Inauguration Ceremony of Magnus Montreneé [IC]

[The Grand Economic Consortium]

The grandeur of the inauguration began long before the official schedule commenced. At Grandeville International Airport, the VIP Terminal was adorned with banners and insignias of TGEC and the visiting nations. Upon arrival, foreign delegates were greeted by the 44th Honour Guard in ceremonial dress uniforms, accompanied by a brass band playing national anthems. A luxurious fleet of black limousines and motorcades awaited to transport the dignitaries to their accommodations. For those staying at the Crystal Palace, the staff had meticulously prepared the suites with personal touches such as embroidered national flags and handwritten welcome notes.

Security was of the highest priority, with the Grandeville Metropolitan Police clearing a route from the Airport to the Palace, sending helicopters and drones in the sky, putting snipers on tall buildings and preparing cars to escort the delegates. The Hall of Nations, where the private dinner and socialization sessions were set to occur, had undergone weeks of preparation. This included installing cutting-edge communications systems for secure discussions, arranging floral decorations reflecting TGEC’s national colors, and a lavish centerpiece representing the interconnectedness of the world’s nations.

The Multi-National Military Parade, one of the day’s most anticipated events, required months of coordination. Mosy participating foreign nations contributed a ceremonial military unit. These troops would march proudly alongside their Consortian counterparts. Grandeville's Avenue of Unity, the parade route, was lined with hundreds of flags representing the participating nations. Temporary viewing stands were erected for thousands of civilians who had gathered to witness the historic event. Streets were swept clean, and special lighting and sound systems were installed to enhance the spectacle. The parade’s finale would feature a flyover by Consortian and allied aircraft, before the marching troops would stop in front of the main balcony of the Crystal Palace to salute the different officials attending the ceremony.

Before the official arrival of delegates at 11:00, Grandeville was alive with civilian-led celebrations. The Unity Market in the city center showcased the diverse cultural heritage of TGEC. Stalls offered traditional foods, crafts, and performances from the nation’s various regions. Consortian families gathered for picnics in the Parade Grounds, where local artists performed songs celebrating the new era of leadership.

Children’s parades preceded the military showcase, with schools marching in colorful uniforms, waving flags, and carrying banners of goodwill. In the Pillared Plaza, a temporary art exhibit featured sculptures and paintings symbolizing national unity and global friendship. At 10:30, the Grandeville Philharmonic Youth Orchestra performed a series of patriotic pieces in the Plaza of Unity, drawing cheers and applause from the gathering crowds. The mood was jubilant, a mix of pride and excitement as the city awaited the arrival of the delegates and the start of the official ceremonies.

Schedule for the foreign delegates:

12:00 - 13:30 - Multi-National Military Parade
14:00-16:00 - Private dinner
16:00-17:00 - Socialization and Recreation time
17:30 - 18:00 - Grand Consortian's inauguration speech
18:00-20:00 - Multi-National Music concert
20:00-22:00 - Free time to explore the palace and the city
22:00- The guests can either depart at this time or stay overnight in the palace

Rules:
-Covert actions ARE allowed, without any limits, although good luck with that
-Respect general NS etiquette
-ENJOY

SIGN-UP

[Greater Marine]

”Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts and stow your tray tables and seats in preparation for landing at Grandeville,” said the soft, measured voice on the intercom, as the 747 slowly rolled right to align with the runway. Through Jameson’s window on the plane’s starboard side, a green carpet of rolling hills swept towards a bluish, misty horizon, whilst on the other side, shafts of sunlight broke through oval windows into the cabin, bathing it in a golden glow. He checked his watch, the dial illuminated by the warm sunlight: it was 10:45, and with any luck, they’d be on the ground in minutes. The president quickly flicked through the notes he had made, with pre-prepared answers and statements meticulously scrawled on the dog-eared pages of the small, leather bound notebook. The former surgeon an knew he was there as the chief representative of his country, the face of a nation of 150 million people - and he did not wish to let them all down, especially with an election of his own, fast approaching in 2025.

“Your excellency, I do hope your actions will be in line with what we’ve agreed earlier? We do not wish for a breech of decorum. Months of preparation have gone into this, and we do not want to see it undone, surely?” asked Adrian Townsend, Principle Secretary to the Cabinet and head of the civil service. His refined tone and steady gaze were testament to many year’s experience managing people, which had seen him outlast 5 presidents. His job was an unglamorous one, but had its perks… Jameson replied “Of course, I’ve just been looking over some of the notes. We’re anyway not here for any serious diplomacy, we’re here to show the flag and hopefully a bit of goodwill, aren’t we?”

“Indeed, your excellency,” replied the grey haired, dark suited man, his voice imbued with the refinement and authority of a priest intoning mass.

A mechanical whirr broke through the hum of the 4 turbofan engines, as the flaps dropped down from the trailing edge of the wing. Below, Jameson could now see clusters of houses, scattered amongst a patchwork of warehouses and fields, cross crossed by the occasional rail line or motorway. The jet were fast approaching the Grandeville suburbs, although the anonymous semidetached homes with their whitewashed walls and neatly trimmed lawns could have been from anywhere in the developed world. Cars glided up and down the grey ribbons of the roads in neat lines like ants crawling up tree trunks, and the buildings around them looking like matchboxes against the endless sprawl.

Jameson reminded himself of the words he had just spoken. I’m here to fly the flag, not for anything serious, but in truth he was uneasy. A look of worry furrowed his brow slightly, as the President tried not to think too hard about what would happen if his assumptions were wrong. However, his train of thought had already left the metaphorical station, and there would be no stopping it. There were plenty of opportunities for him to get off on the wrong foot with the dignitaries gathered there - and he knew that any slip-up could quickly turn the strangers amongst them against him and by extension his country.

With a thunk, the landing gear dropped into place. Soon, they would be on the ground. Jameson’s seat in the nose of the plane gave h7m a limited view forwards - a quirk of the 747 - and squinting out of the corner of his eye, he could just about see the sleek glass and metal terminal building, and the maze of taxiways that linked the terminal to the runways which extended from the buildings like the legs of a spider. The sky above was blue, but with a hazy whiteness typical of the British winter. A few wisps of snow -white cloud drifted lazily past, visible through the top of the window. The plane cleared the motorway at the edge of the airport, the lines of tail lamps clearly visible on the traffic-choked road, and soon, the grey aphsalt of the runway began to flash past underneath as a jolt reverberated through the cabin. They had landed.

The nose lowered and slammed onto the runway, as the plane quickly slowed to a stop, the occupants of the jet thrown forward by the sudden deceleration. Then, they turned off the runway and onto one of the hard stands. Jameson took his overcoat out of the wardrobe in his seat, and pulled it on over his pristine navy blue suit. He grabbed his briefcase from the overhead locker, and soon stepped out of the door of the plane, smiling and waving at the cameras as he stood at the top of the steps, his security guards standing silently behind him in the doorway.

[The Daeva]

Daeva was a proud country. That much was a known factor, even to outsiders. The Anatolian monarchy was proud of their economy, their resources, and their diplomatic prestige. But what the Holy Empire was most proud of was its royalty, especially the charming and photogenic heir to the throne, Shahzadeh Adonijjah Chakravarti. So, naturally, the young royal wasn’t going to be flying commercial. The Osprey was the private plane of the princeling, the black Marinian made Chakravarti-Class jet providing the hope of Daeva a luxuriant and smooth ride that befitted his status. Adonijjah looked out the window lazily, putting down his book in order to better view the city of Grandeville. This was hardly his first diplomatic visit to an allied nation, given his unofficial status as ‘the Face’ of Daeva. After all, his father, the Padeshah, had a reputation for being private and antisocial. It thus fell to the charming socialite to represent the royals to the world, a duty that rather suited the young man. Besides, this was likely to be a rather pleasant visit. Daeva and the TGEC were strong allies, and agreed on quite a bit of the worlds issue. He looked forward to a nice dinner in the company of allies. The Shahzadeh smiled softly as the plane touched down softly, readying himself to represent his county. As the prince exited the plane with his entourage of Fravashi guards, he looked forward to experiencing a Consortian welcome…

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

Varant was cool, collected and calm as ever, sat quietly in the corner of the aircraft and flipping through a Se’la doll magazine that Antoní had given to him, desperately trying to understand the hype around what he considered to be a rather silly and bizarre fad. His brow furrowed in concentration, he barely even took note of the plane slowly descending, only finally coming to the realisation they had landed when the sounds of wheels screeching along the runway perturbed his reading.

Setting the heavy magazine down on the plastic table in front of him and tossing the free Se’la plushie included within aside - which he’d make sure to give to Antoní later - Varant got to his feet quickly, buttoning up his suit once again and taking a final sip from his cup of coffee, making his way towards the door and reaching it before Alexei, who glared up at him in irritation, although it was hard for Panosian to take the much shorter man seriously.

The pair, after a brief argument over who should go first (with Varant eventually conceding defeat in an attempt to avoid any more bickering with Alexei), descended the stairs slowly but with determination, looking out at the people waiting and staring into the cameras with blank expressions. It was both of their first times in TGEC, and they were equally baffled as to what to do, however Alexei eventually made the first move, opening his mouth and yelling “Your superiors have arrived, Consortian scum!—” but being cut off by Varant who elbowed him in the stomach, just hard enough to shut him up.

Looking to gloss over the brief lapse in professionalism, Panosian quickly raised a hand in triumph, waving to those waiting and putting on a wide, diplomatic grin. “British Arzelentaxmacone! Woo!” Was all he could think to cheer, anxious to hear the crowd’s response, especially when the blaring sounds of trumpets sounded from the plane, his nation’s anthem ringing around the runway. Flags were draped from the aircraft’s wings and tail, making it extremely obvious as to which nation they originated from. And now, all the pair could do was wait with bated breath for what would happen next - although they didn’t imagine they’d receive a great reception.

[Saint Asperes]

The Lion of Judah Mark 1

The Lion of Judah Mark 1 Left Saint Asperes in the early hours of the Morning

The hum of The Lion of Judah Mark 1, the royal aircraft of Saint Asperes, reverberated through the air as it approached Grandeville International Airport. Adorned with the bold emblem of the Black Eagle and golden accents along its fuselage, the clouds began to break apart, revealing a sprawling city below. The pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom.

“Your Majesty, we will be landing in three minutes. Please take your seats.”

King Shaliahn I looked out of the window at the expanse of rolling terrain below. The city glimmered in the distance, its towers piercing the hazy sky. He placed a hand on the armrest, exhaling softly. With deliberate precision, he reached for his tailored white military jacket draped neatly on a hanger nearby. The jacket gleamed with its polished gold buttons.

Carefully, the King adjusted the medals on the left side of his chest:

The Golden Shield of Duty,The Valiant Guardian’s Emblem, The King’s Service Medal, The Order of Joshua, The Order of King Leonardo I and many others
Once satisfied, he straightened his lapel, his reflection in the window catching the glint of the medals against the white of his jacket placing his shiny white peaked military cap with a blue band wrapping around it: placing it in-between his arms: which reflects all of Saint Asperes Military Branches and The King's position as Commander-in-Chief, while grabbing his pristine white tailored gloves. He turned toward the front of the cabin and gestured for Foreign Secretary Charles Da Fall, who was seated further down.

“Charles, come here,” the King said, his voice low yet commanding.

The Foreign Secretary approached swiftly, bowing as he reached the King.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

The King leaned closer, his tone lowered to ensure no one else overheard.

“Charles, why did you schedule this event now? You know the Queen Consort is soon to give birth,” he said, his voice measured but tinged with concern.

Charles, ever the diplomat, bowed his head slightly, offering a calm and respectful reply.

“Your Majesty, this event will bring more allies to Saint Asperes’ table. Sometimes... sacrifices must be made for the greater good,” he said, pulling a silver flask from his pocket. Unscrewing the cap, he took a small sip before holding it out. “Would you care for some, sir?”

The King waved the offer aside with a faint chuckle. “No, Charles. I have my own.” He retrieved a polished glass decanter from a nearby cabinet, pouring two cups of amber liquid into finely etched glasses. Offering one to Charles, he said, “Here. You may sit here. We have a lot to discuss.”

Charles moved the King's carry-on luggage aside and took a seat beside him. The faint clink of their glasses echoed as they raised them.

The intercom buzzed again, breaking the brief moment of camaraderie.

“We are now touching down in one minute. Please take your seats.”

The King took a final sip and set his glass down. He turned to Charles with a knowing look. “Make sure everything is prepared when we arrive. I want this event to be worth the sacrifice.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Charles replied, already reaching for his briefing notes as the plane made a gentle thud upon landing, readjusting his blue tie in the process.

[The Grand Economic Consortium]

snip

The many skyscrapers of Grandeville were shining like massive crystals, towering above the airport despite their distance from the facility. As soon as the plane landed and Jameson stepped out, the band of the 44th Honour Guard started playint the Marinian anthemn, while dozens of excited journalists, photographers and videographers were waiting for the president outside his plane. Consortian police separated the journalists from the red carpet draped for the president, leading him to a luxurious motorcade prepared just for him. A limousine with bulletproof glass and plenty of Consortian champagne bottles, escorted by plenty of police bikes and cars was waiting for him in the driveway of the terminal. Waiting to greet the president was the Consortian Minister of External Affairs, Charles Radnos, who extended his hand once the Marinian anthemn had been played. The man said:

"Your Excellency, Mr. Jameson, it is an honour to see you here. Please, join me in the limousine. There will be plenty of time for the journalists later. Your guards can travel in one of the police vans." He said, opening a door for the limousine.

snip.

To say that an endless number of journalists and photographers flocked to the Arzelent plane would be an understatement. For almost a whole year, BA and TGEC had been embroiled in a cold war which was on the verge of going nuclear. The decision to invite Arzelent representatives to the ceremony was already a controversial, disputed choice. But now, they were here. BA represented everything BA stood against, an opressive socialist regime. Even civilians who just wanted to see the Arzelent people were now swarming the plane, with security working hard to clear a path for the representatives. When Alexei said what he did, loud booing could be heard thoughout the crowd, same with
Panosian's ovation, it was recieved with whistling and the singing of The Flame, a Consortian anti-communist song from Cold War times. As soon the two stepped off the stairs from the airplane, the band of the Honour Guard started playing the Arzelent anthemn, although some whistling from the crowd obscured some parts of the hymnn. As soon as the song was over, the Grand Minsiter of TGEC, Jack Nakansian, greeted the two representatives with a stoic expression, extending out his hand in a cold, professional handshake. Yet, with Panosian, he locked his eyes for a while longer and gave him a slight smile.

"Welcome to the Grand Economic Consortium. Follow me to the motorcade."

He said coldly, as he led the way to the limousine, which he opened the door of. From the back, the journalists could be heard yelling:

"Will BA and TGEC go to war?"
"Are you willing to use nuclear weapons in a pre-emptive strike?"
"Will there be normalization talks?"

Besides hundreds of other questions, lost in the air.

snip

As it was customary with any new arrivals, two F-35A aircraft escorted the The Lion of Judah Mark 1. As soon as the plane came to a halt and the representatives were outside, the band of the Honour guard, dresses tightly in their dark blue uniformes, adorned with golden decorations and the ceremonial Consortian black and gold tricornes on their heads, started playing the anthemn of Saint Asperes perfectly, trying to impress the royal who they were informed might have very high standards. The number of journalists was more restricted to make the new arrivals feel more comfortable, and he was saluted with a general ovation by the Consortian Honour Guard. As soon as the band stopped playing, the Minister of National Defence, dressed in his most impressive outfit, a perfectly tailored blazer from Huntsman & sons., with a Vacheron Constantin watch on his wrist, black leather oxfords and a bottle of the expensive Consortian Cheval Blanc wine in his hand, extended his hand to the delegates.

"Greegings, Your Majesty" He said to the king. "And greetings, your excellency" he told Charles. "I am Andrew Dupont, Minister of National Defence. Welcome to TGEC. If you could please follow me to the motorcade we have prepared for you" He told them, before handing the king the wine.

snip

Dozens of people waving Daevan flags and members of the Zoroastrian community of Grandeville were allowed on the Tarmac to greet the Daevan delegate. Plenty of young ladies, enchanted by the beautiful Chalravarti also snuck in, just wanting to catch a glimpse of the charming prince. As with all the other delegations, the band of the honour guard played the Daevan anthemn, and quickly retreated to make way for the Minister of Internal Affairs, Amy Rubin, the young, visionary politician to extend her hand to him. She was dressed in a formal blazer, with her hair tied behind her in a ponytail and a bottle of Cheval Blanc in her other hand. She smiled at the delegate and locked eye contact with him, saying.

"Your Highness, I and the people of TGEC welcome you to Grandeville. We are truly glad to have you here. I am Amy Rubin, Minister of Internal Affairs. Just call me Amy. If you could please proceed to the limousine waiting for you right there" She pointed to the motorcade in the driveway of the terminal. "I am assigned to escort you to the Crystal Palace."

As soon as she finished speaking, the massive crowd of spectators cheered for the prince. The Daeva is one of the closest allies of TGEC. This was obvious.

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

The British Arzelentaxmaconean representatives were a little taken aback, despite expecting a negative response, and were both rather shocked - it was momentous for two Arzelent politicians to be stood face to face with their Consortian counterparts. They didn’t look too different, for all of their nations’ animosity.. at the end of the day, they were simply humans.

Varant straightened up despite the booing, making an effort to remain calm and simply grinning, waving at the hateful crowd, whilst Alexei opted for a more angry approach, flipping off the people below him.

“Glory to BA! Patria o Muerte!” He exclaimed triumphantly, shaking his fist as the flag unfurled behind him and the anthem crescendoed, truly an assault to the senses. A cacophony of trumpets and drums growing in volume until they reached a peak, reverberating through the airport and practically shaking the ground. It was also evident that Alexei had chosen for the anthem to be played as loudly as it was for the reason that he wanted to show off.

He was just one of many politicians in BA who remained bitter after the Cold War, and had no plans on ending it, perhaps even wanting to continue it. And in spite of his diplomatic efforts, Varant felt a similar sense of bitterness towards TGEC, however sought to keep the peace.. at least for today. Approaching the Grand Minister, he extended a hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I am Varant Panosian, British Arzelentaxmaconean Minister of Finance. Nakansian, you say? Huh—”

Before he could finish, he was cut off by another question from a reporter, and quickly grabbed by Alexei, who pulled him into the limousine and hurriedly shut the door, offering hurried replies for each question. “BA remains committed to its communist cause!” Alexei yelled back, ducking down to avoid any more shouted questions, whilst Varant offered a more professional response, attempting to explain in detail to each reporter but struggling with the sheer amount of them.

[Greater Marine]

snip

The many skyscrapers of Grandeville were shining like massive crystals, towering above the airport despite their distance from the facility. As soon as the plane landed and Jameson stepped out, the band of the 44th Honour Guard started playint the Marinian anthemn, while dozens of excited journalists, photographers and videographers were waiting for the president outside his plane. Consortian police separated the journalists from the red carpet draped for the president, leading him to a luxurious motorcade prepared just for him. A limousine with bulletproof glass and plenty of Consortian champagne bottles, escorted by plenty of police bikes and cars was waiting for him in the driveway of the terminal. Waiting to greet the president was the Consortian Minister of External Affairs, Charles Radnos, who extended his hand once the Marinian anthemn had been played. The man said:

"Your Excellency, Mr. Jameson, it is an honour to see you here. Please, join me in the limousine. There will be plenty of time for the journalists later. Your guards can travel in one of the police vans." He said, opening a door for the limousine.

Jameson smiled and waved once more at the crowd gathered along the red carpet. A flash of gleaming enamel stretched almost ear to ear across his smooth, clean shaven face, his brown hair and navy blue suit catching the light as he walked to the car. The Marinian President was deeply impressed by the reception he had received in Grandeville - and thought They seem more excited to see me here than at my own inauguration. Pride swelled up inside him as he heard the brash fanfare of the anthem play, as he strode with confidence towards the car.

Nonetheless, he had work to do, and he needed to make a good first impression on a man he might end up dealing with more often than not. Politics was the art of associating men, he remembered from his high school politics class, and he knew that any perceived slight to his hosts could have real-world political consequences - and also appear deeply ungrateful when juxtaposed with the warm welcome he had received. Jameson gave a slight bow and said "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mr Radnos, and an honour to be here for the inauguration." as he firmly shook the minister's outstretched hand, in a friendly, calm voice. He climbed into the back of the limousine, and waited for Radnos, to climb in.

[The Grand Economic Consortium]

snip

As soon aa the doors to the limousine closed, all of the noise from the exterior stopped, and the electric car started moving. The large motorcade started speeding towards the Crystal Palace, in the south of TGEC, by the English Channel. The head of government said.

"Please excuse the people outside. Patriotism, especially during times like these, is one hell of a drug" He said in a friendlier voice, detaching from his previous stoic tone. The limousine went through central Grandeville, where the 1 km tall Terra Tower, surrounded by the 500 meter tall "Traingle Towers" formed the Triangle Complex, a massive skyscraper commercial site. Grandeville was a city of skyscrapers, and in some areas light was a luxury, as it was blocked by the massive buildings. While the motorcade was en route, Nakansian answered:

"Glad to meet you. Yes, I am Nakansian, Consortian Armenian as you might tell by the name. My mother is Consortian and my father is a first generation armenian immigrant. And you, Mr. Panosian, I presume you are Armenian too. What is your family history?"

snip.

Radnos stepped in alongside him and closed the door, muffling the cheers of the people outside. The large motorcade started moving, while the minister took out a bottle of Cheval Blanc from the bar of the limousine.

"Care for a glass of wine? " He said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "It is an honour to have you here, I trust your flight was good?"

The minister tried engaging in small talk, while the countless skyscrapers of the city towered above the streets as the motorcade went through central Grandeville. Some Marinians residing or visiting TGEC could be seen waving Marinian flags, and for a few seconds the pedestrians stopped to look at the motorcade. Even in their incredibly busy lives, they found time to admire times like these

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

Varant’s face lit up and Alexei rolled his eyes, although it failed to dampen his enthusiasm. It was exciting to be meeting another Armenian, especially considering they were a distinctly tiny minority back in BA, the only other Armenian immigrant he had met being Gagik, who he had endured a rather long rivalry with.

“Nice to meet you, truly. Yes, yes, I am Armenian! Born and raised in Yerevan to an Armenian father and a half-Azerbaijani mother. My family have lived in Yerevan for years, but moved to BA for the financial opportunities. I arrived in Arz when I was only little, and it was very different, to say the least. It was.. difficult to adapt at first, but we found a way to integrate into usual society. What’s your history?”

[The Grand Economic Consortium]

Varant’s face lit up and Alexei rolled his eyes, although it failed to dampen his enthusiasm. It was exciting to be meeting another Armenian, especially considering they were a distinctly tiny minority back in BA, the only other Armenian immigrant he had met being Gagik, who he had endured a rather long rivalry with.

“Nice to meet you, truly. Yes, yes, I am Armenian! Born and raised in Yerevan to an Armenian father and a half-Azerbaijani mother. My family have lived in Yerevan for years, but moved to BA for the financial opportunities. I arrived in Arz when I was only little, and it was very different, to say the least. It was.. difficult to adapt at first, but we found a way to integrate into usual society. What’s your history?”

For the first time around an Arzelent person, The Grand Minister smiled warmly.

"That is an interesting story, for sure. My parents, Ara and Anahit Nakansian fled Armenia during the Caucasian wars. Here, many Caucasian soviet states broke away due to the failing soviet economy after the assassination of Brezhnev by opposition in the Politburo. Each rebel state fought with each other, so my parents fled here and settled in the Armenian Quarter. They didn't have much money when they first arrived, but they managed to secure a decent life for me. I'm curious, what motivated your parents to move to Arz, of all places. Financial advantages are, dare I say cadidly, not that much of a...thing...in BA. Or they were? Excuse my bluntness, but we are just talking friend to friend." He told Panosian, ignoring the presence of the other delegate

[Saint Asperes]

As it was customary with any new arrivals, two F-35A aircraft escorted the The Lion of Judah Mark 1. As soon as the plane came to a halt and the representatives were outside, the band of the Honour guard, dresses tightly in their dark blue uniformes, adorned with golden decorations and the ceremonial Consortian black and gold tricornes on their heads, started playing the anthemn of Saint Asperes perfectly, trying to impress the royal who they were informed might have very high standards. The number of journalists was more restricted to make the new arrivals feel more comfortable, and he was saluted with a general ovation by the Consortian Honour Guard. As soon as the band stopped playing, the Minister of National Defence, dressed in his most impressive outfit, a perfectly tailored blazer from Huntsman & sons., with a Vacheron Constantin watch on his wrist, black leather oxfords and a bottle of the expensive Consortian Cheval Blanc wine in his hand, extended his hand to the delegates.

"Greegings, Your Majesty" He said to the king. "And greetings, your excellency" he told Charles. "I am Andrew Dupont, Minister of National Defence. Welcome to TGEC. If you could please follow me to the motorcade we have prepared for you" He told them, before handing the king the wine.

King Shaliahn adjusted his white glove on his right hand, then extended it toward Minister Dupont for a handshake accepting the Wine bottle. "It is an honor," the King said, his voice steady and formal as he looked around, taking in the grand reception.

He turned toward Charles. "Mr. Dupont, this is Saint Asperes Foreign Secretary Charles Da Fall," the King continued. "Pleasure to meet you."

As Charles bowed his head in a respectful greeting, the King gestured toward the waiting motorcade. "Shall we?" he asked, his tone polite but decisive.

Before heading toward the motorcade, King Shaliahn paused for a moment and gave a respectful salute to the 44th Honour Guard

[The Daeva]

The Shahzadeh beamed at the crowds, his tanned features exuding warmth and enthusiasm. This was the welcome he was expecting. It was also rather reassuring to see the citizens of a democracy clamber to greet a royal, almost as if their souls missed the most natural form of governance. Still, such monarchic internal ramblings could only detract from this event, and so the princeling buried them deep. Unlike the usual diplomat, who would simply walk forward with their heads down, Shahzadeh Adonijjah descended the stairs like he was in a music video, smiling infectiously and waving at the crowds. The only thing in that moment that shined brighter then the golden circlet that rested in his curly black hair were his perfect white teeth. It was quite easy to see why the young royal was beloved by Daeva. A few coy winks at his Consortian fans later, and the man finally made his way to the Minister of Internal Affairs. He shook her hand firmly, pausing to smile for the cameras before finally speaking. “Thank you for your country’s warm welcome. You honor my country and my father with this marvelous event.” The royal said kindly, before smirking mischievously. “Amy. What a lovely name. You may call me Your Royal Highness, Shahzadeh Adonijjah II Chakravarti, Crown Prince of Daeva, Marzban of Assuwa.” Adonijjah said with a pompous deadpan, before laughing softly. “I kid, Ms. Rubin. Is that Cheval Blanc? I admit to usually being more of a sherry man, although Cheval Blanc is so mythical I may tweak my tastes today…” he said with a small smile, before grinning widely at the cheers from the crowd, waving and blowing a kiss at the fans before turning back to the Consortian. “So, shall we? I have heard the Crystal Palace is marvelous.”

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

Varant’s face lit up and Alexei rolled his eyes, although it failed to dampen his enthusiasm. It was exciting to be meeting another Armenian, especially considering they were a distinctly tiny minority back in BA, the only other Armenian immigrant he had met being Gagik, who he had endured a rather long rivalry with.

“Nice to meet you, truly. Yes, yes, I am Armenian! Born and raised in Yerevan to an Armenian father and a half-Azerbaijani mother. My family have lived in Yerevan for years, but moved to BA for the financial opportunities. I arrived in Arz when I was only little, and it was very different, to say the least. It was.. difficult to adapt at first, but we found a way to integrate into usual society. What’s your history?”

For the first time around an Arzelent person, The Grand Minister smiled warmly.

"That is an interesting story, for sure. My parents, Ara and Anahit Nakansian fled Armenia during the Caucasian wars. Here, many Caucasian soviet states broke away due to the failing soviet economy after the assassination of Brezhnev by opposition in the Politburo. Each rebel state fought with each other, so my parents fled here and settled in the Armenian Quarter. They didn't have much money when they first arrived, but they managed to secure a decent life for me. I'm curious, what motivated your parents to move to Arz, of all places. Financial advantages are, dare I say cadidly, not that much of a...thing...in BA. Or they were? Excuse my bluntness, but we are just talking friend to friend." He told Panosian, ignoring the presence of the other delegate

“Oh, I see. We don’t have an Armenian quarter, sadly, much less a quarter for any other minority. There have been a surprising amount of immigrants in the past, although rates are declining now since the Leader made it illegal. But much of our government weren’t born here, or have immigrant families - my partner is from Tenerife, Petrukhina is Russian, Olaf has some Swedish ancestry. But then there are the entirely Arzelent people as well - Mari, The Leader, etc.”

“I suppose they came to Arz during the wave of migration, which probably motivated them to leave Yerevan when they did since it was the best and easiest time they could have done so. They say it’s because of the finances, but as financial minister, I don’t think so. Family trouble, I reckon, or issues with the law. Maybe even conflict. Who knows. Of course, I ask them from time to time when I go to visit, but they usually dislike talking about it. They see themselves as Armenian, not Arzelent, but refuse to mention it. Odd.”

Varant sighed, but smiled wryly and shrugged. “Are your parents still alive? Sounds like they have lived interesting lives.”

[European Federal Union]

Small turbulences shaked the aircraft, right after it entered Consortian airspace a quite regular appearance for the seasoned pilot and his right hand man but a quite new feeling for the quite recently appointed VP. Not a very old but neither very young, this was surprisingly his first time traveling through aircraft rather then the extensive public infrastructure and their very much more mesmerizing view. A quick surprise before the pilot regained control, an unintentional notification abou the inevitable landing.


The pilot with clear vision on tge runway initiated the landing, slowly pointing the nose downward while throttling engine thrust. Comming down rolling the the runway while the breaks set in halting it and slowly driving to the parking spot. Not much time Alexandro left the aircraft followed by his guard right into car just droven out through the opening backhatch of the aircraft.


So assembled and mounted they took the drive torwards the location, wasting not much time with landroads and instantly taking the way up to the highways, before shooting away. Soon later after bairly violating a whole Bingo card of speed limits reaching the place, leaving a single person in the car behind prior to entering the area with the other delegates.

[Azmeny]

The Azmen President’s Arrival



The rain lashed against the oval windows of the Tu-154 as the Azmen President circled high above Grandeville. A brisk wind tossed the Soviet-made jetliner as its pilots did their best to align with the concrete runway, a grey strip against the grey skies and the grey terrain. Korolev glanced at his watch as he felt a sudden jolt of turbulence rock the aircraft. He was waiting to land, anxious to be punctual despite the inclement weather, and anxious to represent the People’s Republic to one of its key allies.

Azmeny and the Consortium had for a while enjoyed the benefits of warm relations, inside and beyond the Collective Security League. Despite their wildly differing ideological beliefs and economic systems, the two nations had become firm allies, and collaborated extensively on matters of trade and global security. Korolev had in fact met the Grand Consortian multiple times- and while he often had heated exchanges with Montreneé he was still happy to see his ally win his country’s elections, and to work with him in the future.

But Korolev had to be cautious, he thought as he furtively studied a large stack of notes placed on the table in front of his seat, eager to ensure he was well prepared for the visit.

Despite outwardly friendly foreign relations between the Consortium and the People’s Republic of Azmeny, Korolev knew well that the Consortian public was not so friendly to Azmeny, and especially not to him as their government. Every move of his would need to be well planned and carefully executed- and his aides knew well the consequences of any slip-ups. It was the start of a five-year term for the Grand Consortian, and Korolev was more than aware that this meeting could well set the tone for foreign relations with a country which had invested billions in the Azmen economy, and had its fair share of reasons to stop doing so.

A person stood behind him, and raised her voice. It was his chief of media relations, Yulia Karimova, who no doubt had something important and quite possibly critical to say to him. She was good at her job- thought Korolev - and more than a tad ruthless. He liked that a lot, and certainly preferred her directness to the fumbling courteousness of some of her predecessors. She’d say exactly what the media would think.

“Comrade President, we are landing in five minutes” she said “so you may wish to put away the notes I prepared for you now. Also, I do hope you’re not serious about walking out of the plane looking like this?” She said, and Korolev looked down with some shame at his crooked tie before straightening it hastily. “Better.” She said, and she disappeared back to her seat.

Korolev then put his notes away, and within minutes, felt a loud thud, followed by the roar of thrust reversers from the three engines of the Tupolev, and a sharp deceleration as the near.y fifty-year old aircraft came to a juddering stop at the end of the rain-soaked runway at Grandeville. The plane then turned, and taxied off towards the terminal, its lights reflecting in the wet concrete. The rain continued unabated, and the Azmen leader sighed, as he saw he would arrive rather damp to the inauguration.

The plane then came to a halt, and a staircase was extended to the door of the plane. The door was slid open, and two guards stepped out into the inclement weather to unfurl a red carpet, and flanked the stairs, their backs upright, their crisp green uniforms perfectly straight as they stood to attention.

Out then stepped Korolev himself, who peered through the curtain of twin at the gathered media, walking briskly as he descended the stairs. The notes of the Azmen anthem- the Internationale, the global song of the socialist movement- travelled through the rain-soaked air, an incongruous sound in the hyper-capitalistic, staunchly libertarian Consortium. That’s what he was. Deeply incongruous. Thought Korolev, as he walked towards the gathered Consortian delegation, shielded by an umbrella-wielding honour guard from the pouring rain.

[The Grand Economic Consortium]

Snip

Charles opened the door to the limousine and invited them in.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable"

As soon as the motorcade was on the move, Charles started talking to the king, trying to find out more about his country.

"Your Majesty, I believe that contact between our nations in the past has been very limited or non-existent. Please tell me more about Saint Asperes and yourself"

snip

The cheers of the fans were muffled out by the doors of the limousine, but they could still be heard. Amy gave the order for the motorcade to start moving towards the Palace, as she made herself comfortable in her seat.

"Your Highness, it is such an honour to have you here. I do not believe that a member of the Daevan Royal Family has previously stepped on Consortian soil, at least not under such circumstances. I hope that the people outside did not disturb you, it appears you have a surprising amount of fans here in TGEC. Please, tell me about your flight, I trust everything was well?"

snip

"Truly a multicultural country, something I appreciate. You know, Grandeville is a metropolis of 10 million people, and the interesting fact is that only about half of the city's population is native Consortian, while the rest are either first generation immigrants or just immigrants. We take pride in our diversity."

"My parents, while they're old, are still alive. We managed to buy them a house in the Cornish countryside, something they've always dreamed of, and now they live more peaceful lives then in the bustling Grandeville."

"What about your parents?" He asked, as the motorcade was pulling into the driveway of the Crystal Palace

Small turbulences shaked the aircraft, right after it entered Consortian airspace a quite regular appearance for the seasoned pilot and his right hand man but a quite new feeling for the quite recently appointed VP. Not a very old but neither very young, this was surprisingly his first time traveling through aircraft rather then the extensive public infrastructure and their very much more mesmerizing view. A quick surprise before the pilot regained control, an unintentional notification abou the inevitable landing.


The pilot with clear vision on tge runway initiated the landing, slowly pointing the nose downward while throttling engine thrust. Comming down rolling the the runway while the breaks set in halting it and slowly driving to the parking spot. Not much time Alexandro left the aircraft followed by his guard right into car just droven out through the opening backhatch of the aircraft.


So assembled and mounted they took the drive torwards the location, wasting not much time with landroads and instantly taking the way up to the highways, before shooting away. Soon later after bairly violating a whole Bingo card of speed limits reaching the place, leaving a single person in the car behind prior to entering the area with the other delegates.

The band and the dignitary assigned to the EFU delegation was...confused...to say the least. Marshals directed the aircraft to a hangar, while a police helicopter was assigned to follow Alexandro's car, just to make sure it didn't cause any trouble in the downtown. A wave of dissapointed journalists and reporters left the terminal as they could not get any answers from the European delegation. At the top of the massive staircase at the entrance of the Crystal Palace, the Grand Consortian was standing, waiting for Alexandro. As soon as the dignitary arrived, a guard rushed to him with an umbrella and the Grand Consortian extended his hand.

"Mister Alexandro, I am glad to see you are so...excited for the ceremony. I trust your flight went well?" He asked, as he gestured for the dignitary to follow him to the lobby of the Palace.

The Azmen President’s Arrival

(Image)

The rain lashed against the oval windows of the Tu-154 as the Azmen President circled high above Grandeville. A brisk wind tossed the Soviet-made jetliner as its pilots did their best to align with the concrete runway, a grey strip against the grey skies and the grey terrain. Korolev glanced at his watch as he felt a sudden jolt of turbulence rock the aircraft. He was waiting to land, anxious to be punctual despite the inclement weather, and anxious to represent the People’s Republic to one of its key allies.

Azmeny and the Consortium had for a while enjoyed the benefits of warm relations, inside and beyond the Collective Security League. Despite their wildly differing ideological beliefs and economic systems, the two nations had become firm allies, and collaborated extensively on matters of trade and global security. Korolev had in fact met the Grand Consortian multiple times- and while he often had heated exchanges with Montreneé he was still happy to see his ally win his country’s elections, and to work with him in the future.

But Korolev had to be cautious, he thought as he furtively studied a large stack of notes placed on the table in front of his seat, eager to ensure he was well prepared for the visit.

Despite outwardly friendly foreign relations between the Consortium and the People’s Republic of Azmeny, Korolev knew well that the Consortian public was not so friendly to Azmeny, and especially not to him as their government. Every move of his would need to be well planned and carefully executed- and his aides knew well the consequences of any slip-ups. It was the start of a five-year term for the Grand Consortian, and Korolev was more than aware that this meeting could well set the tone for foreign relations with a country which had invested billions in the Azmen economy, and had its fair share of reasons to stop doing so.

A person stood behind him, and raised her voice. It was his chief of media relations, Yulia Karimova, who no doubt had something important and quite possibly critical to say to him. She was good at her job- thought Korolev - and more than a tad ruthless. He liked that a lot, and certainly preferred her directness to the fumbling courteousness of some of her predecessors. She’d say exactly what the media would think.

“Comrade President, we are landing in five minutes” she said “so you may wish to put away the notes I prepared for you now. Also, I do hope you’re not serious about walking out of the plane looking like this?” She said, and Korolev looked down with some shame at his crooked tie before straightening it hastily. “Better.” She said, and she disappeared back to her seat.

Korolev then put his notes away, and within minutes, felt a loud thud, followed by the roar of thrust reversers from the three engines of the Tupolev, and a sharp deceleration as the near.y fifty-year old aircraft came to a juddering stop at the end of the rain-soaked runway at Grandeville. The plane then turned, and taxied off towards the terminal, its lights reflecting in the wet concrete. The rain continued unabated, and the Azmen leader sighed, as he saw he would arrive rather damp to the inauguration.

The plane then came to a halt, and a staircase was extended to the door of the plane. The door was slid open, and two guards stepped out into the inclement weather to unfurl a red carpet, and flanked the stairs, their backs upright, their crisp green uniforms perfectly straight as they stood to attention.

Out then stepped Korolev himself, who peered through the curtain of twin at the gathered media, walking briskly as he descended the stairs. The notes of the Azmen anthem- the Internationale, the global song of the socialist movement- travelled through the rain-soaked air, an incongruous sound in the hyper-capitalistic, staunchly libertarian Consortium. That’s what he was. Deeply incongruous. Thought Korolev, as he walked towards the gathered Consortian delegation, shielded by an umbrella-wielding honour guard from the pouring rain.

The arrival of the Azmen delegation was recieved...with mixed opinions. Police tried to limit the crowd and checked the people for any illegal objects. Still, there was quite a fuss. A small group on the right side of the red carpet snuck in a Gadsden flag and chanted anti-communist songs from cold war times, but the police quickly escorted them out, just as Korolev stepped out of the plane. On the other hand, some people with Azmen flags were waiting, cheering for Korolev. CSL flags were draped all over the terminal, as the Consortian Minister of Finance, Emmanuel Martin, extended his hand to Korolev. It was ironic. The right wing libertarian minister meeting with a communist leader. With a Cheval Blanc bottle in his other hand, he said:

"Greetings and welcome to TGEC, Your Excellency. Please, let's get out of the rain"

He said as he opened the door to the limousine.

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

“We’re not as multicultural, although it’s quite obvious why with such a government. Olaf’s views remain largely unknown on the subject of immigration, but since his wife isn’t even from BA he doesn’t seem too bothered. We’ll see.” Varant rolled back his shoulders and sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before reopening them and looking over at the Grand Minister.

“Glad that they’re still alive. So are my parents, I visit them regularly and they always seem to love seeing me. We speak Armenian every time I see them, but they know a little Arzelent as well from living here for as long as they have. No English at all, I learnt at university. They live in Dejeni Island, a nice seaside village tucked away from all the military developments there. I figured it’d be the safest place in BA for them so bought it last year around this time - they are happy there, but some homesickness from Yerevan is only natural.”

[Greater Marine]

-snip-

“Yeah, the flight was perfectly fine… I doubled the size of my Spotify playlist the day before, so I didn’t get bored, thankfully,” he said with a gentle smile and a slight chuckle as he leaned back in his seat. “To be honest, I could do with a glass of wine, sure. But don’t make it too large, I don’t want my speechwriters to think the work they’ve put in has gone to waste.”, he said, making eye contact with the minister before taking a quick glance out of the window of the car.

[The Daeva]

The Shahzadeh sat down gracefully, giving the motion much more elegance than such an action normally required. Even without the circlet and the golden medals that decorated his chest, there was a certain… royal bearing to the man. His grey eyes sparkled kindly as he settled into the car. “It is an honor to be here, naturally.” He said cheerfully, before tilting his head thoughtfully, recalling the history of his family. “I believe you are right, Ms. Rubin. It is nice to be the first to do something, I must admit.” The prince said with a shrug. “Although I believe the Grand Consortian visited Kshatra a while back and was hosted in the palace.” Adonijjah said thoughtfully, before shrugging and chuckling. “Don’t worry, crowds have never bothered me. I am quite used to it. Royals, especially younger ones tend to generate a buzz. It is far from disturbing. In fact, it is rather flattering.” There was a pause before he spoke next, as the man remembered his flight. “It was quite pleasant, thank you. The Osprey is a marvelous machine.”

[Saint Asperes]

The King stepped into the limousine first after taking off his white peaked military cap , his eyes briefly scanning the interior with a calm but discerning gaze. With a subtle gesture, he ushered Charles inside as well. Once they were all seated and the motorcade began its journey, the King leaned slightly forward, addressing Minister Dupont.

"Mr. Dupont, how long have you served your people in public office?" His voice carried a tone of genuine curiosity. "I trust you’ve served them with honor," he added, glancing out of the window and waving at the cheering crowds.

As the conversation settled, the King posed another question, his tone softer yet contemplative. "Do you have children, Mr. Dupont? If so, you’ll understand that time is such a precious thing."

Charles, seated beside him, took the opportunity to speak, readjusting his neatly knotted blue tie. "This is a wonderful nation, Mr. Dupont," he remarked with a polite smile. "Such great people and rich culture. Perhaps one day, you might visit Saint Asperes."

The King turned his gaze to Charles, his lips curling into a faint smile. But as quickly as it appeared, the smile faded, replaced with a more solemn expression as he refocused on the conversation.

[European Federal Union]

"Mister Alexandro, I am glad to see you are so...excited for the ceremony. I trust your flight went well?" He asked, as he gestured for the dignitary to follow him to the lobby of the Palace.

Rep. Arthur: "Ah yes, the flight went quite smoothly. It might have been rough at some times, but I can already tell the pilot flying definitely has a couple hundred more flight hours then the dust ball he's flying."

Alexandro extended his hand in greeting, while starting to follow him into the lobby.

[Saint Asperes]

After spending a few days in The Grand Economic Consortium, HRM King Shaliahn I had enjoyed his time but remained deeply reflective. As he gazed out of the window of his room, there was a soft knock on the door.

"Enter," the King said, his voice calm yet commanding.

Charles De Fall, the Foreign Secretary, stepped inside, holding a folder in his hands. "Your Majesty, we have some updates on the Queen Consort," Charles began, approaching the King carefully. "The Queen Mother says she’s stable, but it’s difficult for her to walk. The royal doctors assure us she will be fine," he added, his tone steady but respectful.

The King sighed, his gaze still fixed outside. "I wish I could have met Magnus Montreneé during this visit," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "Perhaps down the line, we’ll have the opportunity." He took a slow sip from the glass he held, then turned slightly toward Charles. "Tell our team I’m ready to head back. At 7, we leave. Oh, and when we land back home, remind me to send one of my father’s famous pieces to Montreneé. I intend to strengthen those ties further."

As he spoke, the King carefully lifted his white military jacket, smoothing its pristine fabric before folding it into his suitcase.

"Yes, Your Majesty, I will ensure it’s done," Charles replied, bowing slightly before leaving the room swiftly.

The King lingered for a moment, taking in the quiet of his surroundings. Then, with a faint, resolute smile, he murmured to himself, "Duty calls."


7:00 PM est


As The Lion of Judah MK1 soared through the skies, the atmosphere in the cabin was anything but serene. The King, dressed in a crisp white suit with a royal blue tie and his sash adorned with medals, sat in his chair, his hand gripping the armrest tightly. His gaze was stern, fixed on Charles, who was seated across from him.

"I told you, Charles," the King began, his voice sharp but controlled, "it wasn’t a good idea to book this tour during this time. My wife, the Queen Consort, is at home, weakened, without her husband by her side. This... this is not how it should have been."

Charles adjusted his blue tie nervously, leaning forward. "Your Majesty, with all due respect, sacrifices had to be made for the nation. This tour was crucial for strengthening ties with the Grand Economic Consortium. Your father would have done the same in your position."

The King’s expression darkened, and he slammed his hand onto the table between them, his voice rising. "I am not my father, Charles! Can you get that through your head? Stop comparing me to him at every turn! My decisions, my life, my family—they are not his, nor will they ever be!"

The cabin fell into an uneasy silence as the King’s words hung heavily in the air. Charles straightened in his seat, visibly unsettled by the outburst but maintaining his composure. "Your Majesty," he began cautiously, "I understand your frustration. The comparisons are not meant to undermine you but to remind you of the legacy you carry. The people look to you for leadership, especially in trying times."

The King leaned back, his anger still simmering but his tone softening slightly. "Trying times, indeed. You expect me to lead my people while my heart remains at home with my wife and unborn child. The weight of this crown is heavier than I ever imagined."

Charles offered a respectful nod, his voice quieter now. "And yet, Your Majesty, you bear it. That in itself is a testament to your strength, even if it’s different from your father’s."

The King sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "Perhaps you’re right. But never make decisions like this without fully understanding the personal cost. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Charles replied, bowing his head slightly.

The tension eased as the King turned his gaze out of the window, watching the clouds drift by. After a long moment, he spoke again, his voice calm but firm. "Once we land, remind me to send one of my father’s pieces to Montreneé. It will serve as a gesture of goodwill. And Charles... thank you for standing by me".

Charles smiled faintly. "It’s my duty, Your Majesty."

[The Grand Economic Consortium]

“We’re not as multicultural, although it’s quite obvious why with such a government. Olaf’s views remain largely unknown on the subject of immigration, but since his wife isn’t even from BA he doesn’t seem too bothered. We’ll see.” Varant rolled back his shoulders and sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before reopening them and looking over at the Grand Minister.

“Glad that they’re still alive. So are my parents, I visit them regularly and they always seem to love seeing me. We speak Armenian every time I see them, but they know a little Arzelent as well from living here for as long as they have. No English at all, I learnt at university. They live in Dejeni Island, a nice seaside village tucked away from all the military developments there. I figured it’d be the safest place in BA for them so bought it last year around this time - they are happy there, but some homesickness from Yerevan is only natural.”

"They seem as happy as they can be. I wish them the best"

The limousine abruptly stopped in front of the entrance to the Palace. The facade was adorned with marble columns and the flags of TGEC. At the top of the staircase and in front of the main gates awaited Grand Consortian Magnus Montreneé, waiting to greet every delegate. He extended his hand as he approached the two Arzelent delegates.

"Greetings, esteemed delegates. I welcome you to the Crystal Palace. Please, come in and make yourselves comfortable in the main lobby. I will wait for the others to arrive before starting the celebration."

A tightly dressed valet gestured for them to enter the palace, leading them to the lobby. It was a large, cozy hall with plenty of couches, tables, a fireplace, a bar and paintings depicting historical scenes from TGECs history. Nakansian sat on a couch and lit his pipe.

snip

Rubin looked at him straight in the eyes, smiling as he talked. Even though she was far from a fan of royalty and monarchy, she had to admit that the young prince was putting up a great image. She understood why he was basically the face of the family.

"Yes, the Grand Consortian loved Kshatra, he had a great time. Tell me, how's life back in Daeva?"

snip

The Grand Consortian led Alessandro to the lobby, where the other delegates and Consortian officials were waiting for everyone to arrive.

"Please, feel free to explore the palace, chat, or have a drink at the bar here in the lobby. Once everyone gathers up we'll start the main celebration." He said as he took a seat on a comfortable couch

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

“We’re not as multicultural, although it’s quite obvious why with such a government. Olaf’s views remain largely unknown on the subject of immigration, but since his wife isn’t even from BA he doesn’t seem too bothered. We’ll see.” Varant rolled back his shoulders and sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before reopening them and looking over at the Grand Minister.

“Glad that they’re still alive. So are my parents, I visit them regularly and they always seem to love seeing me. We speak Armenian every time I see them, but they know a little Arzelent as well from living here for as long as they have. No English at all, I learnt at university. They live in Dejeni Island, a nice seaside village tucked away from all the military developments there. I figured it’d be the safest place in BA for them so bought it last year around this time - they are happy there, but some homesickness from Yerevan is only natural.”

"They seem as happy as they can be. I wish them the best"

The limousine abruptly stopped in front of the entrance to the Palace. The facade was adorned with marble columns and the flags of TGEC. At the top of the staircase and in front of the main gates awaited Grand Consortian Magnus Montreneé, waiting to greet every delegate. He extended his hand as he approached the two Arzelent delegates.

"Greetings, esteemed delegates. I welcome you to the Crystal Palace. Please, come in and make yourselves comfortable in the main lobby. I will wait for the others to arrive before starting the celebration."

A tightly dressed valet gestured for them to enter the palace, leading them to the lobby. It was a large, cozy hall with plenty of couches, tables, a fireplace, a bar and paintings depicting historical scenes from TGECs history. Nakansian sat on a couch and lit his pipe.

"That sounds just perfect" said Radnos. "Mr. President, can I just say that it has been an honor to be allied with your nation. In a world of opposing ideologies, TGEC and Greater Marine stand firm as defenders of democracy." He said, as the limousone pulled up in front of the palace. Montreneé greeted Jameson, extending his hand. "Your excellency, it is an honor to have you here. Please, go to the lobby of the Palace and chat with the others until everyone arrives."

[quote="The Daeva wrote:snip

Rubin looked at him straight in the eyes, smiling as he talked. Even though she was far from a fan of royalty and monarchy, she had to admit that the young prince was putting up a great image. She understood why he was basically the face of the family.

"Yes, the Grand Consortian loved Kshatra, he had a great time. Tell me, how's life back in Daeva?"

snip

The Grand Consortian led Alessandro to the lobby, where the other delegates and Consortian officials were waiting for everyone to arrive.

"Please, feel free to explore the palace, chat, or have a drink at the bar here in the lobby. Once everyone gathers up we'll start the main celebration." He said as he took a seat on a comfortable couch[/quote]

“I appreciate it.” Varant leaned back, glancing out the window before sitting up and composing himself. Alexei did the same, although with a distinctively angry scowl on his face. He remained unhappy about the prospect of visiting TGEC, but didn’t want to embarrass himself any further, so kept quiet for his reputation’s sake. Climbing out of the car behind Varant, he approached the Consortian first. “Pleased to meet you.” Alexei uttered through somewhat gritted teeth, bringing himself to shake the other man’s hand.