contented draws on their pipes.

Their waitress, sporting a small name tag designating her as Melina, also brought out a basket of warm bread, and a shallow dish of spiced olive oil for dipping. “I’ll be back in a moment to take your order. Is there anything I can get for you in the meantime?”

[Midlonia]

Dominion

“Thank you, Chancellor.” Henry said with a nod and a smile before spotting where the rather enlarged party of Commonwealth and Greater Kingdom now headed. “Never been a big fan of black on uniforms myself…” Henry murmured after. “Something just slightly too sinister about it.”

“Now now, dear.” Sarah said with a slightly pointed grin. “You might hurt their feelings, I mean, everyone here is trying so hard for the sunshine and smiles aesthetic.”

Henry snorted slightly with laughter. It wasn’t as if the Greater Kingdom didn’t have such troops themselves, there were some members of the SAS with digital camouflage which defaulted to a deep black when switched “off” after all. But generally when they needed to be public they were usually in the obvious red and bear skins, like the Life Guards, or the Greater Royal Marines contingent that provided security aboard the Midlonic the all wore the bright, traditional, red.

Mind, they existed more as a deterrent, not an police and military force combined.

Glancing at the various historical trinkets that had been left on display, Henry couldn’t help but smile and the strange world they lived in, the place reminded him somewhat of the receiving hall in the Castellion. That was a long tall room also (though, admittedly slightly taller… Henry was irked sometimes by his forebearers need for grandeur in all things) filled with trinkets from around the then Empire.

Henry smiled a little, everywhere you went with Monarchies, they all had the same thing, all giving things to each other as gifts. Henry often wondered if there was some poor monarch somewhere who got all the trinkets and little things that every other did not want, and had room after room piled with ghastly things.

Then again… he could be that monarch. Sarah did seem to have the habit of having stuff politely removed somewhere when he was out. The giant gold giraffe had been too much, apparently.

Henry and Sarah stepped through the doorway into the receiving room. The Queen Mother and Julie placed back on her lap after Salene had finished fussing with her. Elannor stood next to Samir, licking her lips a little nervously. Behind them were Freddie and Vogue and the various Commonwealth Royals (following the protocol of ascension this time, as Celene was not yet Queen) followed then by Sephyra. All of the politicians from both states had been cheerily shoved to the back. Alex and Bill taking turns to let their eyes wander down Semphyra’s back.

“Complimenti per l'incoronazione, Imperatrice.” Henry said with a slight smile when he saw Naiya. “Hope I didn't fluff the pronunciation too much. Well now, Consort Aeturnus, quite the title you have is it not?”

“Quite so, si-” Aeturnus caught himself, there were all sorts of differences now, Aeturnus had, in theory, much greater clout when it came to such protocols now some things he had been reading up on in the run up to the coronation. “Your majesty.” He instead changed to with a slight, stiff nod.

Henry’s smile twitched a little wider and nodded in return to the new Consort. “You of course know my wife, Sarah…” He said turning to the Midlonian Queen with a chuckle. “And the childen of course, but may I also introduce my mother, Queen Julianne, the Queen Mother and my brother Frederick and his partner Vogue Haringott.” He gestured to the relevant members of the party. “I felt having the whole family out for a night in Devras would be a good idea, especially with what is planned.”

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

Midlonia

Naiya got to her feet as the group entered, smiling warmly and taking the opportunity to create a much less formal atmosphere than perhaps her mother had assumed on her own coronation reception. Slipping her arm around Aeturnus, she drew him along with her gently, approaching the group rather than having them fully approach the ornate chair she’d been sitting in. Her left hand had a telltale bandage wrapped over it, but if it bothered her or caused her any discomfort, she didn’t appear to register it.

“As if I would fuss over pronunciation in any case. I’m so glad you brought everyone, Your Majesties. You know you’re always welcome here.” Naiya said, offering her hand to both Henry and Sarah in turn, then winking and waving subtly to their daughters and pointing out the dish of candy sitting on a nearby side table. Adult meet and greets could be tedious for the younger attendees, she knew.

“Thank you very much for coming, all of you.”Her smile took in the entire group, but her movements took her next to Queen Julianne, whom she offered a polite bow as she bent to offer her hand as well. “Your Majesty, if I may say so, you have a beautiful family. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

When appropriate, she also greeted Frederick and Vogue. “I hope you both will feel welcome here as well. I’m glad to make your acquaintance in person. Please let us know if there is anything we can do – for any of you – to make your stay more pleasant.”

The young woman smiled up at Aeturnus then, drawing back slightly so they could more easily address the group. “I can’t say as I’m terribly sorry for stealing this one from you, Henry,” she teased, leaning in against the tall man at her side. “All in all, I couldn’t be happier right now.”

Of course there were complexities to it all, and there was the case of her mother, but that was talk for another time, and nothing to burden guests with. And thus, a tiny white lie couldn’t possibly be seen as a bad thing for the moment.

“We’ve just laid the little ones down just in the next room, but I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt if anyone wanted to see them. The little darlings certainly gave us a challenge in pulling all of this off, but I think all the excitement has tired them out, at least for the moment.”

[The Elsani City States]

Permanence. Whatever appearances, the Dominion and it's pageantry had a history to it that Ms Vossyr's own lacked. Humans and their fascination with rituals. Regardless, she was all but shadowing a few of the other guests, only turning away when it seemed improper to remain.
The coronation itself was clearly important to many, but to that green-toned woman it was the stone and history of the Dominion itself that interested.
Someone had to play the part of genuine tourist, after all.

[Kouralia]

RKCV Baionetta

Aboard the Royal Yacht, the Captain sat, lazing in an improfessional manner in his seat. The bridge of the vessel was surprisingly large, especially considering it was only a 'Pleasure' 'Yacht'. With the Captain's chair, the chief engineer got a place, an observation chair for the passenger, the communications officer, the notGunnery Station, the notMissile-Launch station, the helmsman's station: all of these and more added up. On top of that, it was outrageously spacious. He glanced irritably out of the huge panoramic window at the large, four hundred metre long vessel which was berthed a short distance away. Unlike the multi-coloured, fancy, traditional and opulent Midlonian vessel, the Kouralian ship was about half the size, incorporated the aesthetics of all the latest stealth ships, and was relatively unadorned. Its clinical white hull, evocative of its name-sake, would cut through the water more efficiently than the towering, traditional beauty of The Midlonic. This was not a comfort to Commodore John Griffen as he finished the administrative paperwork.

"Bokking foreigners..." He muttered, looking up and out through the grand windows at the vessel upon which his semi-permanent, irrational irritation at the world was fixated. The Commodore was dressed in a deep, exceedingly dark blue working dress of a short-sleeved combat shirt and combat trousers, with combat boots and the stable belt of the Royal Navy. For headgear, though he could take it off whenever he wanted, he was still wearing the similarly dark beret of the KRN, with a silver cap badge.

"Most advanced vessel ever bloody made in Kouralia, the first new Royal Yacht for fifty years, concealed everything, capable of undertaking emancipation-interdiction operations on its own, can rock up with a hundred Commandos at forty knots, travel the seas for years before the reactor gives up, knock helicopters from the sky - and do it all with a modicum of style, class and general panache. And what do they do?" He sighed. "Put us next to that ship. Now I'm captain of a 'bold art statement' or a puny little thing - despite the fact that it could probably make a passable attempt at doing a reasonable number on that frigate."

Giving up for a moment, the senior officer rose and slowly stretched before waking out of the bridge and down onto the main deck. In the central 'Social Space' many of the crew were relaxing and enjoying themselves. A glance out of the large, floor-to-ceiling, panoramic windows showed that, while the engineering crew were having fun with the barbecue, a Guardsman was standing guard by the prow-hatch. In the dark grey of his full dress uniform, the Kouralian Royal Guardsman might be a figure of refined authority on the Kurton streets, but wearing a shako, carrying a wooden-furnished rifle and with a small cloak draped over one shoulder as he stood on the prow of the ship, it was rather a preposterous look. There would be more, naturally: one by the gang-way, others on the rear deck, one in the central armoury, and probably one by Her Majesty's Quarters.

They wouldn't stop a determined attacker, of course, but they were a good early warning system. The Guards might, say, shout or fire a shot off. That left the entire complement of eighty men now alerted - and they were all trained in some fashion by the Kouralian military. Well, nearly all: Sailors, Officers, Guardsmen, Marines, Royal Protection Officers... and that dark clerk fellow. It wasn't unusual to bring one of the 'Royal Adjutant Clerks' with the yacht, but this one was just plain annoying. Always sitting and staring, watching everything. And he had bagged one of the second-place cabins too... The cheek.

Anyway. There wasn't much more to do standing about here, so the Commodore checked his beret was seated correctly on his head, before taking a quick stroll around and off of the ship. They had tens of hours until they might cast off, so a wander around couldn't hurt at all.

La Piazza

As the Coronation unfolded, the Kouralian pair stood by the back and watched with amusement and delight at the spectacle. Having traveled for a long time over the seas to get there, the duo were surprised to find that they had actually been let in, though at the back and far away from anyone remotely important. Kouralia was, to another guest like the Freethinker Commonwealth, as... Gibraltar was to the US. It provided an interesting layer of protection for a regional presence, but was otherwise utterly irrelevant. Fortunately the Kouralians wouldn't have to deal much with the Spanish, and if they did it would be over in an amusing and utterly positive fashion.

Both Kouralians were officers, naturally, and were dressed in very nearly their best uniforms. The young woman, in her mid-twenties to an observer's eye, was wearing a Dress Uniform No. One in the medium-azure shade of the National Air Force. The service cap with its sterling silver and real gold badge design was of the same hue - the badge consisting of a laurel wreath surrounding a crown-surmounted, three-bladed propeller, each prop blade being made of a bayonet. With the uniform she wore the white belt of the Number One Dress, and immaculately shined parade shoes to boot. Like all Kouralian Officer dress uniforms, at her waist was the holster of an Anemosian .455 pistol and the over-sized Kouralian Officer's sword. At the cuffs of her uniform was a single crown, the cuff itself bordered by three thin lines of braid. The older, male, Colonel beside her wore the same dark grey uniforms of the Guardsmen on the ships, however unlike them there were some slight differences. Most obviously, his shako was absent - instead his headdress was a service cap with the same cap badge and two-tone hackle. He also lacked the cloak, though his uniform featured a pair of pips and a crown on the shoulders. At his waist were the same weapons as the Squadron Leader, though the worn belt was a buffed black leather with a cross-belt too. On the cross-belt, attached by a small silver chain was the perfectly functional Officer's whistle of a pre-Coup Kouralian Infantry Officer which, while largely relegated to ceremonial duties was now seeing a come-back due to the events of the 31st Annual Demon War.

"An interesting display, Colonel." The Squadron Leader said as they stood in the shade and watched. "I must say, despite the intriguing look of their guards, I think ours do look more appealing. The Bicornes and Shakos are so much more dignified than full-face helmets." She turned to look up into the tall man's face. "It's much nicer to be able to look into a man's eyes and meet his gaze: you owe them that if they are purposed utterly for your personal safety."

"That is true." The Royal Guards Regimental Colonel said with a nod, glancing down before keeping an eye over the square to the proceedings as the new Empress, or whatever they called her here, moved toward the palace. "I wouldn't trust my men if I couldn't see their faces. Every Guardsman on duty knows every other Guardsman's face, there's no way anyone could disguise themselves without arising suspicion from every post. And..." He paused, staring over the crowd to spot some of the guests. "Hmm, aren't those the Fre..."

"Probably." The young woman cut him off. "I doubt they would want to encounter us at this time, maybe if we bump into them later..." She looked thoughtful. "Actually, I imagine we probably could bump into them and they wouldn't have the slightest clue who we were." She gestured about with one hand as the other rested on the pommel of the large sword. "No-one would, most likely... It's slightly... odd. Being here, being a nobody when your whole life has been spent in a uniform that means everything, or where your very birth means the utmost."

"Indeed, Your highness." The Guards Colonel said. "It is refreshing to not have to keep tourists off of you... But, ah. What will we be doing now?" He paused, "I ask only because if we return to the ship and depart now then I'll need to contact the Commodore."

"Leave?" The Crown Princess giggled slightly, "No, there's the Masquerade to attend, Colonel, and I imagine other things shall be going on. A few minutes to soak up more of the atmosphere, and we'll see what we can do."

[The Freethinkers]

Behind the Greater Kingdom party, a position happily accepted from both protocol, nervousness and the familiarity of the Midlonian pair with the new Dominion power couple, Cyriana was happy to come in second. Looking after Salene, still a little nervous at such events, meant that any easing of circumstance was welcome. The pair nodded their thanks to the Chancellor, joined by Semphyra who seemed ridiculously eager to vamp it up for foreign eyes. There was something wonderfully amusing about her antics, as if their regularity was a little rock of certainty in this foreign place. In truth Cyriana admired the vampire's ability to enjoy the occasion without the weight of decorum.

They held a step back as Sarah and Henry went through their greetings. Semphyra seemed to cool suddenly, as if suddenly espying the wound, the smell, then peered over Aeturnus suddenly, her eyes growing, for only a moment, serious and intense, the bright blue of the irises almost seeming to glow as they erupted. Then, within the same moment, her eyes and nose returned to normal. The vampire shook her head, the others distracted in thought.

Cyriana followed her relatives as Naiya moved down the line, curtsying, followed by her sister, to the new inheritor of the Dominion and its peoples. "Congratulations, imperatrice." There was no Italian as such, just genuine warmth and appreciation. Semphyra followed, her momentary pause already a distant memory. No curtsy, instead a bow. It was a good view, even if miss aimed at Naiya, one could suppose, but this time any flirtation in looks or form were accidental, behaviors so ingrained they were simply part of Semphyra being Semphyra.

"My lady. My congratulations. May your name echo through the world and through time." She offered, taking Naiya's hands in her own. Her form and movement were remnants of her previous form, and in truth how she considered Naiya reflected that slightly as well. Silver hair gently waved.

The politicos' could only cough gently.

Easy.

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

The Elsani City States - (and anyone else curious about more details)

The Piazza San Bernardi, the grand plaza where most of the festivities were going on, had a history in and of itself. It was the heart of the old city, with a number of things having happened in and around it. Some things were common knowledge. Others, were known locally, but not as much internationally. Such as the last governmental purge that had happened thirty-some-odd years previous, with the public executions of those who had been involved in an attempted coup, followed closely by the Black Marias and a culling of involved families, or those who found themselves caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Children who had grown up in the government-sponsored and controlled schools were adults themselves now, most with families of their own. But quietly, the memories remained, even if they had not been repeated since.

Several single and small groups of entertainers are wandering through the crowd, their colorful, flamboyant costumes nearly as eye-catching as the feats they perform. Some are troubadours, singing festive songs, or reciting traditional poetry. One and all they blend with their surroundings, adding to the experience, not detracting from it, and never lingering overlong. Already, some Masqueraders can be seen, eager for the festivities to officially begin, making it quite clear that those who wish to are more than welcome to join them as they kick things off early. In fact, in parts of the city, they have been at it for a good portion of the day, showing off their often complex masks and costumes.

At the far corner of the Piazza, near the government office building, and directly in front of the grand ballroom, tables have quietly been set up, and are heavily laden with various appetizers, finger foods, delicate pastries and confections, and ample beverages running from simple water, to juices, coffees, and flavored fountain drinks. A bar has also been set up, each guest of eighteen years or older having been provided with a complimentary two alcoholic drinks if they so choose. Some plates carry nothing but sugar sculptures of fruit, or other figurines, all in the interest of presentation and décor.

The Procuratie Giustinian - former location of the Old Magistrates Apartments in Devras, those movers and shakers of the Council that oversaw much of the business of the old city state. For some time now, the room has been open to the revelers, though little has been going on. The broad tapered staircase at the far end leads to a large landing which then splits further into two curved, narrower staircases that lead up to the second floor, the open balcony at that and the opposite end, and the private boxes, much like those in a theatre or opera house, where guests can speak more privately while not having to take themselves away from the dancing and music. The third floor, containing the preserved portions of the apartments, is closed for the evening.

The place is resplendent in all its finery, crimson banners trimmed in black and gold hung tastefully here and there to accent the gilded carvings and rich candelabras. The upper balconies are framed in beautifully styled arches, the ceiling being one large painting of the heavens and scantily-clad revelers. The gilding, painting, and interior architecture are all done in classic Baroque style. Parquet flooring in contrasting shades of complimentary geometric shapes has been polished to perfection.

At the opposite end from the stairway, an orchestra is setting up, all arrayed in tasteful matching costumes rich in red brocades and gold buttons, black accents or pants in the case of the men, and all mimicking the masqueraders in simple white-face stage makeup, decorated and exaggerated as appropriate. They chatter quietly amongst themselves, setting up their stands, quietly tuning their instruments.

In each corner of the grand hall a small bar is set up to see to the refreshment needs of the guests without requiring them to step back outside, nor be forced to traverse the entire hall for a drink.

Outside again, in the northwestern corner, across from the refreshment tables and near the ristorantes is a, small group of fancifully-dressed 'Gypsies', playing spirited music. The sort of music that for many, makes the blood run hot, titillates the senses, serving as almost an aural aphrodisiac of sorts, especially with those in whom the wine and spirits have been flowing freely.

The gambling tables set outside the northern end of the Library, itself full of mostly ancient history, have drawn quite a crowd, with several high-rollers winning and losing more than some folks saw in a month or more in single hands or tosses or spins of the wheel.

Between the front of the Library, and the western side of the Palazzo Ducale, the stages have been long set, and on them are performing various live entertainment. Colorfully dressed sword-swallowers, illusionists, acrobats, contortionists, jugglers, even small animal acts, all take turns showing their skills. Wandering troubadours singing and playing traditional songs from the long distant past ply their trade here and there, never lingering too long.

In the courtyard of the Palazzo Ducale, behind walls tall and thick enough to keep out most of the outside sounds, a small live orchestra plays soothing selections of classical music across from the decorative fountain, creating a pleasant background for those diplomats and official guests coming and going, or choosing to linger at their discretion.

It can be a lot to take in, for someone unused to the place, and the pageanty that often accompanies the larger celebrations. Even the local shops that have storefronts in the Piazza have kept their doors open to the tourists and visitors, knowing well enough not to pass up an opportunity to peddle their wares to those unfamiliar to the place.

Not too far away, it might be heard in passing, is the street where the Emperor of Treznor – God rest his soul, if indeed God would see fit to do so – and the former Ardan Warlord had gone at one another hammer and tongs, getting into an all-out brawl in the street that had resulted, some said, in the former Imperatrice herself intervening, and being whisked off in a glowing ball of light with the former.

The Doge’s Palace, it was said, had housed the warlord for a time when relations had been tense – and no few rumors managed to float around concerning late night visits and assorted suspicions of the parentage of the new Imperatrice. Some even said it had been confirmed, others still doubted.

Benvito’s was a cozy ristorante tucked in among the Piazza shops and sites. It too had its own history, between being an unspoken spot for the local mob to gather and quietly discuss certain matters, to also having been a favorite place of Nathicana and Devon. The owner, of course, would say nothing to add to any potential rumors, and it was a warm, quiet classy sort of place with private dining rooms in the back, and a decidedly authentic feel that was filled all the same, with a certain watchfulness.

Just outside the plaza, along the Grand Canale, would be Embassy Row where most of the foreign suites were located. No few palazzos were occupied by them, or the families that had found themselves to be members of the revived nobility. Some were even available for rent, though the current prices were high, considering the event.

Everywhere one cared to look, especially in the older portion of the city where the official celebration was being held, there was something to investigate or look at, something different to be experienced, and potential stories to be found, for anyone desiring to find them.

[Roania]

Her Majesty Empress (More specifically, Her Eternal Radiant Majestic Highness, the Lady of Ten Thousand Years, the Fulcrum upon which the Universe Turns, the Jewel of the Cosmos, Most Ethereal and Glorious Beauty, the Beneficient One, The Keeper of the Imperial Diadem) Alessa was disposed towards benevolent smiles. She hadn't understood the ceremony, of course; she had barely understood her own coronation, and that seemed simple and to the point by comparison. As it finished, she rested her head in her hands, watching the wheels move, keeping to herself within the tight phalanx allowed her by her companions. Not that she was opposed, necessarily, to mingling with others, but she had been advised that Empresses Did Not Do That, and for the moment, at least, a formal attitude seemed called for. Besides, she was still so tired Behind the mask of imperial tranquility and superiority, though, her nerves were trembling. She reached up and tugged on a lock of hair, firmly enough to almost pull it loose, and looked to her husband.

Imperial Consort the Lord Captain Selevar quietly took his wife's fingers out of her hair and drew them down to her side, clasping her hand in an attempt to feed her some of his own calmness. "He will be fine. His nanny is with him, and he slept most of the trip here. I am far more concerned about our Empress than I am about our prince." It was the wrong thing to say, probably. This was the first time in a month where her child had not been within a room or two of her, and Alessa was taking the distance rather hard. She balled her hand into a tiny fist and struck him, then turned and looked away. Selevar sighed and shook his head, his mind already drifting back to the battlefield.

"And now we see why I am never going to have children." Grand Secretary of the Interior Daria remarked to her companion, brushing her own fingers through her own hair. While the Empress, as a newly married woman and a mother, had bound her hair shorter, Daria left hers falling down to her waist in long, flowing waves; to other Roanians, a mark of her own unmarried status. She wasn't sure why she was there; she'd had no brief for this business. All she'd had was the invitation; a rather paltry one, at that. She sighed when Nesar put his hand over hers and slowly dropped his fingers through her hair, until they reached the small of her back. "You aren't going to change my mind, Marquise."

"I? Change your mind, my dear? Perish the thought." Nesar smiled, his fingers toying with the purple locks of his date for the event. He was... pleased. Naiya seemed healthy; he had wondered if that would be the case. Shame about her mother... though if the death of that Devon Treznor was going to afflict her as badly as rumor had it, then perhaps not so much of a shame? No, professional courtesy dictated he be polite about the death of Devon. "I merely wished to assure myself that you had come... prepared." His fingers brushed over a hidden cache under her dress. She nodded, and drew back.

"You have reassured yourself. Kindly withdraw your hand, Marquise."

Alessa turned her head and glared slightly at the other two, but relaxed her anger and just sagged into Selevar. He brushed his fingers through her hair and nodded. "I believe myself and the Empress will retire to our chambers. Will you two refrain from murdering one another before we come back?"

"Of course, your majesty." Daria curtsied, keeping half an eye on Nesar, who merely nodded. "We're just going to go and get a drink."

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

Kouralia

“Ufficiali,” said one of the various servers working the crowd , to the two officers. “Would you care for some refreshment? Or is there anything else I can be of assistance with?”

The server carried a tray of glasses containing an assortment of water, juices, and some wines, making them available without forcing the issue, and having no clue as to the overall identities past ‘honorable guests’.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Out in the harbor, the Dominion patrols carried on as usual, though if they ran a tighter ship – pun more than likely intended, considering the standing of the Navy – it could perhaps be excused on this occasion.

Some of the less sizable traffic in the area consisted of local ships, houseboats, and the ever-present vaporetto traffic, taking people to and from the various landings, and outlying islets.


(Pardon the brevity, was not sure where best to help direct or assist there - just let me know.)

[The Elsani City States]

The embassies. Places Ms Vossyr had spent her professional career in and out of, that delicate dance of differing cultures and ideologies. Looking upon one, then another, she would at last turn away from diplomats and attaches. To seek out someone that looked different at the gambling tables. Beautiful colours and beautiful people displayed on this occasion, though all very similar to eyes so alien to the Dominion.
Everyone wearing a smile and a (hopefully figurative) dagger, those motivated by hope of a big win at the tables more honest about themselves.

But even Ms Vossyr is biased, and there are many helpful people that aren't wasting their lives, the very act of this woman taking in the sights displays the Dominion to the varied peoples of the galaxy in a positive light. That it attracts an ex-diplomatic officer to pay her respects on a day of celebration is a statement in itself.

Who knows what other weird and wonderful things it will attract to the Celebration?

[Solont]

—Some minutes after the Coronation--

“Sit still and stop fidgeting,” Kana muttered as she dutifully smoothed out a crease on the collar James' uniform. “You fuss more than my mother does,” James replied, and rolled his eyes; to his credit, the young man did as he was told and indulged Kana's relentless perfectionism, though he made no attempt to look at all happy about it. The Solontian Delegation looked decidedly out of place; both Kana Solis, adopted daughter of the Supreme Commander, and James Gesetz, her escort, were dressed in tight. formal, buttoned-to-the-chin military dress uniforms, which was not a particularly uncommon sight at the Coronation. Fascist-chic seemed to be 'in' at the moment. What was unusual was the way they wore them. Kana's uniform was a white affair with a cool blue trim and gold epaulettes, and matched the design of the Supreme Commander's formal attire though it lacked the rank insignia. Still, she was no soldier, and no diplomat; she wore the uniform of a direct representative of the Supreme Commander solely as a favor to her mother. And James... James wore the blue and black uniform and insignia of 2nd Lieutenant of the SDF, freshly graduated from training. He could scarcely rank any lower if he were a civilian. They were an odd pair at the best of times: a brown-haired, brown-eyed, bog standard human man of charming and youthful features, joined at the metaphorical hip to a blue haired kitsuite girl whose pretty face and pale skin belied her desert heritage.

And there they were, surrounded on all sides by men and women of unfathomable power and influence, wrapped in years upon years of history, tradition, experience, and antiquity. It did not matter how perfectly their uniforms were fitted; the two young people from Solont both looked and felt very young and very small in comparison.

“You know, it was a beautiful ceremony. Cute kids. A lot more pomp and circumstance than we have back home, though,” James said as Kana unbuttoned and rebuttoned his collar. He'd done his best to stay cool through the whole affair, but hanging around powerful people always made him nervous.

“It's a new age, James,” Kana said with a soft smile. She smoothed out one last crease on his shoulder and took a step back, admiring her handiwork. James was like a brother to her, but even she had to admit that, with his uniform just right and his short brown hair spiked up just so, he cut a rather handsome figure. “What's past may be prologue, but a brave, unknown future lies ahead of us, one that'll change who we are forevermore. I'm sure, in time, we'll come up with our own grandiose traditions,” she finished.

“Yeah, probably. Speaking of changes, I can understand why your mom didn't come herself,” James said, referring to the crisis sparked by the QB's return to Solont. “But why send us? Why not send the Lord Protector, or the Ambassador to the Dominion, or... hell, anyone more important than a couple of kids who barely have rank? Why send anyone, even? What if the QB start the war back up again? Shouldn't we be, you know... preparing?”

“Well, first of all,” Kana spoke, “there's not going to be another war.”

“How can you be so sure?” James asked. He nervously adjusted his collar, ruining all of Kana's hard work.

“Because Mother said so,” Kana replied simply. “She said it. I believe it. End of story. You should have a little more faith in the idea that maybe, just maybe, the universe isn't a horribly hostile place that wants to grind us into paste.”

“I'm trying, Kana,” James said, and let loose a resigned sigh. He plucked the small polished wooden box up off the chair Kana had set it upon, and offered it to her. “And second of all?”

“Second, I came because Mom asked me to as a personal favor. I've met the new Imperatrice before, and I think it sends a more personal and intimate message to send her daughter, rather than some stuffy official. And I had you assigned as my escort because I wanted to spend some time with you before you're off to the Prism for your advanced training. Besides, I know you're holding a torch for that Dominion girl. Maybe you'll see her here,” Kana said, flashing James a mischievous smile.

“Heh,” James smiled; it was the first of his trademark smiles he'd managed to crack since landing, “A nice thought, but I think Talia's still off doing her own term of service. I'm not sure if she's even in the city.”

“You never know,” Kana smiled, playfully brushing a lock of her long blue hair from her face as she turned, and began to saunter away, towards where the other delegates, dignitaries, dictators, and debutantes were gathering. “Come on. We should go wish Naiya well and give her our gift.”

Kana tucked the box protectively under one arm, and James, his mood buoyed and anxiety dispelled by the grace and enthusiasm of his childhood friend, looped his arm with hers as a gentleman ought to. Together, they marched off to speak to the appropriate people and make the appropriate arrangements to see the new face of power and authority in the Dominion.

[New Edom]

Broken Wings

“This is kind of like home, but the water isn’t sparkling!” Mara said brightly. “You know when I was in Cacerta they had sparkling water, but this is also kinda like being in Constantinople.”

“Glad you like it kiddo,” said Thomas Lalery clinking glasses with her. “Well, you ready?”

“Mmhm…ooooh bread with olive oil, yummy! Again, like home. Yummy yummy.” Mara smiled up at the waitress. “Well, I’d like the spiced shrimp skewers, please. What about you Tommy?”

“Baked ravioli,” said Thomas Lalery. “The three cheese. Thank you. Well. This is oddly relaxing. I have to admit, it was a nice idea.”

“So…here’s to us, here’s to the end of a tough but good year.” Mara said, raising her glass and sipping. “And now we’re gonna have a party, it will be all kinds of fun. I wonder what it is like t be Naiaya…I mean to have your predecessor retire. I want to ask her. I also want to meet Empress Alessa. I’m just you know…so curious about rulers who have had such…reasonable successions, you know?”

[Roania]

"Excuse me... oh, do pardon me... I'm sorry, may I just..." The lightly accented english flowed quickly as the woman who spoke tried to get over and around the far taller westerners who were also reporting. Kyrie Elei had dressed for the occasion, or so she believed, in an orange dress that she had thought would give her free movement. "This won't do, DD-24!" She protested to her partner. "We need a..." She was shushed by another reporter. Finally, she gave up and walked to the edge of the crowd, lowering her voice. "And roll!"

DumaDrone-2024 was not a very intelligent robot. It had been promoted and expanded and its intelligence uplifted to the point where its presence in Roania was an anomaly, if not absolutely illegal, but it was still DumaDrone-2024, and there was only so much you could do to cover that. Still, it gave it the old college try. "This unit is not equipped to roll cameras. All this unit's audiovisual recording software is digital, with an immediate transfer to..."

"Film, then! We'll be on the air again in twenty seconds!"

DumaDrone-2024 whined and clicked as its servos processed this new order, then switched to wide-lens. "This unit is filming..."

Anyone tuning into the broadcast of Darsalin Central News at this exact moment would see the feed switch from the commentary of the hosts, back to the Piazza. As was traditional for its roving reports, the camera rolled over the scene, feeding the statistical information back to its controllers back home. Then it turned back towards the reporter. In this case, the title bar named her as Kyrie Eleia, expert on barbarian cultural analysis and delegate from the Imperial Archiving Services. Also, it gave a substantially wide pan of the maiden's assets. No, that wasn't programming; that was the film-director giving the audience what he decided they wanted.

"And you've just witnessed the first peaceful transfer of power in the Dominion's recent history. As many of our viewers at home will recall from our six-part documentary, "Nathicana: A Dread Lady's Life", until her own coronation there was no history of stable rule within this nation, the mandate to govern passing from hand to hand like a child's toy. But many of our viewers may be confused about what just took place behind us."

A diagram appeared, explaining the various points as Keiri ran through them

"Owing to the departure of the Great Barbarian Emperor-Claimant Devon Treznor, Her Former Majesty the Emeritus Imperatice of the Dominion believed she could no longer rule in accord with the will of the Light. Therefore, in order to safeguard her nation's trust and preserve the tranquility of her former realm, she did step aside and permit her daughter to stand forward as governor in her name, as Imperatrice, thus ensuring the Light's continued blessing."

"For the classical scholars amongst you, I reference the rule of the Peaceful Emperor, who in the last years of his blessed reign retired to his garden, leaving the government in the hands of those whom the Light had provided for the management of his realm."

"As you can see, the great roaring crowd behind me indicates that Her Majesty the Imperatrice Naiya is acclaimed by the Light and her people, and we can expect her rule to be prosperous and peaceful."

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

Friendly Fire

Nathicana finds herself taking the longer route around the Piazza, taking in the sights, the people, with quiet thoughtfulness. It was similar, but different from all those years ago, though no less busy. In her attire, she didn’t stand out in the crowd as she would have, had she gone with the more fanciful dress, such as she’d worn on her own coronation. As it stood, she’d chosen simple black, both reflecting her current state of mourning, and one of the two primary colors of state.

She hadn’t even taken up a drink as yet, preferring her quiet walk, keeping to the outskirts of things as best she could. She had just rounded a corner and is making her way along one of the longer stretches when *thwap* and suddenly there’s something round and plastic against her cheek. She flinches and reflexively brushes at whatever it is, only to see a suction cup dart drop to the ground. Rather than bending to pick it up, she looks around suspiciously. There was something decidedly familiar about this, but she can’t immediately put her finger on it.

From behind a whitewashed wooden trellis acting as a semi-transparent wall for an otherwise nondescript cafe lean two heads, one above the other. The upper one is a wolf head with a gaping black maw and no lower jaw. The lower one is a ninja, albeit a very, very white ninja. From above and below these appear two hands; the upper one is a furry grey paw, the lower one is a black glove. They shake in greeting towards the ex-Dread Lady.

Nathicana breaks out in a laugh in spite of everything that’s been weighing on her mind, shaking her head. With a delicate bend, she picks up the dart, and walked towards the pair, still smiling. “I should have known. And again, I should have Mas drawn and quartered for letting an ‘armed’ opponent get within shooting distance. What was it this time - wine, women, money?”

“Baklava,” the werewolf says in a familiar gruff voice. “He said his ‘price had gone up.’”

“We had to bring baklava all the way from home,” continues the ninja, not entirely lacking in gruffness himself. “We weren’t about to take chances with the inferior stuff you guys make around here.”

“No offense intended,” interjects the werewolf.

“Always the diplomat, eh, Your Holiness?”

“Rrr.” The werewolf lowers his head and shook it slowly, its snout wagging pathetically under its glass eyes.

“That little bastard,” Nathi murmurs, casting an eye back towards the way she’d walked and arching a brow at the black-garbed couple nonchalantly keeping an eye on things from a respectable distance. “Not that I’ll argue on the baklava. It’s always been more of a Greek thing, that, though I won’t have you maligning our wine,” she teased in return. “So what does a former world leader have to do to get a hug from some of her oldest friends - and I mean that in every sense of the word.”

“‘Greek,’ she says.” Now it is the ninja’s turn to shake his head as he steps out from behind the trellis. “The Ottomans get no respect in this eurocentric world.”

“Truly a pity,” the werewolf says as he follows suit. “We have clearly failed to teach her the history of our people. Collectively. Adoptively? Hrrr.”

“Well, I’m Polish so I have the same grammatical issues. And she called us old, Speeks.”

“There is truth in the claim.”

“It’s still rude. Back in my day whippersnappers like her knew how to treat their elders. And I remember when this was all orchards.” The ninja hobbles theatrically over to Nathi then wraps her up in a bear hug. Apparently he hasn’t given up his old exercise habit.

Nathi hugs back warmly, adding a kiss on the cheek for good measure. “Around these parts, the damned Turks were invaders, and thus, cannot possibly be the source of such delightful treats,” she says, winking slyly. “You’re looking good, old man. And it is really good to see you - both of you.”

The werewolf takes the opportunity to lope up, wrap his arms around the both of them, lift, spin, and put back down with appropriate growling. It’s happy growling, as far as can be told by connoisseurs of growls. “Likewise. It has been too long.”

The ninja visibly smirks under his black face-wrap. “Luckily, now you actually have free time so we could, say, prevent it from being too long again.”

Nathi hadn’t quite giggled at being swept up and hugged along with the ninja, but she came close. “If I didn’t know you two as well as I think I do, I would almost think that my daughter had put you up to it in an effort to ‘keep me out of trouble and happily occupied’ during my retirement,” she says, offering both a crooked smile. “As it stands, I would be more than happy to spend some time, even if it’s doing nothing more than sitting back and cracking open some cold ones and sharing some sandwiches. I seem to recall Fuzzybutt there as making pretty good ones.”

“‘Out of trouble?’ You kidding us? We couldn’t keep you out of trouble even when we were running things. Fuzzybutt did try.”

The werewolf shakes his head again and sighed a long-suffering sigh. Theatrically. With good nature and all that. “He has a point. To be honest, we were thinking less ‘staying out of trouble’ and more ‘getting into trouble.’ We have had little opportunity as elder statesmen to cut loose. Now that we all have time on our hands, I think we could do more than just reminisce over sandwiches. Your sister seems dead set on going on a pranking spree at some point.”

“I am actually sorry for the stress I caused you back in the day. God only knows the files your people must have on me, and the meetings and arguments I must have spawned,” the diminutive woman says, more quietly. “I did what I felt had to be done. But on the upside, it is hoped Naiya won’t have to do much of the same. I think she’s on track to be much less a pain in the ass. Or at least, a less cantankerous and unpredictable one. Still, pranking, you say? That has promise.”

Speaker-Rrit the werewolf shrugs eloquently. “We all did what we thought we had to. Such was the nature of our duties. It has all worked out for the best. We have established institutions that should hold together for some time. Hopefully how well we worked together acts as an example to our successors.” He glances down before the ninja can get a word in edgewise. “Yes, I am still a diplomat.”

“Eh, but you’re our diplomat.” Julius Razak the ninja smirks broadly. “And yes, yes it does hold promise. Our previous antics have become tales of legend not accepted into proper history. I think we should give the historians a little more evidence to work off of… and if you’ve outgrown a little bit of petty vandalism and practical humor--a sad possibility--His Holiness is by dint of his office the manager of dedicated kzinti hunting grounds on the Ring. Y’know, just in case you want to get close enough to nature again to poke it with a sharp stick.”

“And a damn fine diplomat. Dare I say, one of the very best,” Nathi agrees on the earlier point. “I think you’ll find I’m more than up to a bit of petty - not that this should be a surprise to either of you. Perhaps you could see your way clear to put the lovely Mballa on our list of targets? Someone needs to help her get the stick out of her ass at some point.” Her smile shows more teeth than is technically polite in present company at that comment.

“And hey, poking dangerous things with sticks is what I’m best at. Or at least, enjoy doing. The way Dev and I constantly needled each other, you’d think we were attempting to turn it into an art form.”

“It’s a good art school to be in,” Razak notes, glancing up at his partner in silly crime. “And pranking the Iron Dame. That’s tempting.”

“Quite,” Speaker says with a nod. “I am somewhat disappointed she did not maintain the channels we built. To be fair to her, though, she was elected to lead through what seemed to be dangerous times and lead by the book. Maybe a normalized, systematic approach was the right one.”

“I’ve heard tell she’s visiting, though that’s no great surprise,” the ninja notes, scratching his chin. “We could get her with water balloons. Or you’re tall, just dump a bucket on her.”

“I think that might be excessive, Julie.”

“Aww.”

“There’s always the fountain at the Doge’s Palace … I seem to recall an ah, incident there some years back,” Nathicana suggests with an attempt at innocence, that fails utterly given how well the trio know one another. “I might suggest some of her Stiff-As-A-Rodness’s attitude might be on account of my own. I got the impression she did not approve of me, when we met. Not to worry. All in all, things haven’t turned out so badly, hm? She’s done well enough by your people, and when it counted, you and yours were here for me and mine. We wouldn’t be standing here celebrating a second coronation, let alone that first, if not for you, and Shodey.”

She impulsively hugged them both again, perhaps drawing out the embraces a little longer than absolutely necessary, but out of need more than anything nefarious in nature. “Thank you, mi amicos. My children have meant the world to me. And without you, all of our adopted family … they wouldn’t have grown up as well as they have. Even if Marcus has an idealistic streak Scolopendran-wide.”

“Hey, the Sky Marshal I heard was responsible for that is hanging around too,” Razak replies with feigned darkness, sharing the family group hug with what could qualify as a brother and a niece. “You wants we make him pay a little for makin’ your kid so squeaky-clean? Maybe with aforementioned fountain?”

“Oh gods,” Nathi says in not entirely mock horror. “I think I’ve done enough to that poor man without loading on more. I’m where I’m at due in no small part to him, and likewise on his part. Only in some respects, I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me for it. Besides. Shorty would trounce you both for dunking him. Possibly me too,” she finishes, her smile coming back more fully.

“Oh now we have to do it. Speeks, she swipes at you, you take the fall, your mask comes off and she’d see she just thwapped the Patriarch. Her fur would turn white then fall out.”

“No, Julie.”

“Can’t you just imagine the noise she’d make? I bet it’d make dogs for miles roll around and bat at their own ears.”

“No, Julie.”

“Ah well. At least I’ve got a good imagination.” Razak pauses for a moment. “Though, really, Nathi, you can’t go about taking all the responsibility. I did my part too, as you’ll recall. So did Hawke. It’s one of those things, I guess, that comes from having to do what we all thought we had to at the time… though I’ll admit I’ve not kept up with the kid outside of following the Hierarchy circles. Seems happy enough there, at least.”

“Hard to say with him, really. I kept wishing he would be the one to find Dev, just so he could punch the bastard right in the face as he’d threatened. The boy had my blessing on that point,” the former Dread Lady says, her smile slipping slightly. “He’s a good man, Timofeyev. And he has a beautiful family. I hope you have the opportunity to meet them. Our kids practically grew up together - and I think their parents are as proud of them as I am of mine.”

“I think we can meet the extended family,” Speaker says with a decisive tone. “A family reunion, then? Perhaps tonight at your villa, or anywhere else we can arrange it?”

“I would like that. And I’m sure Naiya would as well,” she assures the pair. “I’ll check with her once I go over to the offices where she’s holding audience, and we can coordinate something or other with the lot of you. As you said earlier, it truly has been too long.”

“Then it will be so,” the kzintosh of kzintoshes says with authority. “And I will make sandwiches.”