Mountain Passes - a Banquet [IC, MT, Open]

[Kaldgart]

Mountain Passes
The Eichenhalle, Holzburg, Kaldgart

A Kingdom throws open its doors

Following the bitter infighting of the previous year, when King Peter the Great (Peter der Grosse in Kaldgarter German) had put down several insurrections and restored the authority of the Crown by the simple expedient of butchering several wayward nobles, the country was not in the best of ways.

Despite demonstrating remarkable forbearance and allowing many of his enemies to return to the fold, Kaldgart was still lacking vitality and bleeding from a score of old wounds. The finances of the Realm were in a shocking state and so, at the urging of his Landrat, he had arranged a great Feast, with an open invitation to all heads of state and national ambassadors to land their jets at the windswept Holzburg International airport and make the short trip by car to the sullen grey stone bulk of the Holzburg itself.

King Peter was a tall man in his middling 20's, the bulk of his broad shoulders betrayed only by a slight paunch at his belly. His pale white skin and hair like spun gold betrayed him as a Kaldgarter, whilst his blue eyes were the colour of a Caribbean sea - a clear light blue, flecked with sapphire.
A bushy goatee with a thick walrus moustache dominated his chin and masked his mouth, though his smile was broad and white, despite a few tilted teeth.

The hall itself was of modest size, hung with thick tapestries, banners and ceremonial weapons, with blazing fires and comfortable chairs of oak around broad tables laden with breads, cheeses, meats, fruits and drinks. Attendants moved back and forth with heated Mullwein, proof against the cold, whilst others moved past the crackling flames with dishes of hot food, keeping the guests fed and warm.

The hall was already abuzz with chatter, but the King waited expectantly for the first international guests to arrive....

[Bariga (Ancient II)]

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Skies above Kaldgart
Barigas Delegation
20/12/2017

The blades of the propeller chopped through the cold air of the skies of Kaldgart at lightning speed. The plane seemingly glided through the air, swooping in and out of the clouds. The deafening sound of the plane's noisy engine could probably be heard from those that were leagues below, firmly on the ground. The Antonov An-3 was an antiquated propeller-driven aircraft, but it was one of the three planes that the country even had.

The tiny country of only around 25,000 people with a size of 98 km2 was going to try and improve its international relations by attending a banquet in Kaldgart. Inside the belly of the flying metal machine was the two pilots, four guards from the Barigas Airborne Troops as guards and most importantly Premier B'yornar Markussen. The former field-marshal that led the tiny army of five-hundred men was reading a novel written by famed Barigas author Yorgen Khallum.

Premier B'yornar Markussen wanted to make a statement that Bariga wasn't the comical tiny nation that it was known as. Instead of taking the Barigas Air plane that would provide him with VIP-like service and an actual toilet, he opted to take the military An-3 which would show off Barigas military power with the dual machineguns located on the wings of the biplane.

Both the airliner and military plane were An-3s, however. This meant that they needed to stop every nine-hundred kilometers or so for fuel, certainly not an ideal flight but taking a flight to another nation and taking a civilian airliner certainly would not help the stereotype of 'Bariga the Tiny Nation'. Thus, the leader and his crew had to endure the overly-long flight to Kaldgart.

On the tedious journey, a Po-2 "Ⰿⱆⰾⰴyⱃ/Muldyr" utility biplane- an extremely old biplane that was in service with the Barigas Air Force designated as a 'heritage aircraft' but armed with a machinegun and capable of carrying bombs and rockets if need be- accompanied the Antonov until it had to turn back because of range limitations.

Fortunately for the plane's crew, they were just about to arrive. The plane flew above the rolling hills and towering mountains, above the mountain passes that dotted Kaldgart's landscape. Premier Markussen pressed his face against the glass to take a look at the beautiful sight. It was beautiful indeed, although nothing beat the beauty of Bariga's seaside villages in his mind.

Even his guards took a look, for some of them had never even left the nation before. Premier Markussen was an averagely tall man at 1.7m and was of 48-years of age- one of the youngest Premiers of Bariga. His bald head was covered by his peaked cap while his straight and formal military uniform certainly gave him the look of a strong, benevolent dictator.

Smoking his cigar, he glanced back to the book he was reading when the pilot announced that they would be coming in for a landing very soon. The entourage readied themselves for the landing while Markussen continued the reading of the novel. After a short while, permission was granted to the small aircraft by air traffic control. In no time, the plane began its descent and dived down to a lower altitude.

The biplane steadied itself and touched down on the runway, rattling the entire aircraft although the shaking calmed down as the aircraft lost speed and momentum, gradually slowing down. The plane took up less than half of the available runway and was quickly given permission to taxi to where they needed to be. The plane was carrying a national leader, after all.

It was when the plane was taxing when the Premier slightly regretted taking the An-3. It was a tiny agricultural plane, paling in comparison to the massive jets flown by civilian airlines and the other leaders. He took a deep sigh and stuffed his book into one of the compartments. The ride had been hardly comfortable and nearly everyone was grateful to get off.

The ground crews assisted the pilots in the parking of the plane while the entourage disembarked and walked on the tarmac of the airport towards the terminal.
They were shot by a blast of cold air and one of the guards was visibly shivering. Not wanting to be out in the cold much longer, the group made haste and quickly entered the warm comforts of the terminal.

It was there that the transfer to Holzburg that the transfer that had been arranged by the Kaldgart government was waiting. The men waiting for them greeted them warmly, being the first ones to arrive, and they were escorted to the car.

They boarded the vehicle and the chauffeur began to drive up to the Eichenhalle, where King Peter himself awaited his guests. The car ride was uneventful and Markussen and his men spent the time gazing out of the window at the scenery, this time from ground-level. After some time, the car finally pulled into the Holzburg itself. The group left the car and made their way slowly into The Eichenhalle.

The entourage was amazed by the grand interiors of The Eichenhalle which was adorned with decorations, ceremonial weapons and many other things of value. Upon walking right down the hall, the Markussen and his entourage saw the King himself.

They all gave a bow in respect, Markussen visibly grinning with excitement. Approaching the king, he offered his hand to the King, a signal for the King to shake it.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty. I am Premier B'yornar Markussen of the People's Republic of Bariga. " He greeted, before adjusting his collar with his free hand.

The four guards stood firmly behind the leader, ready to give their lives to defend the Premier as unlikely as it was for something to happen in the greatly guarded and protected hall.

[Toraia]

(I'm not that great at roleplaying, but I want to try. Please forgive screwups on my part.)
(Please note that the members of the Toraian entourage speak the Toraian language and not English when they are by themselves. Their dialogue will be translated as necessary. If their dialogue is in English, assume that they are speaking English. If it is in English but is in {braces} instead of plain "quotes," please know that they are actually speaking Toraian and the dialogue has only been put in English for convenience. If another character overhears this type of dialogue, that other character should not be able to understand it.)

20 DECEMBER 2017
KALGART - APPROACHING EICHENHALL
TORAIAN ESCORT

The engines of the government escort vehicles fell to a low hum. As they approached the Eichenhall, the armored cars slowed down. Curly white clouds floated out of the exhaust pipes. They looked like ghostly flames dancing in the frozen air. The glossy black escorts carved their way through the cold weather, unfazed by the conditions. Emblazoned on the hoods of each car was the aloof blue, black, and yellow flag of Toraia.

Yascho Jairo, riding with his family and closest associates in the chief escort, touched his hand to the car window. Even through the thick armored glass, he could feel the heat leach out of his hand and the chill from outside take over. He retracted it, shuddered, and pulled his cloak tighter around his lean body. Although it was for show rather than function, it still worked to trap his body heat. Part of the advantage of wearing cultural costume, he reasoned. The Toraian prime minister and the rest of his entourage were clad in the tunics, skirts, bandanas, and huge hooded cloaks of their people's antiquity.

Seated next to him, his little daughter stared transfixed at the scenery rolling past the window. Megarah Jairo could be a bit spacey, prone to wandering off on flights of fancy. He felt a bit guilty about bringing her along on a stuffy international event, but he couldn't leave her home. Megarah hated being home alone; the castle was huge and scary to a seven-year-old, and she wouldn't have anyone to tuck her in at night or help her with her homework. She had no mother, she hated her nanny, and the other government officials were too busy with the daily workload of managing Toraia.

Megarah paused her observance to look back at her father. "Sena san aro, gami?" ("Are we there now, daddy?")
Yascho nodded, making his coarse black hair bounce slightly. "Ki. Sena hi Kalgart aro. Jamita nai seah danitas sena sin. Va yeise trezor tak teah lil jirta el uksol. Klar?" ("Yes. We are in Kalgart now. Stay with me while we are here. It won't be safe for you to go off alone. All right?")
"Kidi!" ("Okay!") Megarah said with a smile. Then she started to fiddle with her cloak. She pulled the hood over her eyes and giggled.
"Alo," ("Hey,") someone interrupted. It was Taigono Sen'niat, Yascho's diplomatic aide for this trip. A serious man who could be as hotheaded as his name was hard to pronounce, he had been uneasy about this trip the entire time. He'd spent the entire escort ride tapping his long fingernails on his chair armrest and shuffling through a big pack of papers.
"Avne se, Taigono?" ("What is it, Taigono?") Yascho asked, looking over at him.
Taigono's brown eyes narrowed. "Tagiamta, Yascho. Deyanta pam teyan inglis danitas sena hi Kalgart. Er...deyan'na atud, ma se klar. Va tarakan todoroki." ("Remember, Yascho. You have to use your English while we're in Kalgart. Er...all of us do, to be precise. They don't speak Toraian.")
"I yeijirkan miane sena kanin lil va tarana inglis," ("And they'll think we're stupid if we don't speak English,") added Amali Usalme, his chief advisor; she frowned. "De yaise kiman har tak atud sen modens zenos de lobena." ("It's been like that for all of the other nations we've visited.")
"Is'sa har." ("I know that.") Yascho sighed. "Ahlen'na izrens sen Kalgart taman nayan sobernai. Va atumav fasil." ("We need the people of Kalgart to take us seriously. It isn't always easy.")
"Tak klar," ("For sure,") Taigono said. "Yeiarvetsa seyan nahmina ne ki. Xenmirame sen Toraia se hi pogamal aro." ("I'll work my best at it. The reputation of Toraia is at stake here.")
The cars had pulled to a stop outside the Eichenhall. The security forces moved around the vehicles, making sure that the entourage would be protected once they stepped outside of the escorts. Yascho looked outside the windows, then at his advisors.
"Barait?" ("Ready?") he asked, a nervous little grin creeping across his mouth.
They shrugged, and at the same time replied, "Gamgasa." ("I guess.")
"Ah...set'yah samil!" ("Aww...be happy!") Megarah piped up. "Var yeise fan. Se desendor de kastieldi! Hars atumav fan." ("This will be fun. It's a state dinner! Those are always fun.")

Yascho Jairo chuckled; his daughter always helped to brighten a nervous situation. "Ut't'yah atulav lav yageza tara inglis ma jir nai seah. Yeijirna domasis Regimo Petro. Xenos yagekan kirus tagan." ("Tell everyone who speaks English to go with me. We'll greet King Peter. The others can follow behind.")

Advisor Amali and Diplomat Taigono agreed to that, and just like that, it was time to head inside. The escort doors opened, and immediately the defense officers surrounded it to protect the diplomats. Yascho was out first, holding Megarah's hand. Only natural for the prime minister to make the first impression Amali emerged next, followed by Taigono. Amali would advise him however he needed advising while he was there, and hopefully Taigono would keep him from making any embarrassing mistakes while representing Toraia. The rest of the entourage exited the various armored cars and made their way to the Eichenhall, their cloaks billowing in the frosty wind.

They weren't exactly impressive. No-one in the Toraian entourage stood taller than five foot eight, and they were all so baby-faced that they could have passed for a pack of teenagers. Their light brown skin contrasted with the pale-skinned Kalgurters around them. And let's not forget the cultural costume that made them look like they had just walked in from the 15th century. The Toraians glanced around their environs, admiring the artful tapestries and shining ceremonial weapons. This was quite a cultured land, they could tell.

At the moment, King Peter appeared to be busy greeting a different group of international dignitaries, so the Toraians held back. Yascho took advantage of it to take a couple deep breaths and stand up a little straighter. He was always nervous when at these kinds of events. Domestic affairs were much easier. He could usually predict how the Toraian people would react to him. Foreign leaders, though? They were a crapshoot. He hoped this encounter would go well.
Reminding himself to speak English and look the ruler in the eyes, Yascho kept a protective grip on his daughter's hand and walked over to where King Peter was greeting guests..

[Kaldgart]

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty. I am Premier B'yornar Markussen of the People's Republic of Bariga. " He greeted, before adjusting his collar with his free hand.

The four guards stood firmly behind the leader, ready to give their lives to defend the Premier as unlikely as it was for something to happen in the greatly guarded and protected hall.

Koenig Peter

As the Premier of Bariga approached the dais, one of the King's attendants leaned in, whispering in his ear, no doubt introducing the Premier. At the same time a burly man with a face like a fist and covered by a straw-blond beard running to white leered at their approach. He turned his head and muttered something in German to his neighbour, a thin man with long whiskers. "...ein sowjetischer Rat von einem...'" he said, and his companion chuckled openly.

The King, however, stood to greet his guests. Dressed in a simple blue tabard over a grey undergarment, belted with white leather and a silver buckle, a crown of burnished silver on his head, he inclined his head, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes and twitching the bristles of his thick moustache. When he spoke, he revealed a precise and clear voice, the Kaldgarter accent there but not impenetrable, simply rolling in the mountain way of things.

"You are most welcome, Premier Markussen. We are honoured by your presence. I trust the journey was not too taxing?"

The King knew that this nation was small and so unlikely to have any great impact on his nation, but experience had taught him to take nothing for granted and, in any case, they were guests and so both common and high law demanded he show them as much courtesy as he would an Emperor or a Pope. Metaphorically speaking, of course, as no Kaldgarter would ever bow to a Pope...

Reminding himself to speak English and look the ruler in the eyes, Yascho kept a protective grip on his daughter's hand and walked over to where King Peter was greeting guests..

Freiherr Pankow

Seeing that the King was already engaged, and wishing to save face for the Toraian Prime Minister, Freiherr Pankow pushed up from the carved wooden seat and stepped into his path.

Standing at 5"7, she was precisely three inches taller than Yascho, and not a few of the Kaldgarters present. A middling noble whose title, despite her actual gender, meant 'free lord' and translated roughly to 'baron', she ruled Pankow as a fief of the Graf Westermark, who in turn owned his lands outright as an allodial title but had sworn fealty in perpetuity to the crown. Pankow was a stretch of coast and lowland in the west of the country, enough to keep a mesnie of a half-hundred fighting men on a good day, and it was clear from the scar of silver tissue on her left cheek that she had once seen combat, but her quick smile and golden hair lightened her face instantly. She had long, athletic legs, a trim waist and a generous figure, with a long oval face and large ears that peeked out through her thick tangled hair, giving her an almost elfin appearance.

"Hello," she said in accented English, offering a quick wink at the diminutive Megarah "and wilkommen ins Kaldgart. I am the Freiherr of Pankow, pleased to make your acquaintance.'"

Taking in Yascho's nervous demeanour, she clicked her fingers at a nearby attendant, who swung around a tray of drinks, soft and hard, for the Prime Minister and his daughter. The little girl seemed less impressed than her father by the great Eichenhalle, or 'Hall of Oak', and it struck Pankow that she looked little like her father. Perhaps she took more after her mother...

Ironically, despite Yascho's fears that his ornate national costume would look out of place, it was rather more in keeping with the court dress of the Kaldgarters which had evolved little since the 13th Century, or rather had trended back to such following the fall of the nation's imperial designs and a cultural backlash towards the conversative and 'good old ways'. Amongst the tunics, tabards and cotes, the Toraian dress seemed in keeping with the rest of the guests, if very obviously from a different nation and culture.

That was a great post, thanks for taking the time to write it!

[Toraia]

Within moments, a dignified woman rose from her seat to address the Toraian assembly. Yascho straightened his back and made eye contact at her approach. He put on a polite smile for her. The rest of his entourage held back.

The woman had an athletic figure, a military stride, and a scar running across her cheek. Judging by such, Yascho figured that she had some combat experience in her past. She wore the attire of an important officer, so Yascho assumed that she was a government figure. What her relation to King Peter was, he was not quite sure, but she would probably explain it momentarily.

"Hello, and wilkommen ins Kaldgart," said she in a rich accent. "I am the Freiherr of Pankow. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Excellent to meet you, Freiherr. I am Yascho Jairo," Yascho replied, offering a small bow. "Prime Minister of Toraia. We are pleased to attend."

An attendant offered them a plate of beverages. Yascho wasn't really the drinking type, but he didn't want to be rude. He scooped up the glass intended for him and sipped from it. He tried not to openly wince at the sting from the alcohol. Megarah held her glass with two hands, just barely tasting it to make sure she liked it. She could be picky about that kind of thing. Yascho brushed her long, dark hair behind her back to keep her from splashing liquid on it.

"I had not heard of Kalgart before now. Has it recently come out of isolation?" he asked, hoping that keeping the conversation going would cool his nerves. "If so, let me be the one to say welcome to the global stage."

While he spoke, Yascho noticed that Frieherr seemed to be paying a lot of attention to Megarah. She would glance back and forth between Yascho and Megarah, as if comparing them to see the resemblance. He smirked to himself; he'd explain that one later. That was best saved for dinner conversation at least.

OOC: thanks!

[Kuronami]

One must wonder how Ortfiné gets any work done when she attends so many galas. There's been the odd rumor that she somehow has cloned herself or maybe her companion she's often seen with is some kind of witch but beyond that The Empress is free to do as she wills. Since becoming Empress she's been working hard to increase the presence of Kuronami in the world, it wasn't to long ago Kuronami was kind of cloistered and "shy" on the international stage. Well next year she vowed to have her foreign minister do these kinds of engagement but for now it was one more party to celebrate the year. Again as she had with the previous party she attended, Finé wore a traditional military uniform of the Kuronami services and her companion, Izetta came along in a dazzling yellow ballgown. "Next party, I'll wear a gown." she promised her friend.

They stood at the entrance of the ceremony hall they talked a bit to get kind of "ready." While Finé was used to being a social darling of parties, Izetta remained more shy. She gained some confidence from the last party they went to together but still a lowly peasant girl on the arm of the esteemed Empress meeting with other high ups of many other nations always made her nervous.

"Of course you're always welcome to wear what YOU want, Your Highness, it's just I think you look pretty." she blushed and turned her head away embarrassed. "You're always too cute." she gave a gentle kiss to her forehead which just made Izetta go beat red. "Oh-oh my."

"Don't swoon on me now, we still have the party to attend."

But it wasn't just them either on their heels was Bianca, Finé's personal body guard. You wouldn't know it because this time she was incognito looking just as ready for the party. She silently protested having to be in a dress for the practical reasons of protecting her but a command is a command. "Remember, Bianca your story is you're my personal assistant."

"You know you might as well have had Lotte come along if that's the case."

"It's nothing personal, you want to be here to guard me but we don't know how they feel about security. Being discrete is best"

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry it's not my place to question"

"You're doing what you do best. But please remember to trust my judgement as well."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"All right we best head in before they start thinking we're plotting a rave." She laughed at her own bad joke. Bianca remained stoic, Izetta gave a polite little giggle. "Okay it was a bad joke." Inside they went. It looked like a few had already arrived which made things easy. They could kind of just blend in and get a feel of the crowd and gauge a few things.

"Your Highness," Izetta inquired to her "Do you know much about this country?"

"Mmm Hanamura wasn't able to grab much in the short time." She pulled out her Piffle brand smart phone which had all the notes complied for her from the Agency of the State, Kuronami's foreign ministry equivalent.

"Some basics from their fact sheets is they're Germanic."

"Oh! That's like us"

"True but given this is a very mountainous region it may be a different dialect. Common seems safe to stick with for now. They have a free market economy, a feudal monarchy which is very similar to us. Honestly beyond our economic approaches I think we're very similar to each other. Well they likely don't have an Orient culture mixed in like we do but hardly a deal breaker."

"This makes the trip more worth it." Bianca nodded.

"Well it was a tough one, but that's what happens in the northern winters. Just glad you two aren't prone to sea sickness."

(ooc: I don't speak any German IRL but it's in my nation so differing dialects is my excuse for relying on Google translate...)

[Convallaria]

INT. DIRIGIBLE AIRSHIP -PRESIDENT'S QUARTERS - OVER ATLANTIC OCEAN, 9:50 AM
PRESIDENT MARTINEZ
He marches into the President's quarters to find his wife. "Good Morning. I'll get them to send in some breakfast. We've run into some weather, but the pilots say we should be there in about -(checks his watch) an hour and a half. You look heavenly. Have a seat."

An immaculately-dressed, recently forty-year-old woman emerges from the wardrobe, nimble, brisk -- and highly agitated.

She is Ofelia, the First Lady. She is followed by a young woman, a private secretary, who quickly join the hubbub fidgeting with trunks and rushing to-and-for preparing for breakfast. The President waits for Ofelia to sit, then joins her; at which point, she immediately leans across to him and says in a gravely serious, urgent whisper: "I'm not going." The puzzled president responds, "Why not?" Ofelia: "I’m frightened." "Of what?" he asks. Ofelia: "I feel that this may be a bad time to leave the children." President: "Why on earth would that be the case?" Ofelia: "I can’t put it into words -- but I feel it." President: "Well, for goodness’ sake, there’s no reason for you to bail if-" Ofelia: "Is there a priest on the aircraft? President (Sardonically): "Of course, not." Ofelia: "There should be. I’ve always said so." President: "Well, I’ve always greatly disagreed. The high command is no place for the church. Ofelia: "Come back with me." Martinez hesitates slightly. He gestures to the destination requisition form, and speculates in humor and disbelief: "Back to...the fucking capital?!" Ofelia (desperately): "Please." President (wildly frustrated): "How can I? With this enormous rock-piled around my neck? I'm the president of Convallaria, not the manager of a Cinnabon!" (taking charge) Please tell me; what’s troubling you? (surprised) Are you weeping? Tears have begun to stream down Ofelia's cheeks. The president produces a white handkerchief and dries her eyes. The woman takes a deep breath. Ofelia: "Let us pray." Ofelia closes her eyes, lowers her chin, and crosses herself. The president reluctantly follows suit. Silence. Ofelia snaps one eye back open suddenly: "Well?" The President (surprised) "You want me to do it?" Ofelia: (with authority) "Well If you don’t mind." The Presdident (instantly) "Dear heavenly Father, please, protect our cherished children as we travel through snow and sleet and under the shadow of the old world. Guide us in the night to her final destination. Indeed, whatever luxury we may require, be it small ormore extravagant, please, do grant -

INT. DIRIGIBLE AIRSHIP -PRESIDENT'S QUARTERS - HOLZBURG INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, 11:30 AM
The President's wife, Ofelia, applies makeup in the mirror while practicing a toast in German for dinner. Her delivery is practiced, careful.
OFELIA (Translated) "I’m very happy to be in the great nation of Kaldgart, to be with you and experience this great royal tradition that has been so lavishly prepared. The tradition of banquets have been alive and well since the dawn of," she stops abruptly as she notices a small chip in the mirror; she then stares at herself for a moment. With a quick touch of her heavily hair sprayed hair for good measure, she puts on her last jewels, a short pearl necklace and closes the mirror. Ofelia walks through the gondola. She can hear the loud crowd outside. OFELIA (hopeful)
"Is that the sound of birds? PRESIDENT MARTINEZ (Playing along with his wife): "Not exactly birds. Must be the ocean...Are you ready?" OFELIA: (ironic) "Of course. I love crowds." The door opens. The couple walk off the private zeppelin onto the tarmac at Holzburg International. The sun is hidden behind the clouds but a shadow remains faintly visible. Snow is heavily falling. The President is classically dressed in a black overcoat, suit, and travel derby, his companion is wearing a black coatdress with matching black heeled boots; an outfit that was chosen more for looks than weather practicality, but right now, in the morning light, is cheery and elegant, another fashion pronouncement by the most stylish woman in Convallaria. The President absorbs the roar of the crowd like a physical assault. He then sees the press waiting at the bottom of the short staircase, flanked by officials and a saluting honor guard. The crowds are chanting. They carefully descend to the bottom of the stairs, where suddenly -- someone thrusts a bouquet of RED ROSES into her hands. A beat, as she eyes the crimson blossoms. And then -- cheering over the screaming crowd... "My! What a welcome!" An official places a conspiratorial arm around the President and holds him for a whispered conference. Amidst the chaos, Ofelia turns around to face the CROWD, which erupts in even louder cheers. She blushes, almost embarrassed, and responds with a demure smile. Then she notices -- the President is on the move again. She hurries to catch up as he marches toward the waiting limo. Ofelia holds a grin in place and methodically makes eye contact with every spectator on the rope line. They proceed to embark on the presidental motorcade to the estate.

[Isilanka]

(not great at roleplaying either but let's start shall we ? Apologies if it's too short.)

The helicopter stopped on the landing platform, the wind from the blades turning the nearby trees into blurry hurricanes of autum leaves.
Francesca Miramar stepped outside the helicopter, followed by her bodyguards and the ambassadors. Isilanka's head of government was a small, white-haired woman in her late 70s. As usual she wore her blue dress, with a white rose, one of Isilanka's emblems, pinned in her hair following the old customs of the country. She looked quite nervous. The flight had been quite exhausting for the old woman who wasn't at all accustomed to travelling in helicopters - or in anything that flew for that matter. Besides she started wondering if arriving in a pitch-black helicopter bearing both the emblems of the Federation of Isilanka and Tsuno Industries, the country's biggest company and renowned arms manufacturer was a good idea. "What are they thinking now ?"she thought with a nervous look towards the Holzburg castle in the distance. "That we are some kind of impolite dictatorship that lacks the basic decency of not arriving in a military vehicle ? And what if ly dress is not adequate ? And I think I've also forgotten how to bow. And..." She took a deep breath, looking at the incoming cars full of diplomats and bodyguards. "Alright, let's calm down, shall we ? You're Isilanka's head of state, Francesca. You're not some kind of young, innocent lady going to her first ball. You've fought in a war, goddamnit. You've been fired upon by a sniper and you survived. You've survived three years at the head of the most unstable coalition Isilanka has ever known." She took another deep breath and walked towards the ambassadors.

[Toraia]

(Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. Pay no attention to this post. Sorry!)

[Haschiri]

Queen Rebekah’s entourage would not stop complaining about how cold it was in Kalgart. They had been whining about it ever since the government escort plane touched down in the Kalgart airport. Sure, Haschiri was an African nation with a hot climate, but the queen didn’t really need to be reminded of the difference between here and home for a solid hour while they were shuttled to Eichenhall. As tempted as she was to yell at them to shut up, she knew she had to keep a queenly demeanor for the event.
Instead, she paged through the leaflet of background information that her chief advisor had given her. The ruler, King Peter, had put the nation through a revolution and was now hosting an international banquet to help recover. Rebekah didn’t know how many other nations were going to attend, but she had been advised to prepare for a swarm of diplomatic guests.
“What shall we try for, Mr. Cady?” she asked said chief advisor. “How should we frame Haschiri for the internationals?”
Flynn Cady, a cutely chubby man with hair almost as silver as Rebekah’s circlet, checked his notes. “Well, what they think isn’t as important. The nation whom we really want to impress is Kalgart. Right now, people think we’re pretty small and weak. And we’re not. You have to show Kalgart that you aren’t to be trifled with. So basically...be yourself, Becca.”
Most workers wouldn’t dare address a queen (or any government leader) with such a casual nickname, but Rebekah didn’t mind. Especially not when she and Flynn worked together so closely. It was her job to represent Haschiri, and his to make sure she didn’t screw anything up while she was doing so.
“Still, we don’t want to seem unfriendly,” Flynn continued. “What we should try for, I think, is to be ‘friendly but firm.’ Haschiri is a prospective ally, but it won’t be pushed around, either.”
“It sounds like a good plan to me, Flynn.” Rebekah picked the polish off her fingernails. She hated nail polish, but her stylist insisted that she wear some. And for some reason, that lady had picked a stupid leaf-green polish that contrasted horribly with Rebekah’s patriotic gown. The green didn’t match the black, gray, white, and purple at all. And it definitely didn’t match the banded amethysts gleaming in the queen’s silver circlet.
Rebekah wasn’t nervous about going to the banquet, but she knew the importance of her presentation of herself and her nation. It was her first international event, and one only gets one chance to make a good first impression.
The shuttle stopped outside the Eichenhall and the Haschirite entourage immediately went inside. They wanted to spend as little time as possible in the cold. Rebekah led the pack with Flynn at her heels. She marched in with strong strides, her long dark curls bouncing against her back. To her dismay, a horde of other diplomats had already arrived, blocking off her access to King Peter. It would take quite some time before she would have her chance. Oh, well. She tried to identify who had come from where. She could recognize entourages from Bariga, Toraia, and Isilanka, but couldn’t place the others.
Well, she figured, the best way to figure out who was who was to ask. A little bit of interaction with the other diplomats would be nice. Scraping the last pit of green nail polish off her fingers, she led her posse to a point where it was standing next to one of the entourages she didn’t recognize. They were waiting, almost in a line, to speak to King Peter.
“Good day,” she greeted them. “Since it’s going to be a while before my train can talk to Kalgart, I figured I should get to know the other guests. What brought you here?”
(Whoever wants to be entourage that Rebekah is addressing can respond.)

[Kuronami]

“Good day,” she greeted them. “Since it’s going to be a while before my train can talk to Kalgart, I figured I should get to know the other guests. What brought you here?”
(Whoever wants to be entourage that Rebekah is addressing can respond.)

Finé turned about as a another entourage came in just behind them. "Oh good day to you too!" She greeted with a slight bow in her step "I suppose the boring answer is for diplomatic reasons but really I just love parties" she chuckled.

"E-Empress" Izetta chuckled back along with her as a pity laugh "Yes, yes I know my sense of humor is dry."

[Haschiri]

"Ah, true. Very true," Rebekah replied. She turned to face Finé, making her dress throw out a flash of brightness as the light glanced off its lamé-like fabric. "Never cared much for the stuffy part of politics. Luckily, my prime minister handles the meddlesome stuff like that. I'm just the figurehead. But that means I get to have the fun!"

She let out a light laugh. Behind her, Flynn Cady cleared his throat. He glanced knowingly at the queen.

"--Erm, yes. Have the fun and represent Haschiri and things of that nature," Rebekah continued. "This is my first international event, so I have to put my best foot forward and represent my nation for the wonder that it is. The world considers us 'untested' as a nation -- they're not quite sure what to make of us yet."

She glanced over at the other entourages. "I recognize Bariga, Toraia, and Isilanka, but not really anyone else. Hopefully I'll get to meet everyone and learn more than the scant amount I know now. Bariga is a tiny place ruled by an autocrat, I've heard, and Toraia is extremely impoverished. But Isilanka and anyone else? Hardly anything. It's a little embarrassing, actually."

"For heaven's sake, Becca, let the lady speak," Flynn Cady said. "Don't talk her poor ear off."

"All right, Flynn. My goodness." Rebekah sighed. "Anyway, in case I forgot to mention it, I'm Queen Rebekah Hawk of Haschiri, and this old chap here is my advisor Flynn Cady. Who may you be?"

[Kuronami]

"Pleasure to meet you, Queen. I'm Empress Ortfiné von Eylstadt the Empire of Kuronami, but I simply go by Finé. Pleasure to meet you. This is Izetta, she's my companion accompanying me this evening. And this is Bianca she's also accompanying me."

"How do you do, madam" Izetta locked her hands and elbows together and gave a deep bow to the foreign Queen, Bianca placed her hand onto her chest and gave a shallow bow to the Queen.

"You go by Becca by the sound of it?" Finé inquired