Under the Simple Stars [Closed]

[Assuran]

It had definitely been a difficult decision. Assuran had to be careful; this was only the third time foreign representatives had been invited into her borders. The country was on fairly steady ground, but the Herondale "Parliament" was extremely wary of any possible PR disasters. No matter how small the percentage of failure, they had been quick to veto anything that might bring scandal to the Theocracy's international image.

Katrin hadn't really had a chance to talk to the Jimani delegates at the Hallowing, and the reports from the Dimov siblings were somewhat inconclusive. Yet the council felt that an invitation to President Aeno Verdon would be just the sort of risk-free piece of evidence the Committee of International Affairs needed to prove to the ever-suspicious First Family that outsiders were not all out for the blood of everyone in Assuran.

Katrin hadn't disagreed, of course. Katrin rarely disagreed with Aelthas Taelstarr. Still, she had her misgivings. Saraid Dimov was a sly little minx and the Secretary could almost make herself believe that the vagueness in the "Diplomat's Activities" section of her report was intentional. "Regular festive activities" indeed!
=======

The Theocracy of Assuran
"A broken hand works, but a broken heart does not."
Official Diplomatic Communique

To Our Esteemed Friend, the President Aeno Verdon of Jimanistan:

On behalf of the Herondale Committee of International Affairs, the Rakis Parliament, and the First Family, it is my honor to invite you to take a state tour of the Theocracy of Assuran. We wish to reciprocate the kindness you showed our emissaries in your own country; to this end, we would be pleased to show you some of our national treasures, including the cities of Herondale, Rakis and Windvasser.

Should you accept this invitation, we would be happy to provide you with a Bell 206 Jetranger for the trips to and from Assuran. We would also be willing to lend you one of the nation's few automobiles, as well as a chauffeur, if you should require such a transport. At minimum, the planned tour route will take about six days. This can be changed to suit your needs, of course.

Please do not hesitate to contact me if you have any questions regarding this invitation. More details will be forthcoming.

Humbly yours,
Katrin Giliad
Secretary for International Affairs

[Jimanistan]

Verdon sat once more in the chair behind the desk which he was born to sit behind.He'd been back some while, leaving the hospital quickly after his shooting, distrusting his replacement vigorously. Duemo was a snake, and a wily political opponent. And on top of that, she and Verdon simply hated each other. Neither was quite certain why, and Verdon was too busy reading over a letter to think too much about his hated counterpart in the legislature, slated to run against him in the next ellection.

Leaning back, he set his legs up on the desk, giving considerable thought to the offer. First, of course, he considered the personal implications. Saraid was from Assuran, and he would very much like to jump on an oppurtunity to see her again. But then there were political implications. A stronger friendship with a little country like Assuran could only be helpful, right?

Hell, if we wanted to we could go Imperialist and build bases in their country...

He laughed aloud at the thought. As interesting a prospect as that was, it was highly unlikely. The Jimani loathed Imperialists. More signifigantly, Jimanistan had neither the military nor the economy to dominate another country, not even a much smaller one.

Hm, but Assuran is quite a feudal place... Wonder what the public would think of that?

He shrugged his shoulders at his self-posed question, opening a desk drawer and drawing out a piece of paper, writing out a letter in his own hand, considered a sign of great respect in Jimanistan from a public official. His handwriting was wandering and loose, but certainly within the realm of legibility.

**************************************************************************************************************************

To Katrin Giliad of Assuran,

Alvano. I would be delighted to tour your country, and I thank you for the opportunity. I could very much use a trip, even one in spent in my official capacity, ever since the recent attempt on my life, and the series of problems left by my temporary replacement. I assume I will be allowed to travel with a handful of Jimani officals by my side, of course.

I would gladly accept your offer of transportation to Assuran. However, I assume that automobile travel is not a typical mode of transit? I should like to travel the country in whatever way most common, if that is at all practical.

In the meantime, I very much look forward to the visit.

President Aeno Verdon,
of the Socialist Republic,

[Assuran]

To Our Esteemed Friend, the President Aeno Verdon of Jimanistan:

We are delighted at your acceptance. You will, of course, be allowed to travel with a small escort--we do ask, however, that any arms they carry are civilian-grade.

As for transportation, our most common mode of such is walking. We have a train that runs between Herondale, Rakis and Kirkall and we do advise that you make that journey by rail. The Goldmonte Desert is not exactly the most hospitable place in Assuran.

If it is convenient for you, we will send the Bell next Saturday. All arrangements will be made by the Committee in the week before that time.

Humbly yours,
Katrin Giliad
Secretary for International Affairs

[Jimanistan]

It was rainy. It was always raining in Verdemont, it seemed. The morning was soaked and reeked of wet dog and leaves. Glancing out the window at the tarmac, Verdon was not especially concerned about it. He was, however, suprised to find that the Bell 206 was a helicopter.

Who the Hell travels long distance in a helicopter?

He shook his head and understood why so many among his people were xenophobes. Foreigners were strange, and did strange things. He shook it from his mind, opening a small copy of the Aethalaya Aethemont. He seemed to have become more religious since the attempt on his life, or at least more openly so. He once more wears the traditional knife of the Elaith at his belt. It was more a symbol of the Wheelwrights protection than an actual device of self-defense, and for this trip he had substituted his sharp sidearm for one much more akin to a butterknife in sharpness.

He passed most of the trip away studying the holy book, occaisionally glancing out the window to see the tempest sea below, roiling and roiling as it does...

The helicopter sat down- Verdon could not quite remember where they were supposed to be landing, and was too embarrassed to ask- slowly, the rotor spinning furiously, and slowing and slowing, as if appeased at being set upon the firm Earth. He rose and exited the helicopter slowly, although a bit clumsily, followed by his smll entourage.

The first after Verdon was a wild-looking man, a fellow Elaithi, crazy-eyed, with long blonde hair, tied into traditional braids. Verdon had fired his former bodyguard detail, considering them inept for allowing him to be shot. This new man was Naman Meilor, who was presented with the Light of Valor in the presence of Assuranians.

Behind him came a smaller, more timid man, who's entire nature screamed out 'Henry Bemis'. This man had served as a medic with Naman, and his name was Gregory. They comprised the Presidential bodyguard detail, or at least as much of it as was considered neccesary for the tour of Assuran.

Behind then came a little girl, looking close to the age of twelve, with a plethora of badges and patches sewn to a quasi-military uniform of a tan brown. Her demeanor is unusually professional for a young child, and she gives the eerie impression to most of a robotic soldier.

With her came a man with long black hair, a thin and awkward stick of a man, a poetic man, and a Telviran man. At least half of those things stand against him in Jimanistan, and Verdon was under the impression the other half would count against him in Assuran.

After the Poet came a rather average looking manm who appeared to have been a pencil-pusher through all his days, a beuracrat. He seemed unexceptional in just about every single way, other than his vague resemblence to television star Rod Serling, not that many people in Jimanistan would appreciate such a fact. Television, while in existence, was not quite popular.

[Assuran]

Waiting in the drizzle on the helipad were two very important people, each looking as though they were starting to regret telling their aides, "No, we'll meet them personally." This was true. Katrin and Aelthas liked to do everything personally.

Everything personally, the folk of Assuran whispered, and went about with smiles that both concealed and gave everything away.

Katrin would have been easy to distinguish anywhere, let alone in the psuedo-solitude of the helipad atop the Committee Headquarters. Her slight frizzy blond hair and brown eyes were almost iconic in Assuran, but her usual skirt-and-blouse combination was hidden below a sensible black raincoat. As a result, she was suffering less than her superior. Aelthas was trying to hide his discomfort; the short silver cape that state officials wore for special occasions was clearly failing to keep the incessant moisture from seeping into his expensive black silk suit.

Both, however, showed the exact same measure of muted surprise when the little girl came into view. The others were expected--all adults, who looked quite like a crew of bodyguards and attendants. Katrin shot Aelthas a look that meant something along the lines of I wasn't expecting a Girl Guide.

What do you want me to do? His return look asked.

Katrin shrugged and put on her diplomat's smile. Better to face the unexpected than waste precious minutes wondering about its origins.

With the slightly cool smile still in place, she walked forward, folded her hands behind her back and offered the traditional half-bow to the Jimani president.

"Welcome to Herondale, Signor Verdon," she said. Her voice was warmer than her smile, though not quite friendly. "I am Katrin Giliad, the Secretary for International Affairs. The man behind me is Sir Aelthas Taelstarr, the Head of the Committee for International Affairs. I trust your journey was a pleasant one?"

[Jimanistan]

Verdon found the pair ahead of him rather run of the mill, other than the cape upon the man. As Katrin approached, Verdon put on his own false smile, and mirrored her half bow, almost without hesitation. It seems his last encounter with an Assuranian had taught him that, at least, among other things.

Verdon might have genuinely smiled at the thought, but he was busy being phony, as any politician must be, from time to time. He began to speak, and his accent frequently caused him to glaze over syllables making the "O" sound.

"A pleasure to meet you, comrade-" He paused, quickly correcting his faux pas. "Miss Giliad, I suppose I should say. And you, as well," He said, looking passed the woman towards the man. "Mister Taelstarr."

"I suppose I should introduce my entourage. These are my bodyguards, Naman Meilor, and Gregory, uhm..."

"Arbero, Sir." The little man interjected meekly.

"Oh, yes, thank you, comrade." He said, continuing to list off his companions. "This lass is Young Partisan Aleesa Rivers... She gained the privilage of accompanying me on this diplomatic venture in... Some sort of contest. They never did make clear to me what exactly it was..."

At the mention of her name, the little girl balled her small hand into a fist, raising her arm into the traditional Socialist Salute, her face like a steel scowl. Verdon found himself mildly frightened that children such as this existed in his land.

"Uhm... Oh, and this is Leopold Gates, Deputy-Comrade of the Diplomatic Corps..."

Verdon was going to speak of the journey over, but he did not, noticing in the corner of his eye that the Elaithi guard was standing uncomfortably close to him. Verdon cleared his throat, speaking to his subordinate in Tyromisi.

"That really isn't neccesary, Comrade. Step back."

Naman nodded, stepping back indeed, and Verdon reverted to his outwardly-cheery state. "As I was saying, the trip was a fine one."

[Assuran]

Katrin was mildly gratified to see that the president had returned her bow. Had she known who had taught it to him, and what she had taught him afterwards, well...it was probably for the best that she didn't. The Secretary rarely went into rages, but they were always very pointed and the target felt the sting--mentally, of course, it was even rarer that she ever felt the need to release any of it in a physical manner--for weeks afterwards.

"Missus Giliad," she corrected, not ungently. "I have been married to Arekk Giliad for ten years now. Do call me Katrin; I happen to like my first name better than that rather matronly address."

She nodded to each member of the entourage in turn, reserving a special bow for the little girl. With some mild disgust, she noted that Aelthas was simply hanging back and looking regal. Or trying his best to. Katrin had never really been impressed by him.

"It's wonderful to meet all of you," she said, and there was a hint of genuine warmth in her voice now. Not for truly altruistic purposes, of course, but it was there. "I'm glad your trip was decent, at least. The Bell is one of three in the Herondale Aerial Fleet. It might not seem like much, but it's wonderful for long-distance journeys, and we've never had any trouble with mechanics or pilots. Substance over style. Won't you come inside? This drizzle could go on for hours, and we've prepared several suites for you and your entourage."

She bowed again and walked off in Aelthas's direction, clearly expecting them to follow her. The two walked close--shoulder to shoulder, a closeness unusual among those who weren't family or married. There was a door in the wall, quite unadorned. Aelthas pulled it open.

Down an equally severe flight of steps, the corridor was surprisingly inviting. The floor was a dark, polished parquet, lined with a creamy gold-and-red runner rug. A warm tan stucco covered the walls, which were hung with fans and small portraits, as well as light fixtures intented to simulate candelabras. It was stately, but it was nearly cozy--to Assurani eyes, at least. Katrin hoped the visitors would find it the same.

[Jimanistan]

Verdon nodded his head at the correction, noting to himself to call the woman 'Katrin' from now on, even if it seemed a bit odd to do so. He bowed his head politely as they were offered inside. The drizzle was rather annoying him.

"Of course," He said. "and I should very much like to get out of the rain..." He trailed off there, having little else to say about rain. He did not hate it with a passion that Duemo seemed to. Upon returning to the Presidency he had found a series of handwritten notes scrawled by the woman, proclaiming that 'Where I God, I would burn the clouds'. It was at that point that he decided the woman was a psychopath.

The rest followed him, first the guards, then the little girl, and then at greater distance, vexed by the hard-nosed child, came Gates and Mason. Mason was still suprised Verdon had not bothered to introduce him. It did not occur to the poetaster that the President simply did not like him.

Must have slipped his mind...

Verdon smiled thinly as he saw the corridor. Lovely would probably have been the word he would have used to describe the place. Mayhaps, quaint.

It's a Hell of a lot better than that hospital I was staying in...

"Very nice." He said after a moment, indecisively.

[Assuran]

"Is it?" There was a hint of pride in Aelthas's voice as he came down the steps behind the last of the group. It was the first time he had spoken since the helicopter had touched down. His voice was almost a direct contrast to Katrin's; where she was quick and sharp, he was deep and melodic. "I'm glad you like it. Most of the private corridors are designed like this. It's known as the Nordamaro Style--the northern coastlines and moors tend towards cooler temperatures, even in summer. The idea is to give an illusion of warmth without fire. It was the Lady Ilari LeSangstra nee Nordamaro who pioneered this style." He gestured at a painting of a young, redheaded woman portrayed as a shepherdess. "She pioneered a lot of things in her time. Siamorphe keep her soul," he added involuntarily, invoking the goddess of the First Family.

Katrin, quite good-naturedly for her, rolled her eyes. "Much as I'm sure they'd love to hear about the architectural history of Assuran, it's been a long journey. Rooms might be more to their taste...luckily, we've got the finest set of rooms in Herondale prepared. This way, please."

She led the group down the corridor and down a flight of steps in a stairwell that was not at all like the austere staircase that had led down from the roof. These were in the Nordamaro style as well, with the single difference of the stairs being carpeted instead of wooden with a runner-rug. There were four more flights below them, but the suites were on the fifth floor. Katrin led them down another corridor, this one shorter and hung with brass chandeliers instead of candelabras, and unlocked a set of polished oak double-doors.

The room beyond was a rough octagon, with a large, mosaic-adorned fireplace on the opposite wall. The room was furnished according to the same style; low couches and mahogany tables abounded, and a large bookcase was set up against one of the other walls. Four of the eight walls sported single doors, polished to a blinding sheen. It was quite clear that a lot of care had been lavished on the room in preparation for the visitors.

"The clergy of Sharess volunteered to make the rooms and common area ready for you," Katrin said. Any true good-naturedness went out of her voice at that thought, though she struggled to keep up her facade. "They did a fair job, though I would have prefered that those who were in our employ had taken care of it."

"Signora Dimov did them a favor, though," Aelthas said, shooting a warning look at his secretary. "Taking her acolytes and working during a religious holiday..."

Katrin knew when to shut up. And she did.

"Each room contains a double bed, a wardrobe and a television, as well as its own bathroom," Aelthas continued, as though nothing had happened. "If you have any questions, feel free to ask anyone in the Committee Headquarters. The dinner we have planned for your welcome won't be until later in the evening, so feel free to do as you like until then."

Almost in perfect unison, the two Committee members half-bowed and exited the room. They parted in the corridor; Aelthas went off to oversee dinner preparations and Katrin betook herself to her office in order to have a "private growl", as she called her verbal tantrums.

[Jimanistan]

Verdon nodded, listening absent-mindedly to the otherwise quiet man prattle on about architecture. He was looking around, finding the stylings intriguing. They were nothing like the neo-classical and Romanesque motifs common in his own country, but they had a certain high-toned quality all their own. As Katrin spoke, he followed her, and his entourage followed him.

He was mildly suprised at the mention of the Sharessan clergy. The President's knowledge of the polytheistic Assuranian faith was severely lacking, but he did recall Saraid's connection to the sect, if such a term could be appropriate. He wondered it 'sect' was in fact the correct term, and pondered that for awhile, losing track of the important information buzzing past him.

As he notices the two leaving, he bowed once more, a bit belatedly, at the backs of the departing diplomats. "Valano, and thank you." He said, turning to his companions, that were busy becoming comfortable in the common area.

Gregory had apparantly brought a simple chess board with him, which he was setting up with the young Aleesa. The little girl still spoke very little, but was a little bit more free of tongue with the foreigners gone. Like most Jimani, even the child is distrustful of that which is foreign, and so she was not inclined to talk in from of the Assuranians, even if invited to do so.

Verdon, meanwhile, was deciding the sleeping arrangements in his mind. Four rooms for four people. He would need a room, of course, or, being President, he felt entitled to one... The little girl would also have to have one of her own. He supposed Mason would have one, if only because he was insufferable to most people, and would be best off sleeping away from others. That left three men and one room... He decided that Gates would get the final room, being an official from the Diplomatic Corps. That left his two guards to sleep in the Common area, which would confer an advantage from a security standpoint. Anyone hoping to get at Verdon would have to pass through them. Or, so he assumed. As far as he knew there was no other way into the area.

Having that mentally settled, he filled in his entourage on his decision, which was greeted happily by all but Naman and Gregory, who grunted indifferently and sighed in resignation, respectively. After that, Verdon set his copy of the Aethelaya Aethemont down on a table, deciding to investigate, and claim, a room.

Turning the nob and stepping in, he noted that it was quite a nice little place, and was absurdly well tended, like a tree growing in the shape of a horse. He had decided to try and take a short nap, so as to be better prepared for the dinner.

In the meanwhile, the chess game had become quite heated. Gregory was a skilled player, but the little girl was shockingly calculating, her every move with the purpose and drive for the destruction of her opponent that unnerved Greg. The unquiet of her blue eyes, along with her scarse speaking, did not help at all.

[Assuran]

In a surprisingly neo-classical temple, not a mile away on the aptly-named Temple Street, an acolyte not much older than Alessa ran into an antechamber of the main Dancing-Hall.

"Priestess!"

It was very rare that Saraid Dimov had a quiet moment, being the head of a clergy which thrived on song and dance and "joyful noise". At times like this, she thought that she would never have a truly quiet moment without someone interrupting.

She closed the book of Elaithi History that she had commandeered from her brother, and turned to face the little girl in the plain yellow dress. Apprentices were not permitted bangles until they reached the age of fourteen.

"Danjela?" She was trying very hard to keep her voice at a reasonable tone.

"Apologies, priestess. But the Bell landed on the roof of the Headquarters about twenty minutes ago."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Saraid rose from the kneeling-cushion on which she had been perched, and placed the book behind the statue of Sharess-as-Lady-of-Cats.

"I would've, but I couldn't get here fast enough."

"Well, then." Saraid allowed herself a little smile. "We'll have to get ready to greet Signor Verdon."

====

About three hours after the Bell had landed, Katrin entered the Executive Common Area without knocking. Her raincoat had been replaced with a semi-formal gown of dove-grey silk, overlaid with black lace, and she was actually looking rather pleased. One might've also noticed the slight flush on her cheeks.

"My apologies for intruding," she said, after the required half-bow. "But Signor Taelstarr asked me to come up and let you know that the dinner will be starting in about forty-five minutes. There's not a pressing need for you to be punctual, but it might be helpful."

[Jimanistan]

In the common area someone had produced a fiddle, which was being played by Leopold Gates. The tune was simple, and all the Jimani were singing the words, except for Aleesa and Verdon, the former because she could not really sing in English, and the latter because he had only awaken shortly before, and was in no particular mood.

"... Me and my brother had barely escaped
from the Hell that was Jakra in thirty-eight,
two angry young lads who learned how to hate,
but we loved the idea of Jimanistan!
We'd make a better life somehow,
in the Land where no man has to bow.
I seen right then what I see right now,
Paddy, he died for Revolution!..."

The Jimani could be a jovial bunch, it would seem, if sufficiently drunk or bored. It would seem to be the second of the two, in this case. As Katrin entered, the music abruptly stopped, and the singing broke off awkwardly, just before the refrain was to begin.

Verdon smiled thinly at Katrin, once more mirroring her bow. It was akward, considering that the bow was not the norm in many other countries with which Jimanistan dealt. "Thank you." he said glancing at his group. "I suppose we are ready now, in fact. Comrades?" He asked, glancing again at his group, recieving a handful of nods and muttered approvals in Tyromisi, and one cold eerie stare from a little girl.

[Assuran]

OoC:
So, I'm kind of in love with Aleesa. She's fun.
Also, my apologies for the description-heavy posts. There'll be less of them once the party gets underway.

IC:
Katrin had not thought to provide a guide to dinner, mostly because the route wasn't terribly difficult. She was traversing that same route herself; down the four flights of stairs, down another short corridor and another flight of steps, this time shallow stairs of blond marble. The steps to the DeLancre Ballroom were really more for showing off those who came down said steps, as they were framed by an ornate cedarwood archway.

There were few buildings in Herondale--indeed, in all of Assuran--that had been more expensive to build and furnish than the Committee Headquarters. And there was not a more expensive room in the Headquarters than the DeLancre Ballroom. Named after the mistress of Sebastian the Younger, it had been furnished in a particularly ornate version of the Nordamaro Style. The walls had been hung with gold damask imported from Jus Soli, and panelled with dark mahogany. Three elegant crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling. There was a single long table in the center of the room, draped with black and gold. Silver, though a very important color to the Assuranians, was not often used in northern decorating. The places had all been set, with Aelthas at the head of the table, and Katrin at the foot.

There were a few guests already milling about, mixing with some servers completing last-minute preparations. Katrin took her place, standing by her seat and facing the arch. There was an announcer in place, and she would have to be on hand to greet each person as they came through the door.

[Jimanistan]

Verdon following the path of Katrin a short while later, followed by his entourage. He was dressed in a simple suit of gray, with the silver pin on his lapel, the Cosmic Gear. The only other thing at all out of place on the man was the knife on his belt, its sheath decorated with Old Aethelayan script, which spirals along the thing. Verdon could never read a word of it, though the Seer had once told him what it said.

Behind him came Naman, the ever-present guard, who was dressed rather... Differently. Despite Verdon's protests, the wildman had insisted on dressing in a style befitting the Old Ways. He wears a light green tunic, and brown trousers of a similar sort. Across his waist is belt of clothe, words on which read in English, Tyromisi, and Old Aethelayan the same mantra, Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken, an unofficial motto of Elaith. Hanging from his belt was a knife similar to Verdon's, although his was a of a simpler make, without an intricately-designed holder. What irked the President most, however, was that the man was not wearing shoes.

Following behind the Elaithi men came Gregory, looking as meek as ever in a simple brown coat, accented with a black tie. The guards had opted to go to dinner unarmed, deciding it safe enough. He was fond of his long-time comrade, though he did not understand his obsession with upholding the endless traditions of his People. Behind him followed Aleesa, wearing the brown Partisan uniform, her hard-nosed expression, and a matching beret. Mason took it on himself, dressed in a shabby black suit, to watch the child and make sure she didn't murder someone with a butterknife.

Gates followed up the rear, looking as run-of-the-mill as ever he did, glancing up and down the Ballroom, finding it mezmerizing. In fact, the whole party found it mezmerizing, though a few hid the expression fairly well.

[Assuran]

"President Aeno Verdon of Jimanistan, and escort," came the announcer's voice, booming suddenly through the ballroom. Katrin flinched. There was no reason to fault his technique; he certainly made himself heard and no one could mistake what he was saying. But she did wish he could tone it down, just a bit. There wasn't much to--

"Sir Leofric Tiernae of Rakis."

AO! She was going to have to make a mention of it later. Still bearing her diplomat's smile, she strode forward to greet the president and his delegation for the second time that day.

"Signor Verdon." She offered a slightly more stylised version of the half-bow, as was customary at the larger functions. "You and your men--and the little Signora--are looking very well. I see you found the ballroom all right."

She gestured to the far end of the table, near where Aelthas would be sitting. "You'll be seated at the right of Sir Taelstarr, in descending order of rank. The little Signora will be on his left, along with the delegations from Temple Street."

Katrin's smile grew a bit thinner. "I'm sure you'll know a few of them, at least. If you could be seated, sir, we can begin the introductions--"

"Lieutenant Commander Alexander Dimov and Lady Augusta LeSangstra."

She winced again. "You know the Lieutenant Commander, I believe?"

[Jimanistan]

Verdon found the announcement of his name odd, and he and the rest attempted to mirror the bow from Katrin, with varying degrees of success. Verdon came closest, while Mason looked as if he would topple to the ground in the attempt. Thankfully, he avoided such a fate as that.

"Thank you..." Verdon said, giving another glance down the hall at the table, setting his feet in that direction. He noted the thinning of her smile, finding it odd. "Uhm, I suppose I would."

Verdon walked down to the far end of the table, his comrades falling in line behind him. All taking their seats, Verdon sat closest to Taelstarr, and despite his inferior rank, Naman sat between the President and Gates. Past the Diplomat was Mason, and at the end of the Jimani group was the timid Gregory, glancing around, occaisionally stopping to polish his glasses.

Isolated from her comrades on the other side of the table, Aleesa seemed a cross between mildly amused by and somewhat wary of the Assuranians. A sharp glance across the table from Verdon reminded her of an earlier conversation the two of them had, during which Verdon stressed the neccesity of being friendly with the foreigners.

Even if they act pompously towards you...

Being the fiercely loyal patriot that she is, she felt inclined to do whatever her President said, and so softened her mannerisms a bit, seeming at least a little more amiable. Beyond her iciness, it can be seen that she wore her dark black hair tied behind her head, and was a bit tall for a twelve-year old. Her hands were folded idly in her lap, and she looked around quietly.

[Assuran]

Alexander opened his mouth to extend a welcome to the president and his delegation, but Katrin had shooed them off by the time he reached where they had been. He gave her a teasingly reproachful look. She gave him a smug one back. It was quite clear that Katrin was on far better terms with Alexander than with his twin sister.

The list of Assurani representatives continued, seeming to grow ever larger. Among others present were Callista Rainard, the ambassador to Estnorden who had returned home on leave, Naome Oslnon, Leofric's Parliamentary Scribe, Timothe Yversin, one of Assuran's leading philsophers and Darian LeSangstra, heir to the Patron's Coronet. It was a glittering crowd, but not a gaudy one; the Assurani people as a whole had a somewhat minimalist, but overall pleasant approach to formalwear that prevented them from turning into a crowd of peacocks. Of course, there were always the ones that decided they had to be "daring"--Teodora Collamore, Assuran's most infamous matchmaker, was sporting a truly massive hat, with a brim a yard across and feathers from the aformentioned peacock. Katrin held some vague hopes that Aelthas would make her take it off, but seeing as he was decidedly amused, she let it go with a sigh of annoyance.

After about a half hour of earsplitting introductions, the table was full, save for the two seats directly to the left of Aleesa, those facing Verdon and Naman. Katrin wasn't really paying attention, and nodded for Aelthas to sit.

As he did, and the rest of the table followed, Katrin heard mutterings behind her. Still not overly concerned, she raised her wineglass.

"Danjela Ayelet, Apprentice to the Temple of Sharess, and High Priestess Saraid Dimov."

There they were, in the archway. Their dresses were simple; Danjela in a silver shift, and Saraid in an unornamented gown of midnight blue. And in the dead silence, they descended the steps and walked to their seats. Danjela took the chair next to Aleesa without any hesitation, but the priestess paused to offer a little curtsey to the man directly across the table.

"Good evening, Signor Verdon."

[Jimanistan]

Verdon noted with vague interest the gathering crowd. He was puzzled by one absence in particular, the one person he would particularly have liked to see. The two empty seats across from him seem especially, well, empty.

In the meanwhile, Gregory seemed entranced by a most absurd hat, which he is shamelessly staring at. It reminded him of something from a book... But what? Mason beside him was being no more constructive, trying to make up a few quatrains insulting some of the absurd clothing in the room.

Verdon was still perplexed when the herald yelled once more, and then suddenly he understood for whom the last two seats are. He almost chuckled aloud, but he did not. One does not become a president and still allow oneself to make faux pas in such awkward silence. He smiled warmly, bowing his head shortly. "Salvano," he said, employing a less formal greeting than 'Alvano'. "We have met before, if I am not mistaken."

Aleesa noticed the pair beside her, dressed in a manner absurdly feminine. Most of the crowd was dressed that way, she saw. The only thing she had seen quite like it were pre-revolutionary photographs of the nobility and the bourgoisie. Women dressed that way in Jimanistan, too, or at least similarly, but... She could not explain to herself what was wrong with it. Barbola. Foreignness. That was it. She did her best to ignore her misgivings, and forced herself to smile at the girl next to her, of roughly the same age.

"Alvano." She said, simply. Her accent was much like Verdon's, as they originated from the same region of the country, though the girl's voice was, of course, much higher. Her blue eyes roved about uncomfotably.

[Assuran]

"We have, Signor." Saraid was quite aglow with the happiness of seeing the man for the first time in two months. "We may have even danced together several times. Shame there's no dancing tonight, I could have taught you some of the waltzes we do here...Katrin's not at all pleased to see me, I can tell." She took her seat, her eyes sparkling somewhat mischieviously.

The talk had picked up around them as the first course, a salad laden with chopped proscuitto and some cheese from Kirkall that was a second cousin to provolone, was served. The priestess felt a bit safer in her chatter. "You'd mentioned that you'd been shot in your last letter," she murmured, looking cautiously over at Aelthas. Seeing that he was absorbed in his salad, she continued, "I didn't hear much from you after that. What's happened since then?"

Danjela looked mildly surprised that the Jimani girl had spoken at all. With typical, small-girlfolk logic, she had assumed that her dinner partner was totally mute or uninterested in her.

"Um...Alvano," she responded, carefully trying out the Tyromisi word.

After a moment, she decided she liked it. "Alvano," she said again. "I'm Danjela. I like your...uh...uniform. It looks good."

Teodora, a handsome, dark-haired woman who was a bit younger than Katrin, had noticed Gregory's stare. Mistaking it for interest in her, personally, and not in her hat, she dropped him a wink before turning to her salad.

[Jimanistan]

Verdon smiled at Saraid, but gave no particular response to that. He was not really sure what to say, and so he waited for her to speak again. And speak she did. He frowned at the subject matter, however.

"Oh," he said, shaking his head. "yes, that incident... I don't think they've caught the shooter yet. Can't count on the police for anything... " He chuckled slightly, continuing a bit more lightly. He did not seem so concerned about being overheard. "Other than that, I had to dig the country out of a few..." He paused, struggling for a good English term to describe the nature of Duemo's mistakes. "monumentally foolish decisions my replacement made in my absence... That aside, my arm still can not move correctly, so I've had to do everything other than bill-signing on the left side..." He said with a frown, demonstrating by making a short, jerky motion with his right arm. The joint at the shoulder refuses to move fluidly, and seems to take a fairly signifigant effort.

Down a few chairs, Gregory found the wink strange, but also revealing. He snapped his fingers, and spoke a bit louder than he ought to have. "Jabberwocky!" He said, a bit excited at his recollection. Next to him, Mason seemed to have remembered something himself.

"Jaberwocky? 'Beware the Jabberwocky, my son'?" He asked, quoting an foreign poem, quite obscure, in Jimanistan, anyway.

"Yes, yes, that one... The hat..." He said weakly, trying to explain why he had referenced a piece of nonsense poetry, in a rather poor way.

Verdon glanced down the table curiously, unsure of what the poetaster and the guard were taking about, and entirely unsure of whatever the Hell a Jabberwocky was. He looked back to Saraid, instead, deciding he can ask about the outburst later.

"How are you?" He asked amiably. "I heard you had something to do with the preperations of our lodgings." He chuckled. He might have made an off-color joke, but luckily his political-inhibitor was functioning well, keeping him from diplomatically blundering.

"Thank you," the Young Partisan said, brushing off of a militaristic-looking patch, bearing the image of a Kalashnikov. Were one familiar with the Young Partisans, they would know the patch implies that the wearer can disassemble, clean, and reassemble an assault rifle in under fifteen minutes.

"I am Aleesa..." She was going to spew something nice about the shift, but could not. "You are from this country?" She said at last. She was curious about Assuran, to be certain, though still distrustful.

[Assuran]

Teodora raised her eyebrows at his sudden excitement. Had she known why he was so pleased, she would not have been so much offended as amused. The hat was only to garner attention, after all--she had picked the damn thing up at a rummage sale, of all places. Unconcerned, she turned back to her salad, watching Gregory out of the corner of her eye.

Saraid cast a sympathetic look at his arm. "That's a damn shame. I wish I could do something to help."

She blushed a bit at his next question, looking more than a little pleased with herself. "Well, yes. Katrin gave you the sour-face when she had to tell you that, didn't she? It was nothing, really. The rest of the temples were throwing their own celebrations; the Sharessian clergy didn't have to instigate anything or try to start something akin to a riot." She paused to take a bite of the salad. "And yes, that's what we normally do if the parties aren't up to our...ah...meticulous standards. Anyway, Sir Taelstarr came to us, seeing as we weren't doing anything--we were glad to help. Well," she amended, "I was glad to help. My girls just kind of went along with it. You like it, I hope?"

Danjela cast a wary eye at the patch that Aleesa was polishing. It looked suspiciously like a gun.

What kind of girl goes around wearing patches shaped like guns? she wondered.

"Huh? Yes, Assuranian, born and raised," she said proudly. "I'm from Ossic, about ten miles from Herondale. Boring little town. I like the city lots better."

[Jimanistan]

Verdon shrugged his shoulders. More accurate, a shoulder. His left one. "It's alright," He said, almost indifferently. "I didn't die, I suppose that is one to put in the 'win' column..." Chuckling thinly, he glanced up and down the table. The President wondered if anyone one else was interested in speaking to him. It would, after all, be terribly suspicious if Saraid were the only Assurani he conversed with the entire night.

Leopold, being a Diplomat by nature, decided to try and speak whomever was directly across from him, on the left of the High Priestess. "Alvano," He said politely, in an absurdly non-offending tone. "I do hope you are well?"

Naman, while listening to the conversation of his Presidential protectee with vague disinterest, was skimming over the salad dully. He found the cheese to be rather strange, but being a stoic sort, he ate it anyway, and without complaint. He, also, was keeping his eye on the youngest member of the Jimani party, rather worried himself that she might attack someone. Even he, a gung-ho warrior in ever sense of the word, was at a mild unease to know that a child that small can understand the inner workings of an assault rifle, especially one Naman himself had used at the Delados airport a few short months ago to fend off machete-wielding rebels. Unlike his comrade Gregory, Naman looked at the event with an emotion bordering on fondness.

Verdon nodded at Saraid as she continued, chuckling softly. "Yes, it was very nice... It became a gambling hall quickly enough, though, you'd be interested to know. Little Aleesa over there," He motioned vaguely in the girl's direction. "was playing a game of chess with Gregory... Apparantly it was so tense the others took to betting on it. I nodded off for awhile... But when I woke up Naman was out one-thousand Dainaros ((roughly equivalent to $200)).." He shook his head with a laugh, glancing at his guard, who was now scowling.

"Forti Fortuna adavet, eh?" He asked with a smirk, quoting an old Tyromi proverb at the long-haired giant. Naman simply muttered something incoherant, still sore about the whole affair.

Aleesa noticed the uneasy glance at her patches. She recognized it at once, having seen it before. Boys and girls both, and even adults, had sometimes been unnevered by a few of the patches, or at least by the overt militarism of the Young Partisans in general. The government had been distancing itself from the organization for several years since Aleesa had been alive, and in fact, the very President across the table had tried to have the group reformed into something less... Aggressive. He was shouted down every time he suggested it, of course, and for that the little girl was glad.

She nodded slowly, having no idea what Ossic was. As far as Herondale was concerned, the only thing she knew about it was that she was in it. "Cities are usually better." She said, trying her best to make conversation. Her English was a bit awkward, from lack of practice, but she was capable of speaking it fluently. "I am from Aethebar- a big city on the south coast... Over ten million people there. The president," she noted, motioning across at the man. "is from there, too, and so is that lousy Seer."

Verdon, having great respect for the Seer of Aethebar, overheard and cast a look that seemed both apathetic and angry at the same time. "Watch your tongue," He warned the girl in Tyromisi, in a tone that suggested mild scolding, even if one did not understand the language. "don't forget what I mentioned earlier..." At that, his eyes fell down to the salad, which he had been ignoring. He began to eat at it lazily.

[Assuran]

The person directly across from Leopold happened to be a slender, slightly sickly young man who looked to be about twenty-one years old. Among the shimmering crowd of splendid delegates, he seemed unremarkable, almost dowdy; his expensive grey suit creased in odd places, and his black hair was rather dull. Had it not been for the tell-tale mismatched eyes and the circlet of hammered silver that crossed his forehead, Darian LeSangstra could have easily passed as a member of the common classes of Assuran.

He looked up from his salad, somewhat startled, as the Jimani spoke to him. He hadn't expected to be noticed quite so soon.

"Alvano?" Clearly, he had not picked up its meaning quite as quickly as Danjela. "Forgive me, Signor, but I have not had ample time to take up the study of your national language. I shall take it to mean something along the lines of 'Good Evening', though you may correct me if I am wrong." His voice was somewhat meeker than that of the Assuranians the Jimani delegation had already encountered, and he overenunciated all his words in a way that suggested he was choosing them carefully. "I am doing well, thank you for asking, and I hope you are the same. I am Darian LeSangstra, though you might have noticed it when the herald roared my name." He smiled, somewhat wistfully.

Saraid cast an interested look in the direction of the small girl who seemed to be having some difficulty keeping up a conversation with the Sharessian apprentice. "I'm sorry to hear about Naman's luck," she said, with a little smile, "but I will admit, I'm quite impressed. Not many Assurani girls have enough skill to even keep up a game of chess, let alone present a considerable challenge to an adult. Perhaps we might take her to the Temple of the Red Knight while you're in Herondale--it's the only building on Temple Street with a flat roof. I haven't been to many of the Lady of Strategy's services, but from what I know, some of the rites involve such things as card games and human chess on the roof." She chortled. "You really can't make that up, can you? I think she'd like it."

The priestess hadn't noticed Verdon's look, and even if she had, she wouldn't have been much help. The Jimanis were currently hemmed in by Aelthas, Darian, Saraid, Danjela, and a statuesque woman on the other side of Alessa who was looking somewhat out of place in an ornamental breastplate of blood-red metal. After the meal, there would be plenty of people to talk to, but for now, he was a bit stuck.

Danjela wrinkled her nose--a sign of disapproval--in Alessa's general direction, but said nothing as Verdon began scolding her in that strange language. Being something of a religious zealot, as the young folk of Temple Street were wont to be, she felt she had to silently defend anything remotely mystical. But she did not mention it once Alessa was free to talk again.

"Ten million? That's a lot," she said, ungracefully wolfing down the rest of her salad. Saraid cast a reproachful look in her direction, one that she completely missed. "The priestess once told me how many people were in Herondale, but I can never remember."

As the first course finished, the plates were whisked away by servers in immaculate white waistcoats embroidered with the hand-and-coin of Assuran. They returned a moment later with some sort of seafood bisque, which was laced with something that smelled spicy and tasted exactly as its odor promised.

[Jimanistan]

Gates nodded his head, mildly amused. "Oh, yes." He said. "It's a formal sort of hello in Tyromisi... The language falls more and more out of favor all the time, the greetings never do..." He paused. "I am Leopold Gates, by the way, of the Diplomatic Corps. A pleasure to meet you, Comrade- Excuse me, Mister Lesangstra." He said the surname slowly, cautiously finding the sound foreign to his lips. He did not want to insult the man, after all.

"I was impressed, myself... Though, not to make light of her ability, Gregory does not seem to be a very skilled chesser." Verdon said, employing the peculiar term for a chess player, native to Jimanistan. He raised an eyebrow at the prospect of card games in a Temple.

Barbola, indeed...

"That is odd," He said, seeming almost thoughtful. The prospect of a god of strategy intrigued him. "you'll have to explain your religion to me at some point..."

Aleesa, after Verdon had spoken to her, adopted a look of wounded pride. She had a peculiar ability to look one of two ways, at command; either she would give you a stoney, blank stare, or a look of utter innocence, which she would appear to have stolen from a maypole-dancer at gunpoint.

She glanced over at Danjela, her face still set in the latter expression. She noted the look, and filed it away in her mental-rolodex of spite. She did not bring it up, however. In fact, she was having trouble thinking of anything to say. Verdon had told her to be sociable, but it was difficult. Not only was the girl a xenophobe, but she was also rather shy and introverted. And, to top it off, she was fairly certain she had nothing in common with the other girl, other than a similar age and a gender.

"You are an acolyte?" She said after a few moments, indecisively. She remembered the herald mentioning it, loudly. She was an avowed atheist, or at least as avowed as a pre-pubescent girl can be. All the same, religion fascinated her, primarily religions of her own country, but I, the omniscient third-person narrator, digress.

The Jimani delegation, more or less in unison, began to eat the bisque, most of them cautiously at first. Everyone seemed to at least tolerate it, except for Greg, who looked as if he might be sick. Attempting not to cause a scene, he simply set his utencil down, glancing about nervously.

[Assuran]

"So the language is not completely dead." Darian appeared to consider this for a moment, interested by Gates' brief mention of Jimani linguistics. "Interesting. Assuran used to have its own language, you know. It survives in place names, especially those of the provinces--Nordamaro, Occidento, Kavaliro--but it never shows up in everyday speech. Even its name is forgotten; it has been dead ever since we changed to the Common speech." He took a sip of his bisque, and anything else he was going to say after that was promptly cut off by a lengthy coughing fit.

Aelthas looked up from his soup at that, mildly interested. The Heir's tendencies toward such fits often aroused concern in those who did not know enough about him. He turned to Gates with an apologetic look.

"You must forgive the Patron's Heir," he said. "Lord LeSangstra has had weak lungs since birth. The fits aren't threatening to his health, just a minor irritation."

Over her bisque, the woman in the red armor had been surveying the Jimani party. She wasn't really one to talk. Unlike most Assuranians who weren't conversationally inclined, this was not due to timidity--just a general, stern quiescence that seemed to hang around her. Her grey eyes alighted on Naman's strange clothing for a moment. Something flashed acrossed her face--amusement, perhaps, or curiosity. She went back to her soup.

"He'll have to learn, then," Saraid said simply, after choking a little over too large a spoonful. "Any Assuranian who has any connection to the Red Knight has learned to play a wicked game of chess. All the better to sharpen his skills, I suppose." The priestess took a sip of the sweet, strong Windvasser wine that had come out with the bisque. "I'd be happy to explain Assurani Polytheism, of course, but it'll take a while. And it's far more information than I'd care to divulge over one dinner."

Her mismatched eyes twinkled for a moment. "Perhaps...well, you'll be in Herondale for at least another day. You might like to come to Temple Street tomorrow and see the sanctuaries."

Danjela, unfortunately, had been having the same thoughts as Aleesa regarding their compatibility. Unlike Aleesa, though, she was not bound by the word of a person to speak, but by the doctrine of a goddess. She smoothed the silver shift, thinking for a moment that she might have done better as the apprentice of a priest of Hoar. At least the god of irony did not make force his clergy learn to converse with everyone.

"Yes," she said, almost as vaguely. "The priestess doesn't keep very many."

Teodora, four seats down from Gregory on the opposite side, had noticed his discomfort--she had been keeping peripheral tabs on him through the conversations she had been having with a couple members of the Rakis Parliament. She smiled brightly at him, and motioned at the breadbowl in front of his plate.

"Do me a favor and pass that down, love," she called. It wasn't common practice to use pet names in Assuran with someone one wasn't familiar with, but Teodora got away with many things.