The World Assembly Strangers' Bar

[Wallenburg]

Jonathan sips his Heinaken beer and shakes her hand before speaking, "I'm Dr. Jonathan Delacroix. Well Madam Trevanyika, Before I became Ambassador to my nation and earned my doctorates in International Relations and Nuclear Physics, I was an officer, particularly a colonel in the UNSC Special Forces. I still do my training to keep myself in shape so never underestimate your opponent but I digress. I don't seek to fight you just pointing it out that talking behind someone's back is rude. I was annoyed at the idiot at the piano for his bad singing is why I cursed at him. So tell me what is your nation like?" He takes a swig of his beer.

Jonathan looked at the ambassador who interupted his and Helen's conversation, "I never doubted the man's diplomatic abilities in the WA. Yes, I was rude in what I said and I apologize but that off key singing got on my nerves." Jonathan turned to the bar, "Ladies and gentlemen, drinks are on me as an apology for my apparent rude to the gentleman playing the piano."

"Are you sure you aren't tone deaf? His singing seemed entirely adequate to me. Nothing special, perhaps, but most of the gentlemen around here aren't hired for their rich baritones."

Trevanyika's eyebrow furrows. She shakes her head and flicks her hand dismissively. "Well, I suppose that's ultimately immaterial. After all, Mr. Philo has moved on to an instrumental piece. So, you're a military man? Very nice. Mr. Ogenbond is a major in the Republican Army. My father was a captain in the Olinton Revolutionary Army. Damned near any Wallenburgian worth mentioning has served at arms some time in their life. It's been a necessary component to our survival. With enemies on all sides, we owe it to ourselves to be ready for anything. I'm sure someone of your intellect and military expertise can appreciate that."

[American Pere Housh]

Jonathan sips his Heinaken beer and shakes her hand before speaking, "I'm Dr. Jonathan Delacroix. Well Madam Trevanyika, Before I became Ambassador to my nation and earned my doctorates in International Relations and Nuclear Physics, I was an officer, particularly a colonel in the UNSC Special Forces. I still do my training to keep myself in shape so never underestimate your opponent but I digress. I don't seek to fight you just pointing it out that talking behind someone's back is rude. I was annoyed at the idiot at the piano for his bad singing is why I cursed at him. So tell me what is your nation like?" He takes a swig of his beer.

Jonathan looked at the ambassador who interupted his and Helen's conversation, "I never doubted the man's diplomatic abilities in the WA. Yes, I was rude in what I said and I apologize but that off key singing got on my nerves." Jonathan turned to the bar, "Ladies and gentlemen, drinks are on me as an apology for my apparent rude to the gentleman playing the piano."

"Are you sure you aren't tone deaf? His singing seemed entirely adequate to me. Nothing special, perhaps, but most of the gentlemen around here aren't hired for their rich baritones."

Trevanyika's eyebrow furrows. She shakes her head and flicks her hand dismissively. "Well, I suppose that's ultimately immaterial. After all, Mr. Philo has moved on to an instrumental piece. So, you're a military man? Very nice. Mr. Ogenbond is a major in the Republican Army. My father was a captain in the Olinton Revolutionary Army. Damned near any Wallenburgian worth mentioning has served at arms some time in their life. It's been a necessary component to our survival. With enemies on all sides, we owe it to ourselves to be ready for anything. I'm sure someone of your intellect and military expertise can appreciate that."

Jonathan nods his head in agreement, "Most definitely Madam Trevanyika, most adult Pere Houshians such as myself have served in our nation's military at one time or another. Our enemies inside and outside our region is one of the reasons for our large military. Remember 'If you want peace, prepare for war.'"

[WA Kitty Kops]

"Remember 'If you want peace, prepare for war.'"

"You means, if you wants pieces, then you make for a big fight," a dark grey kitten said, padding along the counter to where the Wallenburgians and the rude idiot sat. The Head Inshpekshuuner didn't much care for piano music, but people shouting at piano music were even stupider in his experience. He directed his attention to Ogenbond and Helen. "You's the Wallyians, I knows those weird noses. I's the new Head Inshpekshuuner - the Chief Inshpekshuuner's gone, so I's the replacement. Hello. Buy a kitty a saucer of cream?"

[American Pere Housh]

"Remember 'If you want peace, prepare for war.'"

"You means, if you wants pieces, then you make for a big fight," a dark grey kitten said, padding along the counter to where the Wallenburgians and the rude idiot sat. The Head Inshpekshuuner didn't much care for piano music, but people shouting at piano music were even stupider in his experience. He directed his attention to Ogenbond and Helen. "You's the Wallyians, I knows those weird noses. I's the new Head Inshpekshuuner - the Chief Inshpekshuuner's gone, so I's the replacement. Hello. Buy a kitty a saucer of cream?"

Jonathan looks at the cat with a raised eyebrow, "Oh its you again. Sure I will buy you a saucer of cream." He turn to the bartender, "Bartender, one saucer of cream for the Head Inshpekshuuner please." The bartender puts the saucer of cream in front of the cat.

[Ikheria]

Ambassador Jan Paul open the bar's door and said:
"Hello Bartender, One bottle of Russian Vodka please!"
As he waiting, he seat at near Ambassador Helen. He open his backpack and get the laptop.
OOC:I seen this with Kamilistan

[The Palentine]

Philo finishes his song and after a brief pause begins a non vocal rendition of Ain't that few Shame, by Fats Domino. However he abruptly stops after only a few bars. Sitting quitely he mutters to himself,

"Philo, old boy. You're a nearly 7 foot tall 400lb talking silverback gorilla. You're larger and stronger than most of these patrons. Screw the pencil necked, tin-eared music critics. Make Fats smile and do it right."

Philo flexed his fingers and started over with rollicking and gusto filled version...

You made me cry, when you said goodbye
Ain't that a shame
My tears fell like rain
Ain't that a shame
You're the one to blame

You broke my heart, when you said we're apart
Ain't that a shame
My tears fell like rain
Ain't that a shame
You're the one to blame...

[Wallenburg]

"Remember 'If you want peace, prepare for war.'"

"You means, if you wants pieces, then you make for a big fight," a dark grey kitten said, padding along the counter to where the Wallenburgians and the rude idiot sat. The Head Inshpekshuuner didn't much care for piano music, but people shouting at piano music were even stupider in his experience. He directed his attention to Ogenbond and Helen. "You's the Wallyians, I knows those weird noses. I's the new Head Inshpekshuuner - the Chief Inshpekshuuner's gone, so I's the replacement. Hello. Buy a kitty a saucer of cream?"

Trevanyika hardly notices Ambassador Paul, instead focused on the new Inshpekshuuner. She returns to her seat by Ogenbond. One hand goes out to stroke the kitten's neck.

"Helen, don't demean the kid. It's apparently the new Head Inspector."

"Ynʃapekʃanih," she attempts to correct, struggling with the consonant structure. "Ynaʃp--ah, forget it. What happened to the old one?"

"It died, I believe. Damned shame. The Chief and Herby really made a great team."

[Groot]

Philo finishes his song and after a brief pause begins a non vocal rendition of Ain't that few Shame, by Fats Domino. However he abruptly stops after only a few bars. Sitting quitely he mutters to himself,

"Philo, old boy. You're a nearly 7 foot tall 400lb talking silverback gorilla. You're larger and stronger than most of these patrons. Screw the pencil necked, tin-eared music critics. Make Fats smile and do it right."

Philo flexed his fingers and started over with rollicking and gusto filled version...

You made me cry, when you said goodbye
Ain't that a shame
My tears fell like rain
Ain't that a shame
You're the one to blame

You broke my heart, when you said we're apart
Ain't that a shame
My tears fell like rain
Ain't that a shame
You're the one to blame...

"I am Groot," says Groot as he snaps his twigs together in appreciation for the Palentinean's performance.

[Ikheria]

Philo finishes his song and after a brief pause begins a non vocal rendition of Ain't that few Shame, by Fats Domino. However he abruptly stops after only a few bars. Sitting quitely he mutters to himself,

"Philo, old boy. You're a nearly 7 foot tall 400lb talking silverback gorilla. You're larger and stronger than most of these patrons. Screw the pencil necked, tin-eared music critics. Make Fats smile and do it right."

Philo flexed his fingers and started over with rollicking and gusto filled version...

You made me cry, when you said goodbye
Ain't that a shame
My tears fell like rain
Ain't that a shame
You're the one to blame

You broke my heart, when you said we're apart
Ain't that a shame
My tears fell like rain
Ain't that a shame
You're the one to blame...

"Very good song!"
Meanwhile, He now see his document about some GA proposal, and he see Groot
"Hello Ambassador Groot!"

[Omigodtheykilledkenny]

Suddenly a barrage of angry Aboriginal cursing issued from the kitchen, along with the flight of a spinning chef's knife, soaring in a trajectory toward the general vicinity of Philo's piano...before an abrupt, split-second *pop* could be heard (and felt) throughout the bar, and a single, pruned rose softly landed on the piano lid.

From behind the bar, Neville sighed, not looking up from the pint glass he was wiping down. "The chef needs soothing," he said dully. "His daughter's dating a violetist."

Violet chuckled. "Philo must be ordering in again. I can understand Dazza's frustration," she said. "His Ohio Valley-style pizza is award-winning...although instead of grated mozzarella he uses Easy Cheese, instead of pizza sauce he uses ketchup mixed with garlic powder, instead of dough he uses that cauliflower stuff, and instead of pepperoni he uses beef jerky -- but it's barely distinguishable from the real thing."

Setting down one pint glass and reaching for another, Neville could only gaze curiously at the pianist. "I'm still trying to figure out how a gorilla who is also a piano virtuoso makes sense." He turned back to Violet. "By the way, if Susannah and the gang show up with their band equipment tonight, put a stop to it. I've had it with her panhandling. Not to mention every set of hers ending with her assaulting an innocent bar patron with her bass."

"You try and welch your way out of your agreement with Capt. Chiang on your own time," Violet scolded him. "Leave me out of it."

"Fine," Neville resigned, "but make sure we get a cut of Susie's pickle-jar earnings. And as long as you're giving away Dazza's recipes for free, you may as well start charging for them. Our margins are paper-thin as it is."

"Paper thin? That sounds like an improvement. Last time you mentioned it we were practically bankrupt."

"We are!" Neville assured her as he reached under the counter for something; the way he was heaving, it must have been something heavy. Finally with a tremendous groan he hoisted it counter-level and let it drop on the waiting surface. "Literally as 'thin' as this stack and dozens more I have downstairs. And all of it going in the other direction; we are miles into the red."

"What is that, anyway?"

"This," Neville explained, patting the stack of spreadsheet printouts in front of him, "is Susa Batko-Yovino's bar tab from Fiscal Year 2012. Don't you understand, Vi; I had the date marked on my calendar. I had everything set up. I had made preparations literally years in advance. The date that Captain Chiang left for Frowning Street and finally settled her husband's bar tab. We were finally going to be back in black, for the first time in years, actually. I would finally be able to retire, to...you know, one of those tropic islands that has a military coup every other week? It was gonna be great. But then, when the fated day finally arrived, and I had the champagne bottles chilling, do you know what the new Pilferer in Chief did?"

"She skipped town without paying?"

"Not even a suggestive wink goodbye!" Neville groused. "I just don't understand it!" He pulled his rag away from his face and let out a sob.

Suddenly, Violet was at his side. "Well, what's gotten into you?" she asked with concern, feeling his forehead.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you not hear?" Neville asked tearfully. "Or are you just plain heartless? The Chief Inshpekshuuner's gone!"

"You're not coming down with Godmode Fever again, are you?"

"He never asked for much," Neville eulogized, having not heard Vi's well-meaning diagnosis at all. "Just a small saucer with warm cream every so often to help take the edge off. Now what are we going to do?!" His head was down on the countertop now, as he sobbed and pounded the shiny finish.

"Jimmy!" Violet called out. "Hurry to the bathroom and get some ibuprofen for Neville's fever. -- You know, Neville, if world leaders dying tears you apart this much, we should probably not switch the TV to KBC today."

[Kamilistan]

An Kamilistani Ambasssador named Zen Kruikal opened the bar's door and entered the bar , he always wear his Grey Hoodie , Black Trousers and his Black Headphones most of the time , even Bakial Ngakali , President of Kamilistan had got used to this , he was mostly quiet and always stay on his ''Alone Space'' , he walked towards the bartender and asked the bartender.

''Hey uh.. Bartender , do you have any Elsoki ( Kamilistani Beer ) or Vodka?'' Asked Zen towards the Bartender with an Kamilistani accent

While waiting , he plug his headphones wire on his phone and started to listen to his favorite song from Kamilistan , escpecially his favorite one ''Saukele'' bu Atrur and VInesk.

''Here's your Vodka sir.'' Said the bartender as he handed over the vodka towards Zen.

''Thank you mate'' Thanked Zen.


Zen walked to an empthy table which is next to an window , he placed his vodka down and sat. He looked at his phone for some reports recently

[The Palentine]

Philo finished up the song and closed the piano lid over the keys. He empties the tip jar, and places a sign on the piano which read,

Column deadline approaching, taking break. Be back soon.

And with that, Mr. Simeon left the bar whistling a merry tune.

[The Palentine]

<some time has passed>

Philo Simeon has returned to the bar. He seem refreshed and wearing a dapper outfit resembling a piano player in a late 1890s bordello. He is carrying a large folder under his arm. He sets the folder atop the piano, then he sits down at the piano and uncovers the keys. He briefly turns around to order a drink from one of the barmaids. When she returns with his drink, the exchange some friendly banter and she even giggles at one of his jokes. He gives her a nice tip and she goes on her way. Philo takes a few sips from his drink, lights up a fresh cigar and turns around to the piano. He opens the folder and pulls out a piece of sheet music. He places the music on the piano, flexes his fingers, and starts playing an arrangement of The Stars and Stripes Forever.

[The Palentine]

After the song is finished, Philo takes a puff from his cigar and starts playing Katyusha on the piano.

[Graintfjall]

Júlía Maria Jónsdóttir entered the Bar, the credentials on the lanyard around her neck for the first time verifying her as belonging to an official Mission, rather than that of a mere observer state. She rested at the bar, awaiting service, and scanned the seating area for a moment. Eventually she placed an order for a Græntfjall Honey Ale – checking, with a subtle tap of her finger, the Bear repellant spray on her hip – and headed for an empty table.

The gray-haired woman set down her Ale and unpacked from her bag a chess set, which she began assembling. The figures were carved in the distinctive, if slightly anachronistic, style of Grænttafl pieces. As she methodically placed down the pieces, she hummed along under her breath to the music in the background.

[Kardashev III Civilization]

The obelisk wanders out from a particularly dusty corner of the bar, taking notice of Jónsdóttir. It floats silently over to her table, appearing to loom over the chess board. A voice tickles Jónsdóttir's brain: "Greetings, human. These are curious table decorations. May I ask what they are for?"

[The Palentine]

The door to the bar open and a tall, athletic pale skinned woman with long white hair entered. She was wearing a very chic Victoria Huang Woman's business ensemble in teal. On her head was a teal cap with feathers. Upon her shoulder rode a larger than normal Raven. The woman was attractive, but something seemed a bit off and unsetting about her. Perhaps it was her eyes, which seemed almost feral. She went up to the bar counter and took a seat, the Raven settling on the counter next to her. She gave a pleasant smile to Neville and said with a slight German or Eastern European accent,

"Vun Ennish Shandy und vun Dazza's Raven Special for mine friend, Dahlink!"

The Raven moved its head around looking at the establishment in between grooming some of its feathers, which seemed to be a bit askew. Turning to the woman it asked in a croaking voice,

"So why exactly are we here, Olivia? Sen. Sulla has enough booze in his office to sink a battleship!"

"Because Empress Jhessan ist tinkink about haffink a meeting vit President Chiang here, und I vants to make sure ze place iz safe! I dun trust dat Chiang voman. I know her type!" , Olivia responded.

"Because you are that type of woman too, my Kapitan?" , the Raven slyly said.

"Hush, Poe! Dat vas a long time ago under de bad Spaldinks, ve serve de goot vuns now!"
Quickly changing the subject, Olivia looked at the Raven and said,
"Hyu feathers are a bit mussed. Vat hoppened?"

"Stupid pigeons around the Vastia Reflecting Pool. Damned Ambassadors think the stuupid gits are cute, so they throw them breadcrumbs and popcorn. Its so unfair. Those lazy bums get free food for being stupid, but nobody leaves plates of entrails and offal out for intellegent birds like me and my corvid cousins. Those gits started rubbing it in, so I responded by telling them how stupid they are, so a fight started!" , Poe said testily.

Olivia sighed and said,
" Hi asked hyu not to fight wit de other birds, Poe. Ve are tryink to keeps a low profile. "

"They started it!" , Poe replied defensively

At this point, their order arrived. Violet served Olivia her Ennish Shandy, and Poe recieved a large bowl containing eyeballs. On closer examiniation one could see these "eyeballs" were in reality large cocktail onions stuffed with cream cheese and almond slivers or pimentoes.

[Graintfjall]

The obelisk wanders out from a particularly dusty corner of the bar, taking notice of Jónsdóttir. It floats silently over to her table, appearing to loom over the chess board. A voice tickles Jónsdóttir's brain: "Greetings, human. These are curious table decorations. May I ask what they are for?"

Júlía Maria felt rather than heard the voice. It was like someone was writing on the inside of her skull with a felt-tip pen. Icy blue eyes glanced up sharply at the obelisk looming over the table. She formed words, held them on the tip of her tongue as she wondered whether it was even necessary to speak aloud, and then decided that – for her own comfort as much as anything – she would.

“They’re game pieces. Grænttafl is a Græntfjaller chess. It’s not played like other forms of chess,” she began, before considering what forms of chess a big rock would be most familiar with. “A strategy game, in essence.”

[The Palentine]

Olivia turns around to see what her fellow patrons are up to. She notices Sen. Sulla dozing off a abortion debate fueled epic drinking contest bender. In the corner some Ambassador was explaining a game to a stone pillar, and Philo Simeon was playing a russian folk song on the piano. At that moment , Spence from the Kennyite Delegation entered the bar. Turning back to Neville she smiled and said,

"Vun Arrogant Bastard Ale for the 'andsome Kennyite comink in. Chust put it on mine tab, dahlink."

She then looked over her shoulder and gave the Kennyite a mischevious wink.

[Omigodtheykilledkenny]

For the moment the "'andsome" Kennyite, clad in his usual smart black suit and sunglasses, did not see her, as his wandering dictatorial eye had lighted on much easier targets; namely, the bumbling trio of Secret Service agents by the stage, joking, clowning around, and giggling like privileged public schoolboys. Presently Spence rounded the assemblage to face them directly.

"Gentlemen," he barked.

"Major," they answered him, stifling lingering giggles.

Spence removed his glasses and hung them over his handkerchief pocket so as to better review his charges. Immediately, he caught a glaring fashion faux pas. "What did I say about the sunglasses?" he demanded as he yanked a pair off of one of them.

"Hey, the ladies like them!" their owner insisted, as the others resumed their giggling.

"And yet, taking them off so you don't look so obviously like agents allows you to stay in the bar, where you can actually flirt with the ladies," Spence pointed out impatiently. "How you even do it without them laughing in your face is beyond me, but that's a different matter." Again, the two agents not being dressed down at that moment burst into laughter.

The security director moved on: "So, let's see, who do we have here?: Tweedledum, Tweedle-dumber, and Tweedle Fucking Retard, the one in DMZ.com's 'instant replay' video, where he dives dramatically for a stolen bottle of Wild Turkey, and then faceplants himself on the floor!"

The guilty party bowed sarcastically as the others roared.

"You think this is funny?" Spence challenged them, as he reached into his inner coat pocket to retrieve a bill. "Do you think a $795 surcharge on our delegation's tab is funny? A $795 surcharge, over a $25 bottle of liquor?! Do any of you have $795?" he demanded, holding out his palm expectantly.

"Why don't you hit up the ambassador's boyfriend for the money?" one of them suggested. "You know, he can buy and sell your ass!" They all cackled, as Spence silently considered having them all transferred to Greenland.

"Speaking of the ambassador," another said, "take a look at what I found at the newsstand!" He opened a copy of Heat Sheet to reveal paparazzi photos of Ambassador Erica Dolittle, tanning on the deck of her boyfriend Prince Mohammed's yacht in a tiny red bikini. The guys growled appreciatively at the diplomat's shapely form; one of them whistled.

Angrily Spence snatched the tabloid out of the agent's hands and flung it to the floor. "Idiots!" he declared. "Now I have to waste time getting you a refresher on sexual harassment. I think a seminar with Angela Hickenlooper-Westfieldshoppingmall ought to do the trick."

All three of them groaned in disgust.

"From your reaction, I can tell she is just the woman for the job," Spence sneered. "Wait here; I'll see is she's available."

He turned about and pulled out his cell phone. No sooner did the line begin to trill than the deputy ambassador heard Philo begin to play "Battle Hymn of the Republic."

Curiously Spence looked over his shoulder; sure enough, a determined Asian woman wearing a leather corset and matching pants had just strode into the bar. He broke off from his present company to approach her.

"Captain Chian-- er, Madam President. Seriously, I'm at the end of my rope here with the Three Stooges over there! Why can't the administration send over proper reinforcements?"

Chiang turned to face him. "Really?" she quizzed. "And what exactly did you have in mind? Perhaps some guys who are beefier, studlier...?"

Spence rolled his eyes. "I mean some guys who can do their jobs without further embarrassing this delegation!" he said. "These morons spent twenty minutes, on national television, fighting with a drunk, middle-aged man over a liquor bottle. Not only did they give DMZ.com its most-viewed video this year, but they failed to get the bottle back, costing this delegation nearly $800!"

"Seems to me that if you had a better handle on your guys, they might not have failed so miserably," Chiang replied dryly.

"It was your secretary of state who stole the bottle!" Spence pointed out.

"A holdover from the previous administration," the president said defensively.

Alas, the deputy ambassador became distracted and could not continue the conversation (which seemed to suit the captain just fine); Prof. Heidyhiheidyho-Wienerschnitzel had finally picked up. "Uh, hello, Professor..."

Chiang came upon the brass stripper pole mounted in the free area to one side of the counter. "Hello, old girl," she cooed affectionately as she ran her hand up the pole's shiny finish, and then, just for old time's sake, took one last swing around her. Little did she know that Neville would be eagerly waiting for her on the other side.

"You know, there's a surcharge for that!" he cheerfully informed her.

[The Palentine]

For the moment the "'andsome" Kennyite, clad in his usual smart black suit and sunglasses, did not see her, as his wandering dictatorial eye had lighted on much easier targets; namely, the bumbling trio of Secret Service agents by the stage, joking, clowning around, and giggling like privileged public schoolboys. Presently Spence rounded the assemblage to face them directly.

"Gentlemen," he barked.

"Major," they answered him, stifling lingering giggles.

Spence removed his glasses and hung them over his handkerchief pocket so as to better review his charges. Immediately, he caught a glaring fashion faux pas. "What did I say about the sunglasses?" he demanded as he yanked a pair off of one of them.

"Hey, the ladies like them!" their owner insisted, as the others resumed their giggling.

"And yet, taking them off so you don't look so obviously like agents allows you to stay in the bar, where you can actually flirt with the ladies," Spence pointed out impatiently. "How you even do it without them laughing in your face is beyond me, but that's a different matter." Again, the two agents not being dressed down at that moment burst into laughter.

The security director moved on: "So, let's see, who do we have here?: Tweedledum, Tweedle-dumber, and Tweedle Fucking Retard, the one in DMZ.com's "instant replay" video, where he dives dramatically for a stolen bottle of Wild Turkey, and then faceplants himself on the floor!"

The guilty party bowed sarcastically as the others roared.

"You think this is funny?" Spence challenged them, as he reached into his inner coat pocket to retrieve a bill. "Do you think a $795 surcharge on our delegation's tab is funny? A $795 surcharge, over a $25 bottle of liquor?! Do any of you have $795?" he demanded, holding out his palm expectantly.

"Why don't you hit up the ambassador's boyfriend for the money?" one of them suggested. "You know, he can buy and sell your ass!" They all cackled, as Spence silently considered having them all transferred to Greenland.

"Speaking of the ambassador," another said, "take a look at what I found at the newsstand!" He opened a copy of Heat Sheet to reveal paparazzi photos of Ambassador Erica Dolittle, tanning on the deck of her boyfriend Prince Mohammed's yacht in a tiny red bikini. The guys growled appreciatively at the diplomat's shapely form; one of them whistled.

Angrily Spence snatched the tabloid out of the agent's hands and flung it to the floor. "Idiots!" he declared. "Now I have to waste time getting you a refresher on sexual harassment. I think a seminar with Angela Hickenlooper-Westfieldshoppingmall ought to do the trick."

All three of the groaned in disgust.

"From your reaction, I can tell she is just the woman for the job," Spence sneered. "Wait here; I'll see is she's available."

He turned about and pulled out his cell phone. No sooner did the line begin to trill than the deputy ambassador heard Philo begin to play "Battle Hymn of the Republic."

Curiously Spence looked over his shoulder; sure enough, a determined Asian woman wearing a leather corset and matching pants had just strode into the bar. He broke off from his present company to approach her.

"Captain Chian-- er, Madam President. Seriously, I'm at the end of my rope here with the Three Stooges over there!"

Chiang turned to face him. "Really?" she quizzed. "And what exactly did you have in mind? Perhaps some guys who are beefier, studlier?"

Spence rolled his eyes. "I mean some guys who can do their jobs without further embarrassing this delegation!" he said. "These morons spent twenty minutes, on national television, fighting with a drunk, middle-aged man over a liquor bottle. Not only did they give DMZ.com its most-viewed video this year, but they failed to get the bottle back, costing this delegation nearly $800!"

"Seems to me that if you had a better handle on your guys, they might not have failed so miserably," Chiang replied dryly.

"It was your secretary of state who stole the bottle!" Spence pointed out.

"A holdover from the previous administration," the president said defensively.

Alas, the deputy ambassador became distracted and could not continue the conversation (which seemed to suit the captain just fine); Prof. Heidyhiheidyho-Wienerschnitzel had finally picked up. "Uh, hello, Professor..."

Chiang came upon the brass stripper pole mounted in the free area to one side of the counter. "Hello, old girl," she cooed affectionately as she ran her hand up the pole's shiny finish, and then, just for old time's sake, took one last swing around her. Little did she know that Neville would be eagerly waiting for her on the other side.

"You know, there's a surcharge for that!" he cheerfully informed her.

Poe looked up from his gorging on "eyeballs" to notice Major Bauerman dressing down his underlings. Poe chuckled and made an observation to Olivia,

"Jeez, I feel sorry for ol' Spence. Larry, Darrell, and Daryl over there are even more incompetant than Brom, Hans, and Gunther."

Olivia gently chided the Raven,

"Hey now. Dun be dissing mine budders in arms. At least dey gots dere fangs und claws...granted dots about all dey gots, but I gets hyur point."

Olivia turned to look at the barkeep Jimmy and said with a smile,

"Better make dat two Arrogant Bastard Ales, dahlink. Hit looks like he's havink a bad day!"

[Omigodtheykilledkenny]

With "Larry, Darryl and Darryl" now firmly dispatched, at least for the time being, Spence strode to the counter and signaled Violet for a beer. Unfortunately, the cute barhand was off doing other things -- probably retrieving some sawdust to clean up the floor around Sen. Sulla's usual table. But Vi was always sweet. "From the lovely lady over there," she said wryly, pointing to his right as she slid him a Double Bastard Ale.

The Kennyite turned toward the far end of the bar, to find said "lovely" lady, clad in furs that might have been appropriate for her Antarctic homeland, but here at the WA seemed a tad overdone. Long green feathers stuck out obnoxiously from a gaudy hat which rested on a nest of striking, silvery white hair, almost perfectly matching its owner's ghostly pale complexion. To the untrained eye this woman seemed human...enough...but sadly for her, Spence's eye was by no means untrained. Everything about her, from her over-the-top wardrobe to the unnaturally reddish brown eyes -- even the flirtatious, if fangless, smile she was presently gifting him -- was just too...terrible...to possibly be the real thing.

Spence raised his beer tentatively in her direction even as his wary gaze did not break. He knew exactly who this woman was. As the pair's momentary staring contest progressed, Philo began to play the theme from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.

[The Palentine]

Olivia returned Spence's gaze, the smile still on her face. She gave an internal chuckle over Philo's choice of music, she'd have to drop a nice tip in his jar when she left. The tension between her and Spence was becoming quite palpable, before the other patrons started to notice she decided to end the staring contest with a wink saying,

"Allo Spence Dahlink, so goot to see hyu here. Please haff a seat. Since ve vill be workink togedder ve should get to know each other bedder."

She motioned to the stool next to her while continuing to speak, "By de vay, dis is Poe, mine Raven. I dun tink hyu haff met yet."

As Spence warily sits down, Olivia orders another Ennish Shandy from Violet.When the drink arrives, Olivia takes a sip while looking at the Kennyite. She gives him another smile while saying,

"Hy vatched how hyu dealt vit hyu underlinks. Goot job putting dem in dere place. Hyu need to be strict vit dem. At least vunce a week I gots to shlap de boyz in line. Brom and de boyz are goot, but a leetle lazy.", Spence noticed a certain look in her eye and an inflection in her voice that made it seem possible that she was being literal when speaking about slapping the Palentine Jaegermonster Corps members assigned to the Delegation for security.

" Hy haff noticed dis bar is goot for relaxink and relievink tension. "

Olivia arched and eyebrow and gave Spence a michievious smile and said,

"Hy am pretty goot at relievink tension too, Spence Dahlink. I used to vork as a Puff Puff Gurl. Hy still haff mine equipment, so if you ever need to relax Hy can giff hyu a Puff Puff hanytime. Hit feels sooooooooooooo goot!"

[Whovian Tardisia]

Breaking through the noise of the bar came a wheezing and groaning that had not been heard for quite some time. In a little nook beneath a wall mounted television, an odd blue phone booth seemed to fade into the room from nothing, its lights flashing in sync with the terrible racket. With a final thump it stopped, solidified, and a fellow in a blue suit strode out of it.

"Well would you look at that. A pianist!" He mused aloud. "I was wondering when this place would get regular entertainment. I'll get my usual, Neville, umm... what was it again? The scotch? Or was that the last body, I honestly don't know. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

With a confused glance about, his eyes finally settled on the primate at the piano. "D'you know any ragtime?" He queried.

[The Palentine]

Breaking through the noise of the bar came a wheezing and groaning that had not been heard for quite some time. In a little nook beneath a wall mounted television, an odd blue phone booth seemed to fade into the room from nothing, its lights flashing in sync with the terrible racket. With a final thump it stopped, solidified, and a fellow in a blue suit strode out of it.

"Well would you look at that. A pianist!" He mused aloud. "I was wondering when this place would get regular entertainment. I'll get my usual, Neville, umm... what was it again? The scotch? Or was that the last body, I honestly don't know. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

With a confused glance about, his eyes finally settled on the primate at the piano. "D'you know any ragtime?" He queried.

Philo gave the man an odd look while taking a puff on his cigar before responding,

"Is Scott Joplin okay with you, neighbor?"

Without waiting for a response, Philo began playing, The Maple Leaf Rag.