Under the Simple Stars [Closed]

[Jimanistan]

Gates nodded at Darian, finding the geographical names interesting. They sounded suprisingly like some of the places in Jimanistan, at least to his ears. As the man began to choke, however, Leopold frowned. He was going to inquire into the man's well-being, until Aelthas spoke.

"Oh," He said, frowning. "that's good to hear..." He said, before quickly adding. "That is, it is good that he is not in serious trouble, not that his lungs are small..." He quickly took in more of the bisque, his upper lip twitching in irritation at his poor choice of words.

Naman glanced across the table at the Assuranian woman wearing armor. It wasn't everyday that you saw someone wearing armor in Jimanistan. It was never when that someone happened to be a woman. The Jimani were a bunch that put a strong emphasis of egalitarianism, that was true, but, for some reason, that was one thing the Elaithi man simply can not recall ever seeing.

After giving the woman a peculiar look for a few moments, he spoke at her. "Alvano." He said simply, echoing the ubiquitous and formal greeting of Jimanistan. He wondered dimly if the woman was in fact just a rather feminine man.

Verdon took a sip from the winecup, finding it almost familiar, though he noted it seemed far stronger than what he was accustomed to. The Jimani people had a passion for wine, though most of it was very weak. Orim Red, for example, was historically called "Cosair's grape juice" by sailors who called at ports along the Otromon coast.

He smiled thinly. "Well, I'd like to hear about it, sometime..." He said, his own eyes roving the crowd about him, coming back every several seconds to rest on Saraid, before cycling back over again. It would seem perhaps that he was uncomfortable, or, perhaps more likely, bemused by his surroundings.

Aleesa had no reply to that. Her conversations typically relied on the other party carrying much more of the weight. This was one of the few times her partner seemed to have even less to say than she did. Instead, she began to eat the bisque thoughtfully, as if pondering the former lives of the sea-creatures she was ingesting.

Gregory seemed a bit startled that a foreigner was speaking to him, and pushed his glasses up, as they had been slipping down the bridge of his nose. He smiled thinly though, finding her expression warm, or at least friendly. "Of course," He said, finding her mode of address strange. He grabbed the bowl, passing it over. "there you are, Miss, uh...?"

[Assuran]

Aelthas chuckled a little bit, seemingly being the only person at that end of the table who was not bothered by the heat of the soup. "Oh, no need to be embarrassed, Signor. Many of our own people have that same reaction to our Heir; some have been far worse. I'm sure he's quite used to it by now."

Between spasms, Darian gave Aelthas a strange look that was something like a cross between thanks and reproach.

The woman in red looked up suddenly. There was no surprise anywhere in her face, just a guarded, enigmatic smile. "Hallo," she said. Her voice was quiet, unsurprisingly. That seemed to be the only thing there was about this woman. Her red armor and her utter silence. Still, she did not look away. She just kept up that same, slightly ironic smile, clearly waiting for him to continue the conversation or leave it.

Saraid noted his discomfort this time, and beat down a sudden, strong urge to take his hand with an attitude of consolation. Instead, she smiled again, somewhat sympathetically. "And you shall. How do you like the Headquarters, by the way? It's one of the biggest buildings in all of Assuran. Third most expensive, too." She lowered her voice a bit. "It's not really my favorite. It's pretty, but the Nordamaro style has always seemed a bit...crowded. At least, to me. I can't speak for the LeSangstra taste."

Danjela sat silently, suddenly feeling extremely guilty. The priestess was not paying attention to her--the priestess didn't seem to be paying attention to anyone but that man from Jimanistan--but she had no doubt that her superior would give her a good scolding when they got back to the temple. Danjela always seemed to be on the wrong end of Saraid's moods.

She suddenly turned back to Aleesa. "How do you like the soup?" Her voice was somewhat reedy with desperation. "It's spicy, isn't it?"

"Thank you. And it's Missus," she corrected, taking the bread bowl with a nod of her behatted head. "Missus Teodora Collamore. You're with the foreign Signor, aren't you?" She practically had to shout to be heard over the conversations around her, and she was drawing some scandalised looks. "Are you enjoying your visit so far?"

[Jimanistan]

Gates nodded slowly at Aelthas in thanks, looking back at Darian. "What are you heir of?" He asked, curiously. Inheritence in Jimanistan was generally viewed as an outmodded concept, except for perhaps the passing down of heirlooms and such sentimental items. That, of course, is to make no mention of the passing of political power down.

"Military?" The Elaithi tribesman asked, after a few seconds of nothing. He was not one to talk, however just about anything regarding the art of soldiering interested him. Granted, he was part of a diplomatic bodyguard unit, and was before requesting reassignment to Verdon. He came from a militarisic culture, though, and it was in his nature to be intrigued by the nature in which foreigners kill one another.

Verdon nodded at Saraid, considering her question a moment before replying. "It seems very... warm," He said, thoughtfully. "a bit less airy than the Federal Palace, though no less grandiose..."

"Good." Aleesa said flatly, pausing from her food to straighten her beret, which was sitting crooked on her head. The insignia upon it bore a clenched red fist, painted on a golden-colored star. "Do you know what is in it?" She asked, after satisfied with her headwear.

Greg nodded, still disturbed by that hat. "Hm?... Oh, Aeno, yes. I'm one of his bodyguards, Gregory Arbero..." He trailed off at that. He was not speaking so loudly as the other woman, not being naturally inclined to doing so, and it may have been difficult for her to hear him.

[Assuran]

Darian looked shocked by the delegate's ignorance. "There is only one Heir worth the title in Assuran, Signor. Forgive me if I seem boastful, but that would be me. I am the Patron's Heir--that being, my father is the Lord LeSangstra, the Patron of the First Family of Assuran. When he dies, I become the Patron--"

"We're a sort of constitutional monarchy," Aelthas cut in. "Though not quite. The LeSangstra family has been at the head of affairs ever since anyone can remember. They're not kings or queens, but they do hold a loft title in the government. It's somewhat difficult to explain to an outsider, my apologies."

"And my apologies for his abruptness," Darian retorted, attempting to be cutting. Aelthas didn't notice the inflection and inclined his head, going back to the soup.

"Quasi-military," the woman responded, saying the longest thing she had all evening. She pondered her soup for a moment before putting down her spoon and looking up at him again. "I'm a combat chaplain. No use trying to fight in this." The ironic smile returned as she leaned back in her chair. "You're not non-com, I can tell."

"Well, the illusion of warmth was what they were going for," Saraid said, finishing the last of her bisque. "Protection from the elements, as it were. It's a shame; I happen to like the rain and the wind. There was one night last year where the rain stopped on the shore of Ardeo Bay--that's the bay this city's on, you know--and the moon was over the water. You could see it through the rain. Such a beautiful contrast..."

Danjela leaned towards Aleesa in a conspiratorial fashion. "It's a secret," she said, sounding very important. "Even the priestess doesn't know." She had not noticed the hand on the hat, otherwise, she would have had quite a bit more to say on the subject.

"Gregory!" Her voice did carry, somewhat obnoxiously. More people turned to stare, and Katrin, who had been quite happily oblivious as to the doings at the other end of the table, looked somewhat embarrassed at the thought that she had put this woman on the guest list. "Such a lovely, flowing name. We don't have many by that name in Assuran. We really should have more."

[Jimanistan]

Gates nodded, beginning to find the sickly man an uppity pissant, and there is no sterotype reviled more than that of the elitist pissant. He did not let on about his feelings, however, continuing to hold to his absurdly polite demeanor.

He waited for the back and forth to die before speaking again. "Oh," he said, nodding. It was an intriguing concept to Leopold, even if a terrible one. "I, uh, see... It is sort of interesting, now that you mention it... Many people believe the Verdons to be something of a 'First Family'. It's a half-believeable theory, but completely untrue..."

"I do not see very much combat, being on loan from the Military to the Diplomatic Corps," The Elaithi said, scratching his scalp through his long blonde hair. "Unfortunately... Though, the Delados Airport incident was a nice suprise." He added with a dark smirk, alluding to the event for which he and his squadmates were honored two months ago. He was quite proud of it, really.

Verdon nodded at Saraid, while knocking back the rest of the wine in his glass. He was not really much of a drinker, being a politician left little room for the error oft caused by inebriation. All the same, he had long been convinced alcoholism was a trait that ran in his family. Iacta alea est, he thought to himself, with a twinge of bitterness.

"Oh," He said, trying to picture what the Priestess described. "that sounds lovely... How are the winters here? Does it get very cold?" He asked, an unwanted outpouring of reminiscence coming down from the dusty corners of his mind. He remembered once visiting the Great River in Rifirn, the winter it froze solid.

Aleesa, upon being told the contents of the food were 'secret', looked shocked, her eyes windening to twice, maybe thrice their normal size, looking like two pale moons with blue bullseyes painted on them. She began to think there must be people in the soup, though she said no such thing... Lest the strange people make her into soup, as well.

"Oh..." She said, seeming quite disturbed.

"Uhh..." Greg said. He did not know what to say to a comment like that, and so he muttered, "Gratico Magnisi" at her, hoping she did not follow up by asking what that meant. He tried to look away, as his shy nature would implore, but he just could not stop looking at the hat... He would have to look into buying a more masculine varient.

[Assuran]

To the contrary, Darian was beginning to like Leopold very much. The man seemed not to be overly concerned with his health, nor did he appear to have the excitable temperament of many of the Assurani people. But that was because he was foreign, of course. The Heir sat complacently, taking dainty sips of his bisque to prevent any more coughing fits. He did not want another, not in front of the man who was fast becoming the object of his somewhat clingy respect.

Aelthas raised an eyebrow. "Half-believeable? Well, then there must be some truth to it. Do tell." He smiled and handed his wineglass off to a hovering server, who whisked it off to be refilled. "I promise I'll take everything you say with a mountain of salt."

"An airport incident?" The woman did not seem to be surprised or horrified, merely interested in her own quiet way. "I believe the priestess of Sharess mentioned that a squadron was honored for some sort of incident during her visit. It was on the records. You were in that group?"

"Terribly cold," she said absently, still somewhat lost in the memory. "Ardeo Bay fills with tiny icebergs sometimes, but it never quite freezes over. It snows quite a bit as well; precipitation's never far from this place. Everyone says Herondale's such a lovely city, except for the weather." Her tone got a little more defensive. "There's a lot of complaints about the morning fog. I don't see why--the streetlights are left on until seven, and they make the prettiest little nimbuses. Besides, it's not as though there are cars that have to navigate through it."

Danjela hadn't noticed Aleesa's distress, taking it for interest instead. "It's the best fish-things we have, of course, but no one knows what they put on it before it goes into the pot. Someone told me once that the chef has to go into the pantry blindfolded to get that spice. Of course," she added, casting a longing look at the contents of Saraid's wineglass, "that's not true. The chefs can only make it when they're dead drunk. It's better that way."

Teodora waited until some of the stares had gone away, then she smiled. "I see you like my hat," she said, lowering her voice a little and passing the bread back in his direction. "It's one of a kind, can't you tell?"

[Jimanistan]

Well," Gates said, beginning to explain. "ever since the Revolution, in which Liberto Verdon took a leading role, the Verdons have had a tendency to worm their way into power. For example," He said, motioning at Aeno. "he is a president, of course, and his grandfather was the first president of the country... I believe one of his cousins is mayor of something Aethebar, and another one heads the Department of Scientific Research... Oh, and his uncle managed to get some position teaching at an International school in the Amazonian Dominion...."

He shrugged his shoulders, sipping from the wine cup. Unlike his superior, Leopold was not overly fond of the foreign drink. "It's really just a coincidence, most of them happen to be talented people... Although, sharing a last name with the man most people percieve as the founder of the Republic might help, too..." He added, chuckling.

Naman nodded, still smiling a dark sort of smile. "Yes, I was. I certainly didn't expect much combat. It was supposed to be a diplomatic mission to end the conflict in Monandi, but anti-government rebels stormed the airport armed with kalashnikovs and machetes. All we had were these ancient bolt-action rifles to fight with, and so those of us that did not scavenge an assault rifle most often died... Except for Gregory, that fool, I spent most of the time protecting him, don't ask me why. Eventually four of us- Myself, Gregory, our Captain Stone, and a translator named Natasha, made it to a vacant hangar and radioed for help to the Telvirans." He chuckled at the memory of the entire affair. He was an odd man, to find it humerous, when most of his comrades had died.

Verdon nodded slowly, spooning the last of the bisque into his mouth for lack of wine to drink. "There is fog like that in Elaith... I've seen it so thick near Aethebar that I could not see the Seer's Monastary, and I was standing no more than fifty feet away." He shook his head, knowing the fog had long been a feature of Elaithi geography. It even played a part in several battles, leading invariably to the defeat of whoever was foolish enough to invade the territory.

"So," He said, beginning to grasp at straws for something to discuss. He was a bit uninventive when it came to sustained conversation. "I've wondered, is 'High Priestess' a premenant position?" He paused briefly, already regretting that he had asked. "I would imagine it is, but I was just curious..."

Aleesa tilted her head curiously, no longer so convinced the bisque contained Soylent Green. She vaguely recalled a joke about a drunk chef, but nothing good came of it, she was sure. Leaning over, she sniffed lightly at the contents of the bowl, the scent burning her nostrils, and causing her eyes to water slightly.

Blinking it away, she looked at Danjela. "How can someone cook like that?" She asked, absolutely stumped.

Gregory took back the bowl, setting it down and taking a piece of bread for himself, before nodding slowly. "Oh, yes." he said rather airily. "I have not seen one like it before..."

[Assuran]

OoC:
We can skip past the rest of the dinner party after your next post, if you like. There's only so much one can do while writing out five conversations at a time.

IC:
"Ah, I see." Aelthas nodded, giving his best pensive look. "It's quite like that over here, except that it's not kept so hush-hush as you seem to be implying. I, myself, am the brother of the Matron. Don't let that fool you, though." He made a grand gesture with the wine glass that had just been refilled. It was his fourth, and already, he was a little tipsy. "I had to work for this position, Signor. I just got help from sharing Adria's maiden name."

"Kalashnikovs," she repeated, and there might have been a little bit of scorn in her voice. "It seems that rebels always use them. We haven't had many of our own, but certain other countries on Osse have had numerous civil wars and somehow, that rifle always seems to surface in the hands of the wrong side." She took a long draught from her wineglass, draining nearly three-quarters of the stuff in a manner quite unusual to the majority of the female population of Assuran. The clergy of certain gods did seem to have a propensity to drink more than others. "Though, out of curiosity, why on Earth were you left with only bolt-action rifles? Wouldn't it have been better to bring pistols, or no weapons at all?"

"Well, yes," Saraid replied, startled at the question. "At least until I turn old enough to be of no use or...well, the demands of the job can break you, what with being the mouth of a deity and all. Sometimes, a cleric will snap under the strain and they're forced to abdicate. It's happened before. There was a bit of trouble with a member of the Red Knight's High Council. Started hearing the screams of the dying, she said. Seeing visions of impossible battlefields, having nightmares about wars gone terribly wrong--they couldn't have a confused prophet on the Council when she might go into fits at any moment. So they sent her into the field with our infantry to see if..." She paused for a minute. "I don't know what they were thinking. But it seemed to help, seeing that her visions were somewhat real. Fighting insanity with insanity, if you will. I don't know much about it, not more than any other person on Temple Street."

Danjela's fantastic lie about the soup seemed to have sparked something in the other girl, and for that she was grateful. At the question, a mischevious grin spread over her face.

"Well, I guess they're trained," she said, gleefully continuing to spin out her story. "They grab things and dump them in the soup, then get sober people to fish out all the stuff that can't be eaten. I think there was a shoe in the potato soup I had last week, though. I dunno why they keep shoes in the pantry. Maybe they think it's funny?"

Teodora nodded, accidentally beating one of the servers behind her with a massive plume. "No one ever has," she said proudly. "No one else has even the slightest notion of buying a hat like this."

[Jimanistan]

OOC: That would be fine by me, it's actually probably a good idea.

Gates nodded his head at Aelthas, a bit absently. "Oh, I see." He said, raising a hand to scratch idly at his head through his short black hair. He was not sure what to really say in reply to that.

Naman nodded at the woman, considering the merit of the Kalashnikov. "It is quite a fine tool, it never jams, and can stop a man pretty quickly if handled properly. Besides, I have no doubt it would have been used by the Partisans in our own Revolution, had it occured a couple of decades later." He paused, scowling a bit at the thought of the Jimani Military arsenal. "Well, the government is not very concerned about the Military, all our weapons are old... Mosin-Nagant knock-offs, mostly, though there are some Kalashnikovs in service with the Special Forces... They will regret it, though. Rumors are going around that Leocardia plans to invade Jimanistan..." He trailed off unhappily at that thought. Leocardia was twice the size of Jimanistan, and had a much more powerful military. This leads to especial feelings of betrayal in most who hear of it, as Leocardia is actually a Jimani ally, and conjurs up the age-old distrust of foreigners in general.

Never trust a Telviran... Never trust a Telviran....

Verdon nodded, disturbed by the story his question had conjured up. He would have to remember to mention the story to Mason, as it would make a good piece to put in the report of the visit... They planned on cross-referencing information brought back from this trip with prior knowledge to write a short book, explaining Assurani culture to the Jimani people.

"That is... Very strange. " He said softly. After a moment he tried to change the subject, seeming less downbeat. "I thought it was strange that I was flown in via helicopter... Do you have no aeroplanes? I vaguely recall one of the two that visited for the Library ceremony mentioned the lack of runways..."

Aleesa nodded slowly, setting down her utencil slowly, almost cautiously. "Maybe..." She said, brushing off her shirt. She seemed to do that when she was nervous. Her fingers stopped on a pin, which bore a rider upon a gray horse, clothed in a matching cloak, a sword in his hand. The Free Rider. She began to readjust it, noticing it was crooked.

Gregory nodded, finding the woman somewhat unnerving all of a sudden. He contemplates the fact that he could have been a pilot, but instead he joined the Infantry detatchment attached to the Diplomatic Corps, and had to follow the President around to all sorts of absurd, foreign locations.

[Assuran]

Midnight

For the Assuranians present, it had been a shockingly early end to the party. As Alexander had once mentioned, the affairs of this country seldom finished before dawn or--on certain religious holidays--all the guests were slobbering drunk. Due to the presence of the Jimani delegates, most of the delegates had refrained from consuming enough of the sweetly sneaky Assurani wine to render them intoxicated. Even Aelthas Taelstarr, who had to be caught by Katrin as he tripped up the stairs, had not succumbed to what was referred to as "the national urge."

Katrin herself was rather pleased with how smoothly the party had gone. There had been a few incidents, but really, you could not expect Teodora to be anything other than flamboyant and slightly obnoxious. All the Matchmakers were like that. And apart from Aelthas's steady rise in vocal volume as the dinner went on, there had not been anything out of the expected.

Though whoever sat the Dimov girl across from the Jimani president will have me to answer to, she thought darkly, remembering Aelthas's protests that they had probably done it because she had been the country's ambassador to Jimanistan two months earlier and it would put the President at ease. Familiar face, my fine Assurani ass. And putting Leitha Tiberio on the guest list...

But she wouldn't go into that. Less focus on crazy combat chaplains and more on the merits of the party. Katrin shook her head as if to clear off an obnoxious fly and headed off in the direction of her home, three streets down from Embassy Row.

Saraid Dimov had also headed home, but not for the night. Aelthas, once his head had cleared a little, had given her full permission to entertain their guests for the night. "Mostly to ease the discomfort of their little girl," he had said.

So she returned to the building, now in a plainer dress of dullish red, with her acolyte bearing a full tray of grapes and cheeses and certain other staples of the Dancing Clergy's diet. There was a silver ewer on the tray as well, filled with a less potent version of the wine from dinner, and small, simple glasses. They couldn't risk shattering the finer things on the cobblestone or the five flights of steps.

It was quite the walk for this late at night, and Saraid ended up having to take the tray from Danjela on the second flight of stairs. Nevertheless, she was still rather cheerful as she knocked once on the door of the common and let both her and her subordinate in without waiting for an answer.

"Alvano," she said, mangling the accent horribly. "I come bearing gifts of wine and wheat. Forgive me if I'm intruding, I'm still not really sure about the Jimani regimen of sleep."

[Jimanistan]

The Jimani party was, as a whole, still awake. It was common in the country for even those that are easily tired to go to sleep around one or two, while those considered more normal may turn in somewhat later. It needs no explaining, then, that very little is accomplished in Jimanistan in the morning. Coincidently, this is occaisionally cited as a reason as to the nations lack of economic strength.

As Saraid and Danjela entered the common area, Gregory was fiddling with the knobs of a multiband radio, stamped with the seal of the Socialist Republic. Radio was still held in high regard, as television never really caught on as it did in other places. He seemed absolutely intent on his purpose, manipulating the dials as if he were attempting to crack a safe, and he were at gunpoint.

The little man did not so much as blink, leaving Verdon, engaged in a losing chess match with Aleesa, to rise and greet the Assuranians. "Salvano," He said, smiling warmly. He was unsure as to why they were back, but he was not one to question the fate passed down by the One.

"it is a pleasure to have you back." He continued, before glancing at the Partisan. "I think we're finished... You won, it would seem." Indeed, the little girl did have Verdon on the run, she with most of her army intact, and the President with a queen, a rider, and a handful of pawns left to his defense.

Aleesa seemed neither pleased nor displeased, but rather indifferent. Her expression was generally quite difficult to read. Aeno still found it unnerving.

"... And what the Hell good is that government, anyway? I mean really..." A voice called out as Gregory pinned down his desired frequency on the shortwave band. "Over a billion people unemployed, Leocardian scum just waiting off our shore for a chance to turn our communes into work camps, and an income tax rate that makes Albundania look like some sort of paradise..." The voice, an angry woman, paused, as if gasping for breath. "I think I'll be getting off my soapbox for the moment, comrades, just phone in if you want to talk about our sickening situation... In the meantime, how about some music?.. Enjoy..."

The radio began to play a complex fiddle piece, which was very fast and quick, backed up by basses and what sounded suspiciously like a theramine. Verdon scowled over at the radio, but quickly lost the look, his face softening into an idle sort of smile.

Naman, along with Gates and Mason, was sitting off to the far end of the room, passing around something that looked quite a bit like a hand-rolled cigarette, but happened to smell nothing like it. Due to the foreignness of drug laws, it would not have even occured to anyone that such a thing might be thought 'wrong' or 'illegal' in another place. All the while, none of them seemed to notice either the Assuranian newcomers or the radio, having the most peculiar discussion about hats.

[Assuran]

"It's a pleasure to be back," Saraid said, returning the smile. There was a sudden urge to bounce on the balls of her feet. She quelled it. There was no reason to behave like an overeager girl--save for, of course, the fact that she was glad to see him again. "Sir Taelstarr--Aelthas, I mean, he probably introduced himself by his first name--asked me to come up and see if you needed anything." Her eyebrows rose and fell quickly, mischeviously, as she continued, "He said we seemed to be getting along fine, and, once again, the employees are off. No sense wasting money on them when they're not needed. They have somewhat sporadic schedules, you see."

She took a seat on the floor, in front of the couch across from Gregory and tucked her strangely bare feet under her skirts. A sign of respect, and also, it was slightly closer to the radio. Saraid had only caught the tail end of the broadcast, enough to recognize the accent, and she was curious.

Danjela, after setting the tray down on the central table, had wandered off to where Aleesa was sitting in front of a chessboard wearing the same expression she had at dinner. Unlike Verdon, it didn't give the small girl the shivers. Instead, it made her curious. The statues in the temple always evoked the same reaction. She was curious as to what they were thinking.

She left the table and came back a moment later, bearing a wineglass full of grapes and two pieces of bread and cheese. These she sat on the chessboard, blinking innocent. "I thought you might be hungry," she said, trying to be warm and friendly, "so I brought you some of the stuff from the tray. I know what's in it this time, and our chefs are always sober."

[Jimanistan]

"Oh, of course..." He said warmly, noticing the subtle (or not-so subtle) manipulation of her eyebrows. He would very much have liked to get her alone somewhere, but with a group of traveling companions in a foreign place he imagined it difficult.

Verdon smiled at Saraid, watching her walk towards the radio. Following her, he sat near her, adjacent to Gregory. The timid man only now seemed to notice his surroundings, almost jumping.

"Oh!" He said, removing his glasses and wiping them off with his shirt, before resting them back on his nose. "Hullo." He greeted her, almost apologetically, as the radio continued. The fiddle piece had ended conclusively with a loud banging noise, and the speaking continued, now started off by a deep male voice, still speaking in the distinct Jimani accent.

"Alright, I am Filisohelio, we are back, and my comrade has stepped out for some air... In the meanwhile, I have Defense Chairman Robert Mancuso in the studio with me, to talk about the escalation of tensions with Leocardia that have been happening lately... Comrade, now we know the Verdon administration has been fairly quiet on the matter, but what exactly is the reason for this? I mean, why is Leocardia mobilizing?" The voice asked, a gruff, more elderly one, apparantly Mancuso, responding. "It is hard to say... You know the Leocardians, I don't think they've ever liked us... And it would be just like them to attack us without provocation, even if we're officially allied with them."

"You don't sound very concerned... Why is that? I mean, this is a big deal, isn't it?"

"Well, yes and no." Mancuso explained. "Our military is incredibly under-funded- as I've tried to explain to the politicians on numerous occaisions- and Leocardia is a substantial power, the only state in the region larger than Jimanistan... But if we are attacked, the Alliance will side with us. We did nothing, and besides, we hold a lot of sway... I expect CAFOR to intervene on our behalf, should the Leocardian swine be idiotic enough to attack our sovereign shores. Besides, our people are strong, and no nation has ever subjegated us."

Verdon shook his head at the radio. Mancuso was a man he appointed to the Defense Council, but the man was a renegade with his own agenda. Verdon was constantly vexed by him. He glanced at Gregory, suggesting casually, "Maybe you could find something else to listen to? Or turn it off entirely?"

Gregory frowned at the President. "It took me almost a half hour to pin down the signal, with activity in the ionosphere I'm suprised we can pick up anything from Home at all, this far away, even on Ess-Dubbleyoo (SW)...."

Aleesa was examining one of the chess pieces- presumably Verdon's queen. It was a little piece of white soapstone, carved into the shape of a woman holding a sword. It was quite detailed, and would seem to be part of a fine chess set.

"Gratico," She said, a bit distantly, as she set the piece back down. "I am." She turned to the other girl, scratching her head. She was no longer wearing her beret, and let her black hair down, which draped across her shoulders. She was no longer wearing her uniform, either, having switched it out for a simple white shirt and a pair of blue jeans. The shirt bore a Tyromisi words, which read "Aurebo Equiti: Sohelia Occidom". On the shirt were three riders, two men and a woman, dressed in golden cloaks. She looked, frankly, rather more like a girl without the uniform on, although she had kept her demeanor well enough.

[Iamnotjoiningregions]

Hi! imz suuper news can i joins? this look likees funs yeses? Je ne suis pas tres mavias

[Assuran]

Had she know his thoughts at that point in time, she wouldn't have disagreed. There were several places they could have gone, and she would have gladly taken him there, but that would have been much too suspicious. Her brother was already apprehensive about the letters with the Jimani stamps that had come through for her, and for someone to see them walking together without an escort would have damned the visit altogether.

Still...

Any further internal argument was immediately shattered by the unexpected bang at the end of the song. The priestess started. Last time she had been in Jimanistan, the music had been completely different than what she had grown up with--different, but not unpleasant. She did not, however, recall any of the songs ending with what sounded like a gunshot.

As the talking began again, and Saraid was reasonably sure that there would be no more gunshots, she folded her arms on the cushion of the couch and rested her chin on her left wrist. The voices on the radio were not familiar, nor were most of the countries and factions that they spoke of. CAFOR she had heard of. Her brother had mentioned it on the flight back, rattling on about what a good idea it was and how they should start a defensive force with some of the other countries on Osse. She really hadn't cared then. But it helped her to put together the scant pieces of relevant information she had picked up from the broadcast.

She turned to Verdon. "Please don't make him turn it off. This is actually somewhat interesting. We don't usually get to hear much about other countries on the news--Assuran's not very open, if you haven't noticed. Sir Taelstarr might also be interested in the Leacardin problem." Saraid hadn't noticed her mispronounciation. The country's name had been a bit fuzzy on the radio anyway.

Danjela helped herself to one of the grapes, clearly enjoying it. "Best grapes in the region," she said proudly. "Big enough that you don't need anything to drink. I like your shirt, by the way. What does it mean?"

[Jimanistan]

Verdon shrugged his shoulder, indecisively. "That's fine, if you want to hear it, I suppose... I must just be weary of it, I hear it all too often..." He trailed off, glancing over at the three Jimani off to themselves. He would have reprimanded them, but for the fact that he would really rather not have drawn attention to what they were doing.

"Leacardin?" He asked, puzzled for a moment. "Oh, Leocardia?" He would have spit at the ground and cursed the People as a whole, were it not incredibly poor diplomatic form. "I'm not sure what they're up to... But Mancuso was right, they would steamroll right over our military and into Verdemont if they particularly wanted to..." He sighed, having tried on many occaisions- in tandem with the Defense Chairman- to push through legislation strengthening the military. He would probably be able to do it now, though it could be too late to help.

The radio, meanwhile, was switching back to music, now playing a piece similar to the last one, with the addition of an electric piano, playing in the forefront. There was singing, as well, though the words were impossible to distinguish, even for one that understood Tyromisi. Verdon himself simply mistook it for gibberish.

"Musca," Aleesa said, struggling for the English word. "Musical group," she realized aloud, making a motion as if playing an invisible fiddle. "it is popular in Jimanistan... Says 'The Golden Riders: Lost Sohelia'... It is a record album. It is Very good."

After explaining it, she took a grape, poppling it into her mouth. It tasted slightly different, but she was not sure how. Barbola, foreignness, she decided after a few seconds of savoring the fruit.

The radio, meanwhile, was beginning to lose focus on the desired frequency, sputtering into static. Gregory reacted quickly, manipulating the fine-tuning dial, as well as adjusting the antenna. After a moment it returned, the song over, voices speaking once more.

".... And this interesting bit of news from Narabo, the Ragalo dynasty in exile is apparantly reaching out to a handful of foreign countries. The government is unconcerned, dismissing claims that the Ragalos are attempting to reclaim their Throne as 'ridiculous' and 'absurd'. Meanwhile, the nationalist group 'Jimanistan First' has begun to claim the Leocardians are in league with the Ragalos, and plan to restore the Monarchy..." The man reading paused for a good laugh, apparantly finding that humorous. The Ragalos had long been a humorous subject on the news radio circuit.

[Assuran]

"Oh!" Saraid seemed somewhat embarrassed by the fact that she had botched the name. "My apologies. This is the first time I've heard it." She tilted her head to one side, looking exactly like a curious acolyte, listening with interest to his vague complaints about the odds of winning a war against the Leocardians. Somehow, military talk always seemed more interesting coming from him. Perhaps it was because he didn't ramble on about the numbers and dates of forgotten battles in foreign countries like her brother did.

After considering it for a moment, she looked back at Verdon. "I can't speak for the Committee of International Affairs," she said, somewhat cautiously. "But I can suggest that you talk to Sir Taelstarr about it, should you suddenly be in need of an ally. I'm sorry, I'm really a bit useless in situations involving the military." She offered a wry smile and kept her mouth shut as the newscaster came back on.

As he began laughing, Saraid's brow furrowed. She turned back to the Jimani president once more. "This is funny, in your country?" Her tone was still one of curiosity, but there was a somewhat accusatory bite to it as though she wasn't entirely sure the nation had its priorities straight. "If the First Family was knocked from power and there were rumors that it had turned to a nation like Significant Justice for help, well..." The priestess didn't finish her sentence, but there was a strong implication that her reaction would have been quite the opposite of the newscaster's derogatory laughter.

Danjela tried very hard to keep in her giggles, lest she seem rude. The fiddling motion had been so awkward and unexpected. She almost succeeded, in that she only emitted a strange choking noise that she quickly turned into a cough.

"Ah," she said vaguely, once she had gotten her giggling impulse under control. Like her teacher, she was unusually curious. "What's Sohelia?"

[Jimanistan]

He nodded slowly, saying nothing in reply to the prospect of an alliance with Assuran. The two states would make unlikely allies, to be sure, and Verdon was unsure of the likelihood of such a thing occuring, but, all the same, it intrigued him.

Verdon once more shrugged his shoulder, somewhat apathetically. He did not quite understand Saraid's reaction. After a few seconds of thought he wrote it off as a cultural difference, and decided to explain why it was funny, at least to the radio personality.

"Well," He said, considering the place of the ex-royals in modern culture. "the Ragalos were petitioning for this and for that when the body of their King was barely cold... They've been after recognition by foreigners almost as long, over fifty years..." He paused. "They are a joke because of the pompous nature of their demands... After a meeting between my predecesor and their family Patriarch, for example, they stormed off insulted, and refused to continue the meeting, as Guy Rivers would not kneel to them."

He shook his head. "Besides, no one is particularly worried about the prospect of a foreign power aiding them... Even if a foreign power were foolish enough to set up the Ragalos as monarchs in Jimanistan, they would not last longer than a fortnight, in my opinion... It really comes back to the cultural xenophobia we've always exhibitied... It would be percieved as a foreign occupation and would be thrown down quickly by popular revolt... The Jimani are stubborn, they do not like being told what to do.. Especially by someone with an accent." He said, chuckling slightly himself. He occaisionally poked fun at his People, but held the Jimani culture in high regard.

The little girl raised an eyebrow, both at the strange noise Danjela made, and her apparant ignorance of the mythical Sohelian Empire. "It was a country, thousands of years ago." She said, as if it were something everyone on Earth ought to have known. "There were cities made of solid gold, and flying horses... Some of the people in Jimanistan are descended from exiles from there." She concluded, citing the traditional story, which was generally believed in academic circles to be untrue.

[Assuran]

OoC:
This'll be a rather short post, due to it being wiped once already and the mental strain I'm going through at the moment.

IC:
"It seems reasonable to me, though," Saraid said cautiously, now understanding his reasons. "If you've been born into a royal family, and raised to believe that you should be treated as a member of such, well...you're not going to take the rejection of the commoners quite as well as people think you ought to." She offered a shrug of her own. "Perhaps it's just that my opinion has been shaped from living under an oligarchy. I'm really not sure."

While she was speaking, she had been subtly scooting closer to him without so much as changing her posture. The Dancing Clergy, being servants of the goddess of seeming, had this peculiar talent of looking exactly how they wanted to in certain situations. Their High Priestess was no exception. Her current goal was to make it as unnoticeable as possible that she had been moving in his direction.

"So you were saying," she continued, as she paused her inching, "cultural xenophobia. You make it seem like it's such a new thing. It exists, even out here. Perhaps less overt than in Jimanistan, and almost never showing its face in this city, but Assuran has its own set of standards, shall we say." She smiled wryly. "People with accents rarely get the welcome they expect."

"I get it!" Danjela said, excited that she had understood one thing Aleesa had said. "It's like that Atlantis story, right? And the city sank and stuff. Is it different?"

[Jimanistan]

Verdon waved his hand dismissively, shaking his head. He could see Saraid's point, but all the same, he was always argumentative, quite possibly the primary trait that interested him in politics. "Well," He said, not really noticing that the Assuranian was moving towards him. "even a monarchist pissant should have realized that a Freeman does not bow. In fact, 'The land where no Man has to bow' was the National motto for several years in the eighties..."

He smiled thinly at her later comments, wondering if her final sentence was meant to be an innuendo. The nuances vagueness of English sometimes confused him, as the langauge was far more rich and varied than Tyromisi, which tended to be dull and very concise, with a very specific meaning for most words.

He glanced at the radio as the program switched gears. A high-pitched cartoonish theme song, played primarily by a ukele and a xylophone, ending within ten or twenty seconds with a howl from a wolf. Verdon visibly rolled his eyes. He was going to mention that xenophobia was, in fact, very pronounced in Jimanistan, but he decided it unneccesary, foreseeing the red-meat about to be thrown out via radio.

"Hello, young comrades. It is that time again... Tim the Direwolf is on the prowl again, searching for the fascist among us. Well, here he comes now!" the sound of a four-legged animal padding across a dirt field is heard. "Hullo, comrades! It's your friend Tim, and I've been tracking counter-revolutionaries through these parts all day..." The voice was rather high, and was probably provided by a woman. "But I thought I would take a break to talk about how bad children in some places have it, where there are no loving communes, and where they must work in factories for hours on end... I have seen it myself on my many journies..."

Verdon motioned at Gregory to turn it off, sick of the mindless dribble. Only then did he notice the little man was asleep, slumped forward over the radio he had been examining. The President raised an eyebrow, and waved a hand in front of the guard's glasses. Nothing. He then proceeded to turn the power switch, causing Tim the Direwolf to fall silent, just as he was about to list off the evils of capitalism, a fairly regular occurance on the show.

Aleesa looked at Danjela thoughtfully, considering that comparison. She was not very familiar with Plato's Atlantis, but she knew enough to know it's story was distinct from that of Sohelia. "No," She said, a bit haughtily. "not really. It actually existed... They worshiped the Sun, and conquered a lot of places. They had colonies on the Islands off of Jimanistans coast... And it did not sink. It was burned black, and then cracked up into dust."

[Assuran]

Her final sentence was not, in fact, meant to be an innuendo. Only as the program began to change did she realise the possible implications of her statement. Well, it worked for any purposes she might have had. It was a good thing her head was turned away, for she was utterly failing to conceal the smirk that had begun to emerge. She couldn't help but chortle at his comment, though.

A monarchist pissant who you would love nothing more than to get up against the wall, she thought smugly. Out loud, she said "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to take that as an insult or a backhanded compliment, Signor."

Everything seemed funnier all of a sudden once she had noticed Gregory was asleep. She couldn't help it. Propaganda had always elicited a giggle--being the sister of a lieutenant commander had that effect--but she had never heard anything like "Tim the Direwolf". Children's propaganda, with a male played by a woman...it was so ridiculous, and so foreign. Had she known the Tyromisi for "foreign", she would have used it. It would have been more appropriate.

Danjela pulled back as though she had been struck. Her eyes narrowed. "Sorry," she said, rather defensively. "I didn't know, it was my only way of relating." She crossed her arms and harrumphed rather dramatically. "I won't do it again."

The little girl hadn't noticed the radio turning off--she hadn't really been paying attention to it when it was on--but to the priestess, the silence was deafening. She found herself about a yard away from Verdon, still in the same position. Goddammit, if only Danjela wasn't in the room. She couldn't send the little girls anywhere. People would talk. Goddammit all.

[Jimanistan]

Verdon smiled at Saraid, shaking his head with a laugh, and for once a genuine one, rather than a phony bit of courtesy. He had not even intended the term 'monarchist pissant' to refer to Saraid, but rather to the Ragalos, though he certainly did not let on that she was incorrect. It suited him better that she had been mistaken, anyway.

"That's hard to say..." He said briefly, glancing about the room. It looked as if the three of to their own had finished with whatever it was that they were up to, Gates and Mason gone, Meilor hidden while laying on one of the couches. He glanced the other way, seeing two young girls. Noticing Saraid no more than a few feet away, he smiled again at her. He did not seem especially distressed, despite the seemingly uncompromising situation.

Aleesa had not really intended to offend the other girl, most people she knew were familiar with her stoney curtness. She shrugged her shoulders indifferently, looking back at the chess board. She had a strategy planned out to finish off Verdon, and, had the game continued a few more turns, she would have won.

[Assuran]

That gap between Saraid and Verdon, though only about thirty-six inches, seemed like an impossible chasm to the priestess whose head was on her arms. It was like that one moment in the map room two months ago. The ghosts of Assuranian social customs seemed to be popping up and screaming in her face. You're at home now, you're not a foreign whore. You're a respected clergymember, and you'd throw it all away for a man with an accent?

If nothing else, he's good in bed, she answered, with a mental shrug. Besides, you make it seem like I'm going to do the act in public.

That you're doing it at all is a problem, her more traditional side argued. Saraid let out a little sigh. She could be so unreasonable sometimes.

But there was still the question of the gap. It wasn't the list of societal norms that was preventing her from crossing it; rather, her sudden lack of confidence. She had remembered something about Jimanistan being a relatively open society, in terms of sex. There was a vague, uneasiness hovering in the back of her head; the thought that he might have slept with someone else in her absence. That was really none of her concern, of course, but it did bite. Just a little.

She came out of her accidental reverie to find him smiling at her and another foot of the gap closed. Not going as planned, but she certainly wasn't complaining.

"Signor..." She said, somewhat hesitantly, then stopped. There had been a sentence to follow, but she had forgotten it.

Danjela still hadn't noticed the priestess's internal conflict, being too absorbed in being huffy to notice. She wasn't very good at it. Aleesa seemed not to have noticed, and the acolyte gave up the act as soon as she saw it wouldn't get anything out of the other girl.

"What's that?" She asked, still somewhat petulant. She had indicated a rook on the board.

[Jimanistan]

Verdon's own thoughts were of a somewhat less philosophical manner. He was wondering, in his somewhat-tired state, why the 'Tim the Direwolf' program had been on so late. The concept of time zones would seem to have evaded him, for at least the moment, as he looked off thoughtfully into space.

Saraid spoke, and he looked back at her curiously. "Hm?" He intoned, wondering what she was going to say. His eyes, meanwhile, too the oppurtunity to examine the Priestess' figure, not a difficult thing to do, first because of her shorter stature, and second because she was sitting.

"A castle." Aleesa said flatly, poking the little piece of black marble, shaped like a tower. "It is the most over-rated piece on the board..." She elaborated, taking another grape, sliding it into her mouth and chewing on it gingerly. It was not terrible, for something foreign.

OOC: Sorry for the shortness of the post, my mind's strangely frazzled.

[Assuran]

Saraid took his staring as an opportunity to watch him as well. He didn't seem overly resistant to her current position, and she took the opportunity to scoot a bit closer. She had changed her position, resting her back against the front of the couch. There was really no reason for this, save comfort. She did not, however, tilt her head back to look him in the face as she spoke. Even after two months, his eyes still unnerved her.

"Signor Ve--Aeno," she said, using his name for the first time that evening. Her tone was deliberate, and a little unsure. There was a pause for a moment, and with a deep breath, she closed her eyes and crossed the gap. She leaned against his leg, resting her head on his knee, and exhaled. It had been surprisingly easy. The difficult bit would be waiting for his reaction.

Her eyes fluttered open, though there was nothing much to look at. It was simply her best way of getting a handle on reality at the moment.

"It's good to have you back," she murmured, not moving.

"It's pretty," Danjela said grudgingly, squinting at the piece. Not having visited the Temple of the Red Knight, or many other places really, she hadn't seen many chessboards in her short lifetime. "It looks like a pillar with a crown." She picked it up from its spot to examine it closer. "What does it do?

OoC:
Really, don't worry about it. My post was late and short for the exact same reason.