NationStates

NEVILLE NotThatOne Chamberlain tripped over the ladder and cursed. It had almost become a morning routine: trip over ladder, curse; trip over paint-tin, curse; stub toe on large lump of plaster, curse. It was a wonder he didn't run out of curspiration.

Ever since the World Assembly had managed to squeeze into its collective drug-crazed, alcohol-sodden, ever-scheming consciousness the welcome information that there was Stimulus coming their way, they'd been arguing about what way that was.

The faction-ridden Snakepit had divided and divided again, amending repeals, cloturing proposals and generally having a high old time involving custard pies, assorted weaponry and a significant number of unexplained disappearances. But still they couldn't come to a decision on how to spend the windfall.

At last the sole delegate left standing (strength, vanished; category, unsocial injustice) had croaked out "Infrastructure!" before collapsing in an illegally branded, metagamed-out heap. And so it had been decided: the WA's infrastructure would be refurbished.

At first it had seemed like fun: offices for all, delegations happily employed choosing paint colours, the installation of a light rail line around the lake, an outbreak of fountains and commemorative statuary, tree-planting frenzies as the Green nations became locked in vicious evolutionary competition to make sure that their particular national (bloodsucking parasite) floral emblem was the one at the top of the ecological tree.

But it had begun to pall. The constant mess, the noise, the disorder, reminded the delegates too strongly of debates. Even the Strangers Bar, that very present help in time of trouble, had seemed at times to be under siege by folk with fluorescent jackets and hard hats.

Today, though, the Bar staff would have a respite. Today they would halt their labours and go outside to watch the Official Switching On of the new illuminated sign that proclaimed their calling. Violet had donned her nametag for the occasion ("Ms Brackett lowercase bold violet endbold close Brackett") and Neville had worn one of his famous black velvet suits. Now they stood, hand clutching anxious hand, Jimmy the part-time barman and Dazza the Australian-fusion chef quietly squabbling behind them, as the LEDs warmed to their task.

"Welcome" shone out, and Violet smiled.

"to the" clicked on, and Neville felt a surge of anticipatory pride.

"World Assembly Strangers' Bar!"

And then the lawyers parachuted in. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day.

---

OOC: NEWCOMERS: These remain the "rules" of the Bar: The BarLordian Conventions. They're RP conventions, not mod-enforced site rules, but if you break them Neville will do Evil Things to your poor ambassador.

Another Carlsberg, please. Tis the first time I never had to send New Ferrium to get it for me.

Gin and tonic, please.

This is important. We're not sending our puppet today. We're here in person.

"Whiskey," he says.

"What kind?" asks the barman.

"What do you mean, what kind? Line up every kind: Irish, Scotch, Tennessee Sour, Bourbon, Rye, Canadian Club, and whatever the locals drink." The Arthurian delegate is drumming his fingers on the bar.

"Isn't that a bit much for the drink, sir?" asks the barman.

"Maybe, but I'm from the Arthurian Uplands. We don't have quitlines or AA since we aren't quitters. Line them up."

"Yes sir..."

This is a great idea for the WA Strtangers bar to be in easy reach of Funen. Duff Cold and a Tarka Ale please.

May I wish all the success to this new bar.

"The lawyers are coming, the lawyers are coming...ah ta' heck wi' it...just give me a beer." The unrecognised, thoroughly unofficial deligate from the nation that refuses to recognise the WA sits down fanning himself, and sighs deeply.

"And just keep them coming. I prefer to forget as much as possible that they won't let me come home again."

Unibot Secretary of Crime & Punishment, and the current Unibot Diplomat, Commander Walter "Dookie" Zhildigo trotted up to the entrance of the Stranger’s Bar on his white stallion. Making sure to deposit his numerous hand guns and swords into the deposit bin out front so they wouldn’t be inconveniently transformed into a frisbee made of strawberry jelly.

Zhildigo was a slow talking, white haired and bearded commander who walked sternly, with the aura of a loyal gentleman circulating around him.

He walked into the bar, smiling nervously at the pub's members.

Addressing the few patrons,

“Greeting my fellow diplomats, I am Commander Zhildigo… Unibotian Chief Secretary of Crime and Punishment, and as of today, the replacement unibot diplomat for the Assembled World at large.”

Walking over to the mini bar refrigerator by the pinball machine, labeled “Eduard’s Stuff”, he opened it up to find a few jars of urine and other bodily fluids (human and non-human) – the Commander shook his head in disgust.

“I have come to retrieve some items that belong to my esteemed colleague and predecessor, Eduard Heir. While in the hospital across the street he asked me to recover his belongings from his office – apparently his humble business took place in a corner of this bar…” Zhildigo frowned.

Walter turned his head to Neville,

“He also wished the owner of the establishment good luck with the announced completion of the WAHQ”.

The atmosphere of the bar was appropriately festive on the occasion of its Grand Reopening -- a large banner strung above the counter dutifully reminded patrons of the fact -- diplomats from nations the WA had never seen before were stopping by for a drink, and story was happy hour would extend long into the night. Amidst the jubilation, Jimmy sat alone, smoking a well-deserved cigarette and watching ESPN on the TV above the bar. Next to him Senator Sulla snored, slumped over the table and cradling his cherished bottle of Wild Turkey. In what must have been a amazing fluke, he'd just been bested in a drinking contest, though sticklers for the rules might have pointed out to Jimmy that slipping crushed sleeping pills into Sulla's drink was "cheating." The Kennyite deputy ambassador did not care; he'd only done it to give his friends a slim window of opportunity to raid the senator's minibar.

Every so often the diplomat swore he caught Neville eying him warily. Rumor had it that the Barlord had spread the word not to inform the Kennyites that the bar would be reopening; they caused so many brawls and terrorist incidents and other unexplained destruction of company property that the bar's insurance policy supposedly no longer covered them. Besides, their tab had run so long there was virtually no hope it would ever be reconciled. Banning Ace and Rico from Sammy's account had solved a few temporary problems -- at least until other suspiciously dressed characters started taking advantage of Sammy's generosity, like "Race and Nico," "Mate and Tito," "Jake and Sisco," and Neville's personal favorites, "Acita and Riquita" -- but then Susa opened his own account and the whole thing went to hell.

Neville's directive hadn't seemed to have gotten through to anyone, least of all the person in charge of hiring the band. A few patrons could be spotted shielding their faces in case of flying debris when one of the bar staff (let's say it was Jimmy, the non-Kennyite one) appeared on stage to introduce the evening's entertainment: "And now, for your listening pleasure, please welcome, all the way from Summit City, Omigodtheykilledkenny, Gwen's Boy Toys!"

Polite applause greeted the performers as they took the stage. The bar had seemingly gone retro that evening, first with the errant neon sign, and now with the choice of musical genre: a familiar '90s blend of ska and punk rock filled the venue as an energetic blonde seized the microphone. She introduced herself as "Girl" Stefani, and as the frontwoman for a tribute band, she indeed bore a remarkable resemblance to the famed ruler of her namesake Kingdom, only she lacked any discernible talent. Also, she kept forgetting the words.

"Oh, I'm just a girl, a girly, girly girl!..."

Halfway through the set Girl was treating the bass-player like a stripper poll, as the lead guitarist happily looked on, jumping around excitedly, completely nude save his conveniently placed instrument. Had the band desired more authenticity it would have been the drummer who was naked, or at least stripped down to his undies, but the other band members had decided beforehand that the secretary of state of Omigodtheykilledkenny was entitled to a modicum of dignity. Sammy's drumwork was competent, at the very least far outshining the "singing," and the fact that he was still wearing his fishnet stockings from a Rocky Horror festival the night before didn't distract the audience much; the drumkit mostly obstructed the wardrobe malfunction anyway.

Now Girl had leapt down into the audience in a feeble attempt to interact with bar patrons, but finding most of them awkwardly backing away, instead proceeded to the Kawaiian shrine and commenced defiling it.

Neville buried his head in his hands.

"One shot of Sake, please. You got it here?" the man asked the lovely woman who was serving him.
"Yes, sir! I'll get it right away!"
The delegate from assembled Wienda, Silgio Medusan, stood there with his personal advisor, a Sekireinese by birth.
"Man, she's pretty. Eh, Hitomi?"
Hitomi Shirosaga, the daughter of Nasake Shirosaga, owner of the largest sake brewery in Zeves Aetheria, looked blankly into space. This girl never paid attention. Silgio looks away.
"Uwa, sir? You startled me."
"Yes. You look tired. Go home. I'll be back... oh... tomorrow or so. Sam said I could use his guest house."
"Yes, sir! Thanks!" Hitomi proceeded to leave. Silgio took out his phone and went on the Internet. Halfway through watching a video on MyTube, a mysterious man walks up.
"How's... it... going?" he says tenatively.
After a long pause, the man says, "Nirvana is better than Pink Floyd."
Wiendans, being lovers of Pink Floyd, would normally punch the guy out. However, after the sexy server handed Medusan his drink, he decided to leave this man.
"Man, never get away from these people..."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He had just finished his two shots of sake and left. One block away, he sees a person huddled on the ground. Soutwest Wiendans are especially wary of poor people. However, this person looked familiar. She was dressed in fine clothes...
It was Hitomi. Dead, on the ground, with a note.
"SHE'S IN A STATE OF NIRVANA..."
Silgio decided to go back to the relative calm of the bar.
Inside, he called the police, and he was about to press "8" (Wiendan phone lines list emergencies as "008") when he hears a worker say,
"Hey! Don't touch me there! Pervert!"
It wasn't hard to miss, as everyone shut up as soon as she said, Hey!
Hitomi stood, looking at the man who had been mumbling the bad word of Nirvana at the table Silgio had been sitting at. She wasn't dead.
"Hitomi?"
"Uwa, sir!"
"You... You were dead!"
"Nope! Just drunk!"
"... BAKA!"
"Sorry sir! Please, just don't call me Baka again!"

The unrecognised not representative buried his face in his hands, attempting to banish the horrors going on about his. "Beer!" he moaned softly to the nearest lord - or lady - of the ever flowing taps.

He downed it in one long chugggggggg.

"...not much of a sight, but it's the most I've seen of you in months!" hissed Avaya.

It's difficult to have a really satisfying quarrel with a drummer. They just have to up the output and you're out of play. But Ardchoille's Minister for Foreign Affairs was a tryer, and with her very own foreign affair securely leashed to a drum kit for the duration of the set, she was going to get in a few low blows, if nothing else.

Indeed, "nothing else" seemed all too likely. What with the fishnet stockings, the really daggy outfit and the company he was keeping, Sammy's fiancee sensed a certain ... disengagement, as it were.

As it weren't! She was engaged to S. Faisano and, by the goddess, S. Faisano was not going to be allowed to forget it!

It was fortunate that the Kennyites' Cdr Chiang, possibly with the aim of having a lever to use against Avaya's boss, had taught the young Ardchoillean how to dress. She still bundled herself in the shapeless head-to-foot white robes her mother had insisted on; but underneath, there was as much leather, thonging, lace, ribbon and stray bits of silk and velvet as heart, or any other organ, could desire. So when she whipped the coverings off ...

BOOM badda BOOM badda BOOM, ba-BOOM; BOOM badda BOOM badda BOOM, ba-BOOM ...

She didn't look to see if it was Sammy whose playing had picked up the slow rhythm of her undulations. She didn't really care any longer. Riding the music, carried by the beat, arms upraised and belly gyrating, hair tossing, legs flexing as one arched foot pointed impossibly skyward, slowly, slowly descended, her whole body abased on the floor, yet as quickly risen to her knees, leaning back, hair sweeping the Barroom floor, the bells on her bra -- no, her nipples -- dear goddess, through her nipples? ... chiming as they twirled, Avaya gave herself completely to the dance she'd learned as a bored adolescent in that interminable desert ambassadorship her mother had suffered.

Girl Stefani, she thought, stand aside. I am Woman Thibaudet.

And if that didn't show Sammy ... something ... well, frankly, she didn't give a damn. She was having fun.

Ardchoille wrote:"Welcome" shone out, and Violet smiled.

"to the" clicked on, and Neville felt a surge of anticipatory pride.

"United Nations Strangers' Bar!"

Silly sign, Carina Talchimio-Spicolli thought as she opened the door into the Strangers' Bar. Don't they know that the United Nations is long gone?

The Royal Nord-Brutlandese Ambassador opened the door into the Bar. This was the first time in ages that any Nord-Brutlandese would be seen in the WA complex.

First, Carina's children had gone missing. They searched high and low but they failed to find her twins. She nearly got mad with grief on losing her children. Her children still aren't baptized! What if they got run over by a truck? Or accidentally loaded into the DEFENESTRINATOR™? The poor souls of her children would be in limbo if they died before they get baptized. Where could they be? She thought it's better that they are somewhere else other than underground... rotting. Carina suppressed the thought with a sob. She still won't accept that they were lost... or dead.

She and her staff missed votes, skipped debates, and virtually disappeared from the WA, occupied by trying to find Carina's children. She and her staff searched... until she lost her staff.

An angry home country, seething over the passage of several "fluffy" resolutions, clamored to withdraw the country out of the WA and bring home the delegation. Carina pleaded not to be sent home... her children are still missing! Even if the Foreign Minister was of a different opinion than the country, the strong anti-WA sentiment in Brutland and Norden forced him into some sort of delaying tactic. The Foreign Ministry would withdraw personnel from the WA slowly, but as long as Carina's children would be missing somewhere in the WA complex, the country needs to stay in the WA. God knows what would happen if the children were found. Hopefully the Nord-Brutlandese people had forgotten the issue, as withdrawal would be disastrous for the country.

And so the people of the Royal Nord-Brutlandese Mission to the World Assembly left one by one, until only Carina, her husband Knut, and her loyal secretary Carolina remained. Carolina refused to leave even when the Foreign Ministry ordered her to. She stayed to look for the children.

It was also hard refurbishing their new offices, with the meager budget the Foreign Ministry now allocates to their representation, and their lack of manpower. But they had lots of time now to do it and to look after their children ever since the Foreign Ministry decreed that Brutland and Norden will not vote on any WAR.

So there she was, exhausted from the renovating and searching and crying. She half-walked half-stumbled to the first barstool she could find, and barked, "Give me a drink. Now."

OOC: I'd assume this is a different bar? Or no?

Kevin Ruddpet walked gingerly into the bar. Well, actually it was Julia Gillpet that was the ginger one but Kevin was taking particular care. He knew from bitter experience that regardless of which direction he wanted to go, somehow, too often, he went in a different direction.

He managed to get to the bar. God, he was hanging out for a beer. He ordered a gin and tonic. It's happening again, he thought.

There! In the corner. That short, fat, bald, middle-aged bloke. Kevin Ruddpet groaned inwardly. Whenever he saw him, he knew there would be trouble. Sure enough, when he tried to raise the drink he didn't really want to his lips, he smacked it squarely into the middle of his forehead. Drenched, he knew was going to smell like a drunk for the rest of the evening. Glancing over to the homunculus in the corner he could swear the creature's lips had curled slightly in the corners into a sardonic smile as if to say, "You are mine."

Sir Albert woke up......blinked.....and then fell off his chair. Something wasn't quite right, which was especially disturbing as he was abosolutely certain that the last time he was awake he was slumped in his favourite comfy strangers bar chair. The one that had wrap around faded velvet covered arms which stopped the whole falling off the chair experience in the first place, and also handily soaked up the dribble.

Come to think of it the floor didn't taste the way it usually did either, it tasted of that fake wood clip together stuff with a hint of heavy duty disinfectant. Where had the soggy floral print carpet gone? Why was he down here anyway? He knew he was drunk, but usually he'd simply be dangling over a tatty chair arm contemplating 70's floral design by now. Sir Albert thought about this for a while, which hurt, then the full horror hit him......someone had given the place a makeover, all the comfortable proper pub stuff had gone and now it had become one of those trendy places.

Sir Albert slowly pushed hisself to his feet, pausing a second to inhale the disinfectant some more, and staggered over to the bar. Looking around he spotted what looked like a bar and said, 'ere, barkeep, ah'll 'ave a table full o' Bahgumian Blue Brandy and a keg o' Best Bahgumian Bitter brought o'er t'where my table should be and a beer for everyone in the bar, it looks like ah've got to work on re-establishing a proper pub atmosphere again...by eck'.

At least Neville was still here, Sir Albert would have had to order in a squad of Bahgumian Mothers in Law to close the place and re-establish order if they'd had gone and replaced him with a pimply faced student. Sir Albert shuddered and slumped back in the useless little metallic chair. 'Neville if tha' can find me owd chair that'd be grand, ah don't want to send a mother in law out to fetch me one'. Nothing like a little implied MIL visit to spur on some drinking he thought.

Brutland and Norden wrote:So there she was, exhausted from the renovating and searching and crying. She half-walked half-stumbled to the first barstool she could find, and barked, "Give me a drink. Now."

Borrin o Redwood noticed this new arrival, and heaved a sigh of relief. Rising from the comfortable chair where he had been sitting in the corner with the widescreen television, at the table which his delegation had long-since established as "theirs" and that the people doing the refurbishment consequently hadn't dared to try re-arranging, he walked across towards the bar, and addressed Carina.
"Excuse me, madam ambassador," he said, "but aren't those" (here he paused briefly, and waved a paw in the direction of the twin moppets that were curently both curled-up asleep on a settee back in that corner...) "yours?"

Eifie Felzara strode into the bar, somewhat late to the party apparently, wearing his standard garb: A long black trench coat with several shiny military-looking insignia where his collar folds down across his shoulder with a polo and black slacks. Eifie is swift moving at most times, his coat sometimes flapping back to reveal his nickel plated Alkon 11mm handgun in its holster on his side and his keys attached to his belt loop. The Divinen delegate always carries his 11mm, and is known for being escorted from the WA floor several times until an agreement was reached over his possession of it.

He looked around, observing the style of the place. He saw various people in the bar with various drinks, a rather suckish performer on stage, and finally located who he determined to be the bartender.

"What can I get for you, sir?" said the bartender as he spotted Eifie walking toward the bar.
"Myrin City Twist."
"Never heard of the drink. Can you describe..."
"Two shots of pineapple rum and orange mango sports drink in a sixteen ounce glass with ice, sir. Stirred, of course."
"Why sir, aren't you a bit..." Then the bartender caught sight of the Alkon. "On it, sir."

After the bartender made his drink, Eifie walked over to a table and sat alone facing the stage, withdrawing a pack of smokes from his coat pocket and lighting one.

Nigel entered the bar and looked around. "New digs, same feel" he thought as he made his way over to the barkeep. "Lager please" he said. Then leaned his forearms on the bar and began to shell the pistachio nuts.

A roar of a hmmwv is heard from outside. Supreme General Duke,the leader of The Armed Republic or Southern Confederate States walks through the door. he glances over the room, seeing the all the delegates at different tables. He then spots an empty corner booth. He sits down, keeping an eye at everything that is happening. he spots a nearby waitress and shouts "Whiskey! and leave the bottle" she comes back with the bottle and he pays. he starts to drink, while ever vigilante of everything in the bar.

Commander Zhildigo staggered into the pub, disregarding the barrel outside for his ceremonial sword as usual. The deep voiced, silver tongued commander tipped his hat to the female patrons, in his “creepy old guy” approach. The nearest women, with her back turned to him was sitting at the bar, apparently she was from a nation stuck in a medieval rut as her attire was a grayish cape over a black tunic, and her dark hair was unkempt. No matter thought Zhildigo, he always enjoyed the ‘presence’ of women use to pomp, chivalry and romanticism – it always played out in the Commander’s favor, not to mention gave Zhildigo’s ole’ poetic talents a whirl.

Addressing the lady from behind, he spoke carefully and iambically…

“Thy fairest luck, distant it seemed
to thy heart’s vizard which brought thee
A dearth so darketh that tis I who
is bless’d with beauty’s presence”

The woman turned around, and Zhildigo’s arrogant smile faded with his silver tongue,

“Mother of vile, not pearls!
Cacophonous is thou heinous face”

Blinded in horror as the woman appeared not to be a simple minded and impressionable lady of medieval beauty and royalty – but a hag, a true thoroughbred witch with clammy skin, deformities and eyes that deceived her humanity.

The witch flashed the commander with pure lividness across her hideous face (that is, hideous in unibotian standards). Spitting Zhildigo in the face as she talking in a voice which the Commander imagined Satan would sound like if he was a squirrel.

“Oh the spiteful lack of Cognizance
For thy insides underneath a cuticle,
Where obscenities go self-evident.
Thou mind is onwards to ye bodkin!

But, alas your ignorance is correct
harvesting grounds of thou ‘fairest luck’
Thy soul is as unsightly as thy face
A Harbinger of a cruelest Puck

Yet your harvest of luck hath died
Withering with thy storm of dawneth.
Thou luck hath not changeth today
For tis not luck that thou is alive

…But a great misfortune.”

The Commander pulled out his decorative sword attempting to attack the witch,

“Be gone witch…”

The Witch snarled, as the sword transformed into a plucky ferret …

“Assail me no more
For it is my turn to hurt thee!”

Waving her hands she glared at the sky which pierced through the ceiling, the clouds darkened in a rainless thunderstorm of brutish power as the walls became animate with mischievous sprites.

Screaming a spell at Zhildigo…

“Goneth is thou and his realm
Waters will turn to vile and qualm
Not a memory left to till thou helm
As concrete and steel turneth to elm”

A spell had been casted on Zhildigo and Unibot, who were no more.

A man similar to his likeness, though more hairy and bestial stood in the pub, stark naked and attempting to stand straight.

Unibot and its Ambassador had been sent into a foul dark age of human degeneration – the witch left with a click of her tongue as soon as the deed was done.

"Ma, you're lying." shouted Wens Foroun as she clasped an earpiece to her head. "I cannot believe you left me alone for two hours with my ex-husband because you 'had a hot date with a retiree name Shlomo.' You always do this!"

She paused, her eyes widening in realization of what could only be the utter vulgarities entering her ear from over the phone.

"I can do what to myself?! Well fine, I hope you have another stroke!"

With a harrumph she hung up and sat down on a swivelly barstool.

"Mothers! You think you're done with them when you turn eighty but they keep coming back around. Now here I am, over a century old and she's still kicking around."

Unibot wrote:The Commander pulled out his decorative sword attempting to attack the witch,

“Be gone witch…”

The Witch snarled, as the sword transformed into a plucky ferret …

Upon seeing the ferret Sir Albert leapt up from his uncomfortable trendy steel chair, gently took the poor animal and shoved it down his trousers for safekeeping.

Happy at doing his bit for wildlife the 15 times world trouser ferreting champion staggered back over to the rickety chair and sank back into his usual innebriated stupor wondering when his velvet covered bar chair was going to be returned.

Most of the onlookers were actually wondering how he had managed to do all this whilst carrying two pints of beer and not spilling any.

"It's about time we looked beyond our borders", the Grand Duke had solemnly declared, "given we're constantly receiving Compliance Orders from the WA, I'd say we should jolly well send someone to represent us".

"Not quite yet", ventured Grand Advisor 41, "we have no idea about this place, surely we should first send someone to scope and report back to us, if we send a representative we probably have to send gifts and I'm just not sure our Panda Umbrella stands are popular everywhere, why only the other day we received a missive from some organisation called Groanpeace calling us inhumane for even making them, 'inhumane', they're Panda's!"

"Ha, quite so", chortled the Grand Duke, disguising the fact that he thought this quite the poor attempt at humour but generally agreeing with the point.

...and so it was that Calvin McGuire found himself on a mission to report back on the workings of the WA, and where better to report than from the bar, a Stranger's Bar no less, and so in he walked quite unexpecting the drunken, debauched scene in front of him.

One chap seemed intent on making his way through an entire line of whiskey, any whiskey, the band was just.... whatever, some bizarre female gyrating in some vain attempt to catch the attention of, possibly, the drummer, there was a man who either had a ferret in his trousers or was just glad to see everyone, or perhaps just the naked hairy man in the middle of the floor...

"Great toes of the Duke!", thought Calvin, sheepishly looking around out of habit from cursing, "well, at least I won't stand out as weird in here", and so, hoisting his penis over his shoulder he marched in and ordered a whiskey on the rocks from the forlorn looking barman.

The good but slightly unwholesome Senator Sulla walked into the bar, and nearly killed himself tripping over a can of paint. Luckily for him, years of drinking perfected his ability to regain equilibriun from a stagger, and he righted himself with a dash of panache. Carefully he made his way to an empty table and sat down.
"I wonder if Velma is here? She wasn't in the office." He thought to himself as he lit up a fine Yeldan cigar(TM).

Suddenly a slight commotion was heard outside of the Ladies' restroom. "Watch your hands, buster!", a woman yelled before flattening the groping sod with a wicked right cross. The good senator smiled as his secretary Velma, made her way over to his table. "Hell hath no fury like a former burlesquese dancer being groped for free." thought the senator as he motioned for a waitress. When his fuming secretary sat down, the good but unwholesome senator said to the waitress,

"Two Wild Turkey Rare Breeds(TM) on the rocks, my dear."

Nigel threw the doors open and moved to an empty table, the waitress nodded in his direction and went to Neville to order him the ususal .

After a few minutes the waitress brought the lager over and put it down in front of Nigel. With a nod to Senator Sulla he raised the glass and started to drink.

Bradford Castro opened the doors to the world-famous bar. He had never stepped foot in it, preferring to spend his nights in his office. That, or he found himself on an airplane back to Glen-Rhodes to deal with whatever problems Gregory had stirred up... or, if luck was on his side, paying a purely professional visit to the President's quarters when the staff were off shift. Tonight, though, to cure himself of the awful headache the Food Welfare drafting session had been, he found himself in the Strangers' Bar, and sulked his way to a dimly lit booth.

A few minutes later, the page assigned to him stepped in to the bar. Damn, he found me. All night, Brad had been running away from his over-enthusiastic page. He never wanted one, but the publicists over at FAA headquarters insisted that it would be good for his image -- take an underprivileged kid from the wrong side of the country under his wing, and give him a little taste if international politics. As if arguing the negatives of free trade wasn't hard enough.

Brad took his drink and stepped over to the bar; at least the kid wouldn't be able to see his face. I wonder if Sam is anywhere around...